Page 21 of Plunge

“It’s just business, Emily. I’m going to get you copies of the documents to send on to Khalil to work his magic with the ambassadors. I’m going to go spend Christmas with my family, but I should be back in the game by the New Year.”

“Fletcher, I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Emily, I’ve known Thistle my entire life. We have history. She was happy to do this as a favor temporarily. I promise, it’s going to be fine.”

I hear her sigh, and I can tell she doesn’t approve. “Look,” I say. “It’s not like I’m proud of the behavior that got me here. This has definitely been a wakeup call for me.”

“Hmm.” I hear her pour herself some coffee and slurp down a sip, which makes me feel desperate for some myself.

“I swear to you, I’m a changed man.”

“Ha! I bet you are.” She sets her mug down on her table with a clunk. “All right, well let’s touch base online next Monday. I’m on PTO the rest of this week. Merry Christmas and all that.”

When I hang up, I turn around and see Thistle watching me from the bed, head propped up on one arm.

“What have we gotten ourselves into,” she asks, groggily. I shrug and stand up to figure out the tiny coffee pot in the room. In a few minutes, the smell of terrible coffee fills the too-hot air in the hotel and both of us stand anxiously waiting for a cup.

I pour one for each of us and hold mine up to her. “To favors and old friendships,” I say, raising my glass before taking a sip. I’m trying very hard not to pay attention to the fact that we’re both naked. Flashes of last night keep popping up, of our skin sliding together. Fumbling for each other in the dark. Laughing.

“To forgiveness,” she says, and clinks my mug. We drink our coffee together seated at the little table. Both of our phones vibrate a few zillion times. Thistle looks at hers and frowns. “I really have to go,” she says. “I shouldn’t have left Mom overnight.”

She starts throwing on her clothes and mutters about looking up the light rail schedule for Christmas Eve. “We should ride home together,” I say, but she starts shaking her head rapidly.

“Nope,” she shoves her feet into her shoes. “I’m going home alone, I’m pretending I slept with the awful asshole Indigo set me up with, and we aren’t mentioning this.”

And just like that, she’s out of my room. But she’s not out of my life. Not this time.

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