In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)

In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4) Page 22

“How badly do you want to win?” Jack murmured.

“I don’t really care.”

“Well, I do.” With that, Jack surged forward, and Em gave a little shriek. Oh. This was almost sexy time. Would it be wrong to ask him to do that again? Because the feeling of his head against her—

Then Kevin and Naomi were right in front of them. Naomi’s savagely beautiful face was right in front of her in what Em could only describe as a snarl. “Don’t mean to scare you,” the trainer said, “but Kevin and I have never lost. Right, Kevster, babe?”

“Right, babe,” he answered obediently.

“Neither have we,” Jack said.

“Well, you’re about to,” Naomi said. “The only difference between ‘try’ and ‘triumph’ is a little ‘umph.’”

“You deserve to lose for that alone, Naomi.” There was a smile in Jack’s voice.

“I never lose,” she said. Then her hands were on Em’s shoulders, and she shoved, hard.

Em locked her feet around Jack’s back to keep from falling—she might’ve been choking him to death with her thighs, but you know what? She didn’t care all of a sudden. All she wanted was for Naomi to lose at something, and she leaned in, grappling with Naomi. And really, this was idiotic. Why not just put Naomi in the Hunger Games and let her kill everyone else, but damn it, Emmaline was not going to lose.

Even so, she couldn’t help but admire Naomi’s gorgeous shoulders.

Then Jack stepped to the side, possibly because he was desperate to breathe, and Em leaned forward, using his momentum, and pushed. Hard. Naomi wavered, and Em imagined her as a threat to those adorable Cabrera kids and pushed again. She wasn’t a badass cop for nothing.

There was a splash as both Naomi and Kevin fell.

“That wasn’t fair!” Naomi shouted, smacking the water with her fist. “You can’t use your body weight like that.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said, a sulk in his voice. “Obviously, you weigh a lot more than Nay does.”

“What am I supposed to use?” Em asked. “A sword? My crossbow?”

“Shake hands, kids,” Jack said. “Remember, humble in victory, gracious in defeat.” He grinned up at her. “I feel very humble, don’t you?”

Uh-oh.

She was having...feelings. That smile. Those eyes. The fact that he hadn’t once complained about how heavy she was.

Then he dumped her, and she was under the water. She surfaced, pushing the hair out of her face. “Thank you, mighty steed,” she said. “That was more fun than I thought it would be.”

He was still smiling. Then his eyes dropped to her chest, and his smile faltered. “Uh...Em, you seem to be...deflating.”

She looked at her boobage. “Shit.”

One breast was plumped up and coconut shaped, same as when she’d left her room earlier.

The other was normal.

Which meant...

Panicking, she looked around. Where was it? Where was it? Maybe it just slipped... She groped herself, patted her stomach to see if it had slid...no. It wasn’t there.

Where was her Ta-Ta Ta-Dah?

“Uh...is that what you’re looking for?” Jack whispered.

Kevin and Naomi were talking in low voices, still in the pool, Naomi hissing, Kevin apologetic. And there on his beautiful shoulder blade, like a giant leech, was the Ta-Ta Ta-Dah.

“What the hell is that?” Jack whispered.

A seagull cried out, circling over the pool, then hovered. Em knew that pose. That was the “I see dinner” pose.

She lunged. Jack lunged. The seagull dived, snatched the breast booster off Kevin’s shoulder, causing him to scream in surprise, which would’ve made Emmaline laugh if her Ta-Ta Ta-Dah wasn’t in the seagull’s beak. But it was too heavy for the poor thing. The bird’s head wobbled; it opened its beak and the silicone slab fell with a splat back in the pool.

She dived for it, but Jack was faster. He grabbed it and turned to her.

“What the hell was that?” Naomi asked.

It might be time to commit suicide.

Jack surfaced next to Emmaline.

“Is this raw chicken?” he whispered.

“Sh! No! Give it to me!”

“You guys cheated,” Naomi said.

“How is there cheating in Partnership Water Celebration?” Jack called. “Don’t fuss, kids. Drinks are on us.” He turned back to Em. “Here,” he said more quietly, giving it to Emmaline. “I’m so glad I’m not a woman.”

“I want a rematch!” Naomi demanded.

Em grabbed the disgusting, slimy boob enhancer (that had just been in a seagull’s beak). Should she put it back? Or leave it? If the bird had any diseases (avian flu, for example), would the chlorine in the pool water kill off the germs?

“Well?” Jack said. “You gonna put that back, or shall I?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Very funny.”

“All right, at least let me...here.” He pulled her a few steps away and hugged her. “Go for it. You can tell me later why you’re wearing raw chicken.”

“It’s not chicken. It makes...never mind.” She slid the offending object back under her breast.

Couldn’t help noticing how it felt to be pressed up close to Jack. Wet. Warm. Slippery.

“I was wondering how the girls defied gravity like that,” he murmured. She could feel his voice rumble in his chest as she adjusted her suit.

“Don’t make fun of me,” she ordered. “This is a stressful weekend.”

He pulled back a little and looked down at her. A drop of water slid down his neck and pooled against his collarbone, and Em suddenly really, really wanted to lick it.

“Just for the record, you don’t need any enhancing,” he said, and her knees buckled a little. His eyes crinkled, and he kissed her forehead.

Crap on a cracker. She was falling for this guy.

