Whiskey at Midnight, page 33
Instead of trying to talk, because her throat still feels like it’s closing up if she speaks too much at once, Wren crawls up onto the bed and hovers above Emma, dips down to kiss Emma’s lips, asking the silent question if what Wren has in mind is an acceptable activity to pass the time.
Emma relaxes into the kiss, leans back until her head touches the one pillow that’s been left on the bed and pulls Wren down onto her. Her fingers trail down Wren’s sides and pull Wren’s shirt up when she reaches the hem of it. Though Emma is the type to enjoy a little teasing, a little romantic flourish, Wren straddles Emma’s hips and replaces Emma’s hands with her own, roughly pulls her own shirt off and then her bra. She flings them across the bed, toward the side of the room reserved for trash.
Emma sits up to take her own shirt off. She’s still struggling with the clasp at the back of her bra when Wren starts kissing her again, nipping at her lower lip.
Wren bends her torso to kiss along Emma’s collarbone, then her right shoulder. Her hands come up to feel Emma’s tits as soon as Emma has the bra out of the way. She smiles against Emma’s skin and Emma lets out a breathy moan.
They’ve just started, but Wren pushes Emma back down and thrusts her hand into Emma’s shorts. No panties today. Emma’s already wet. Wren takes her hand out and pulls Emma’s shorts all the way off, takes an extra second to take her own pants off and then gets back on the bed.
Emma doesn’t look at Wren like Wren is breakable anymore, or like she’s committing some kind of crime by being in bed with Wren. She looks at Wren with trust in her eyes. Wren’s first reaction is to touch Emma again, to fuck her so that her eyes close and she doesn’t have to see it. But they’re not doing that anymore. So, Wren carefully strokes Emma, forces herself to look into Emma’s eyes, anything to get used to the look that doesn’t seem like it’ll go away.
She fucks Emma with her fingers and kisses her when Emma grabs her head and pulls it down, hard, causing a moan to escape from Wren. When Emma cums, she does her best to keep her eyes open at first, until it becomes too much and they slide closed. Emma’s fingers grab hold of Wren’s shoulders and clutch the flesh there so hard that Wren is sure it’ll leave a bruise.
“Jesus,” Emma mumbles and moves her body unsteadily out from under Wren. She pushes Wren down onto her back with the little bit of force she has at the moment. She kisses down Wren’s body, hums against the skin around Wren’s belly button.
Every spot Emma touches on Wren’s body feels as if it’s smoldering. The moment her tongue touches Wren’s clit, Wren’s hips lift off the bed, trying to increase the pressure. Emma laughs, pushes Wren’s hips back down, and gets back to pleasuring Wren slowly. Her mouth feels as if it’s everywhere at once, torturing Wren and bringing pleasure at the same time. When Emma lets one finger dip into Wren’s cunt, Wren can’t hold back the frustrated groan that’s been growing steadily inside of her.
Wren closes her eyes and lets her fingers tangle into Emma’s hair. She tries to keep her hips pressed down toward the mattress, fails miserably and just lets them grind up into Emma’s mouth. The pressure inside of Wren grows until her toes curl a tiny bit and a small sound like a gasp issues forth from her mouth. Her legs shake for a minute after and she rolls her eyes at the satisfied smirk on Emma’s face, still barely visible between Wren’s thighs.
They rest on the bed together after, curled into one another, their sweaty limbs sliding against each other in the afternoon light. Emma hums pleasantly and stretches her arms up into the air before letting them fall again. The moment is so quiet, so peaceful, almost fragile.
“I--” Wren says, stops, lets out a frustrated sigh.
Emma turns over on the bed so that she’s facing Wren and brushes an errant strand of hair behind Wren’s ear. The touch causes Wren to shiver.
Wren bites her lip, starts to open her mouth again, shuts it.
Emma smiles encouragingly at her, lets a finger stroke across Wren’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything,” Emma says. “I know it already.”
Wren shrugs. “Weren’t you the one that said things might have been different before if I’d said something?”
“Maybe.”
Wren grabs hold of the hand that’s still touching her shoulder, clutches at the fingers until it probably hurts. She looks away, toward the open window, until all she can see are the bright rays of the sun.
“I love you,” Wren whispers.
The world doesn’t implode. The sky doesn’t fall. A hand squeezes her own.
Emma complains for most of the evening that they should go out and celebrate.
“Saying words doesn’t necessarily mean a celebration is in order,” says Wren.