“Thanks,” she said briskly, and then, because the mortification of Jack—and possibly everyone else—knowing what she’d stuck in her bathing suit was settling over her, she swam to the stairs and got out of the pool.

CHAPTER TEN

“MY KINGDOM FOR a cheeseburger,” Colleen murmured.

“You said it, sister,” Em answered.

The rehearsal “dinner” consisted of a raw vegetable buffet. Drinks were decaffeinated green tea (hot or iced), mint tea, nonfat soy milk, water and cranberry juice, the real kind that made your entire body pucker. Emmaline had a raging headache, probably due to a frightening lack of caffeine, carbs and ice cream in her diet for the past twenty-four hours.

The first thing she would do when she got home, after loving up Sarge, of course, would be to take him to O’Rourke’s—Sarge was theoretically a police dog in training—and order the nachos grande and two of the biggest burgers they had. One for each of them.

Her stomach growled.

“Where’s Jack?” Colleen asked, putting some kale on her plate.

“I think he’s sleeping,” Em answered. She’d knocked on his door, but there’d been no answer. Maybe the jet lag had caught up with him. Maybe he was walking on the beach. Maybe he was in traction after the chicken game. Maybe he just needed a break from this dopey weekend.

She hoped he wasn’t...well, suffering. That lost look that came across his face just killed her.

“Back to the bridesminions’ table.” Colleen sighed. “See you later.”

Right. She and Jack had been assigned to a table of Russian-speaking older people. Naomi’s relatives from Irkutsk, if Em had understood correctly, based on the map the sole English speaker had drawn on a napkin. A great-aunt or grandmother was filling her purse with cucumber sticks. One old man was asleep. Another kept looking at her boobs (even un-Ta-Dahed, they looked pretty nice in this dress, Em thought), but otherwise, they just talked among themselves. Em smiled at them occasionally to show she was one of the nice Americans. Only the boob-looker smiled back, and he was missing two teeth.

Angela, Mom and Dad were seated with Kevin’s parents; Angela had very loyally offered to sit with Em, but Mrs. Bates (who had once quite loved Emmaline, if memory served) had almost given birth to a Komodo dragon at the suggestion. Em assured her that it’d be fine back here in Siberia, and the truth was, she was relieved not to have to make conversation.

Kevin and Naomi sat at a tiny table for two under a spotlight.

They really did look in love.

“Okay, folks, time to burn off some calories and dance!” the DJ barked. Yes, heaven forbid those ten or twelve calories from dinner be allowed to simply rest. The Black-Eyed Peas came booming from the speakers.

Any minute, Em suspected, Kevin and Naomi would do a choreographed dance to their special song.

The song she and Kevin were going to dance to at their wedding was “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole. Em still couldn’t hear it without a small brain bleed.

“Naomi and Kevin wanted you all to have one of these as a party favor,” said a little girl who was holding a basket. Please, God, it was full of bottles of Jack Daniel’s.

But no.

The little girl held out something all too familiar. People magazine, “Half Their Size” edition.

On the cover was a picture of Kevin holding up a pair of his enormous pants. Pants that Emmaline had bought him, since he’d hated shopping for himself back then. Probably loved it now.

The Russian relatives opened the magazine. Em slid hers into her purse. She could burn it later. Not that it would help. She had the damn thing memorized.

Page forty-seven. The usual stuff about how Kevin had struggled with food all his life, his blood pressure issues, his prediabetes. And then the killer blow:

“I was living with someone who wasn’t supportive,” says Bates. “She sabotaged my efforts, always buying food that fueled my addiction. Then I met Naomi, and I realized I had to leave that other relationship. She was just too unsupportive.”

Naomi Norman, Kevin’s trainer and soon-to-be wife, chimes in. “The people we surround ourselves with make a huge difference in our lives,” she says, laying her hand on Kevin’s now-sculpted arm. “I believe in Kevin and support all his dreams and goals. He’s the most remarkable person I’ve ever met.”

Gack.

Also, ouch. And now, everyone was poring over their magazines, dazzled with Kevin’s weight loss. Maybe tomorrow, rather than just walk out to the altar, New Kevin would burst through a picture of Old Kevin, like they did on The Biggest Loser.

Though there weren’t as many friends from college as Em had expected, a few people knew who she was, and looks were shot her way. At least the Russians didn’t appear to care; they were looking at pictures of whatever red-carpet event had been covered in the same issue.

My kingdom for a really strong martini, Em thought. She smiled at the Russians, then checked her phone. Angela had just texted her. This is the tackiest wedding I’ve ever been to. I plan to burn my magazine in a dramatic pyre and eat ice cream as I do.

Em looked over at her sister and smiled.

Faith had also texted her, asking how things were going. So had Shelayne and Allison. Shelayne had sent a picture of Sarge sleeping on her bed (under the covers), and Em smiled. It would be so, so good to get back home.

Jack still wasn’t here. She’d go check on him. A great excuse to leave.

Just then, the DJ tapped his mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Naomi and Kevin in their last dance as single people!” The jolly beat of a familiar song came over the speakers. Bruno Mars, of course. “I Think I Wanna Marry You.”

How adorable.

There were shrieks and screams and giggles, and then, yes, the choreographed dance.

Kevin always had been a good dancer.

“Mind if I sit here?” a woman asked. She was about Em’s age. “I’m Trisha.”