Emma rolls her eyes. “Party pooper.” She kisses Wren on the nose. Too cutesy, too domestic. Wren looks away and tries not to panic.
They’d hauled the garbage bags out to the dumpster once they put their clothes back on. Trudy didn’t offer to help. She watched from her spot on the couch. Next, they loaded up Wren’s car with the few boxes left. The only things left in the room are her furniture. The bed, the nightstand, and the desk. And the damn shower liner that she forgets every afternoon.
Emma licks yogurt off a spoon. “We should go out,” she says again. “We don’t have work in the morning. We might as well enjoy the night.”
Before Emma can say anything else, she’s interrupted by Wren’s phone going off on the coffee table. Wren picks it up and glances at the message. Her brows furrow. The message is from Steve and says: Get to the bar. Now.
“Fine, we’ll go,” Wren says. She ignores the excited squeal Emma lets out and goes into Emma’s bedroom to change shirts. Ever the optimist, Emma is already wearing what she wants to go out in. She doesn’t even have to put on makeup. Wren tosses her worn shirt onto the floor and pulls another one over her head, a tanktop this time. She pauses. When did she become the type that had to be convinced to go out?
Emma bounces on her heels with uncontained excitement that causes Wren to lean in to kiss her.
“Let’s take a cab,” Wren proposes.
“I love you,” Emma says while they wait outside for the cab. Her hand is holding onto Wren’s. “You don’t have to say it again.”
Wren smiles.
The cab driver drives a little like Steve, though with his head tilted to the side to keep his cell phone pressed to his ear. He speaks so quickly that neither of the girls can guess what he says. Wren holds onto her seat with both hands and Emma holds onto Wren’s thigh with a bruising grip. Wren pays the driver when they pull into the parking lot and Emma sways next to her when they stand on the smooth pavement.
There’s nothing strange on the outside of the bar. No balloons, no special signs. Only one person is standing out there smoking. Something has to be up, but Steve wouldn’t elaborate, just told Wren a second time to hurry up.
Inside, Steve stands by the bar with a hand on Chase’s arm, his head thrown back while he laughs. Upon seeing them, he places his drink on the bar and lifts Wren up into the air and then Emma. “Ladies,” he says. “Come on and have a drink. It’s been forever.”
Wren gazes at him until he looks away. He takes the couple of steps back to the bar to be closer to his drink or Chase or both. He scratches at a spot above his right elbow. Something is up. Something that he isn’t supposed to talk about.
Wren rolls her eyes and moves closer to the bar, orders two drinks from Reese who seems a little disappointed that Wren hasn’t ordered shots.
There’s no DJ, no karaoke. There’s not even one of those overly sentimental guitar players. The bar is filled with satellite radio. Wren knows this because every other song seems to have an advertisement run after, advertising not having advertisements. Taylor sings along to the music while she washes dishes. When her fingers leave the warm water, they move in a jittery way, much like Mrs. Buckton on Sundays.
Emma talks to Chase about the park she goes to with Wren. How she tries to feed the local birds. She asks Chase what it’s like being with someone like Steve. Chase laughs. “It’s exactly like you’d expect. Lots of crazy fun, lots of laughter, and good sex.” She winks at Emma, who looks mortified.
“You’re going to scar the poor girl for life,” Wren says.
Emma stays talking with Chase and Steve touches Wren’s arm. “I’m itching for a cigarette. Wanna come?” he asks.
Wren gives him a lighter and a cigarette outside and then lights her own. “So what’s going on tonight, really?” she asks.
Steve chuckles. “Gotta keep mum for now. You’ll find out.” He stares at her a moment, thoughtfully. “So what’s been up with you? You look different somehow.”
These situations are like bandages. Easier to spit it all out rather than drag it on. Wren takes a drag off her cigarette and lets the words out as she exhales. “Moving in with Emma.”
Steve looks at her like she’s grown a second head. He raises a hand to touch her forehead. “No fever.” He tugs on one of his earlobes. “Maybe my hearing is going.”
“We’re going to get a two bedroom apartment when her lease is up,” Wren explains.
“Well,” Steve says. He tries to blow a smoke ring and fails. “Congratulations then. As long as you’re happy or whatever people say in these kinds of situations.” He smiles, looks like he’s on the verge of laughing. “In other news, I’m taking Chase fishing soon. She’s never gone.”
“That should end well,” Wren says.
Even though the music isn’t the same without the loud thumping bass when a DJ is there or the warbling notes of karaoke singers, Steve drinks enough to dance all the same. He goes from Chase to Wren to Emma, calling them party poopers in turn until Chase laughs and dances with him again. They’re the only people in the bar dancing and some of the other patrons stare, but it doesn’t stop Steve. It never has.
“If you do some kind of disco dancing during the next song, I’ll give you a free shot,” Taylor says. That’s all the encouragement Steve needs and between Reese and Taylor requesting various dances, he gets three free shots.
Reese keeps glancing at Wren like her eyes can force Wren to do her bidding. Wren knows what she wants, it’s always the same. Wren finally relents and orders two shots of whiskey. One for her and one for Emma. As always, Reese grins a little more than usual as she pours them. She winks at them both as she sets the glasses down on the bar. “Drink up,” she says.
Both of the bartenders are eager to convince people to take shots this particular night. Some brave souls even agree to mystery shots. Most look happy after, a few look disgusted.
Throughout it all, Emma finds some way to either touch Wren or position herself so that she can look at Wren while she talks to Chase. Whenever she has a moment alone with Wren, she repeats her earlier thought that she likes Chase. Wren agrees that she’s not so bad.
It’s only when Emma tries to dance with Wren that Wren can see the way Emma’s eyes are looking a little glazed over. Her movements are a little more clumsy. Wren sways to the music and watches the way Emma’s face lights up at such a simple thing.
“Having fun?” Wren asks.
Emma kisses her rather than answering and Wren wants to slap herself after for grinning like the idiot she is undoubtedly becoming.
“Don’t forget you have to go on a road trip with me,” says Wren. “I guess if you seriously object, I can go by myself.”
“I’ll come along,” Emma says. “And if I didn’t want to, you’re right, you could go alone. It’s not like I have you on a leash. Unless you want to try that.”
“You’re drunk,” Wren announces. Emma doesn’t deny it.
Chase grabs onto Steve’s arm when the lights come on in the bar and leads him outside. She says goodnight over her shoulder and waves. Steve attempts to wave as well, just ends up flinging his arm out.
Everyone else had left earlier so that the bartenders had been able to clean up early. Steve assured them through slurred speech that none of the four of them cared if they got their work done around them. He winked at them after and Taylor laughed.
Reese disappears into the office for a few minutes while Taylor gets the last of the sweeping done and puts up the bar chairs.
Wren stands awkwardly by the door, waiting on Emma, who announced quite loudly that she needed to use the restroom before they left.
A cab waits outside for them, but Wren doesn’t go out to it. Emma takes long enough that the driver leaves and Wren doesn’t stop him. They can always walk or at least start to walk and then call a cab if they get tired. Wren plucks at the bracelets on her wrists.
Emma lurches from the restroom, her cheeks flushed. Wren shouldn’t have bought her those last two shots, but watching Emma dance with Steve once she was well and truly drunk had been worth it. Emma kisses Wren when she reaches her. She places both hands on either side of Wren’s face as she does it.
“Come smoke with me,” Wren says.
They don’t go into the alley. There’s no point with no one else around. They stand by the door and even though Emma doesn’t ask for a cigarette, Wren silently hands one over and Emma takes it.
“You’re turning me into a smoker,” Emma complains.
“You love it or you’d stop taking them,” Wren shoots back.
Emma totters the few feet to an empty seat and collapses down into it. “Fuck, I’m glad I don’t have to work in the morning.” They lapse into silence for a few moments before Emma’s head swivels around to look at Wren. “Do you know where we’ll go this summer? I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’ll be fun no matter what.”
Wren leans against the building. “Dunno,” she says. “We’ll figure it out.”
Taylor walks toward them from the alley, laughs when Emma blinks slowly at her. Her hair has been pulled down from its ponytail. She runs her hand through it. A bag hangs from her shoulder. “You guys aren’t driving, right?”
“We’ll walk or get a cab,” Wren says.
“Yeah,” Emma agrees.
A minute later, Reese comes out of the alley and rises up onto her tiptoes as she passes Taylor to kiss her on the cheek. Taylor doesn’t blush. She smiles like it happens all the time. Reese hands Taylor the bag she’s been holding and walks toward Wren, a sign in her hand. She stops at the entrance to the bar and hangs the sign on the door.
Through her blurred vision, it takes Wren a second to be able to read it even after Reese steps away and moves back to gather her bag and give Taylor a proper kiss.
The sign reads: Business Permanently Closed. Thank you for your patronage.
A E Kessler, Whiskey at Midnight
