La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} by Lydia Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

“You think you can manage on your deformed hobbit hooves? We got a hike back to the subway.”
    She stomped away. “Jerk.” And just when she was starting to think he was nice!
    “Wait up,” he called. “Don’t be like that. We don’t have to wee-wee-wee all the way home. It was a good day at the market, piggy.”
    She held up her middle finger and prodded on—laughing under her breath.

Chapter Three
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    R iley didn’t get home from the bar until almost five in the morning. When he woke up sometime the next day, the loft was quiet and he took full advantage of the unusual privacy.
    After a lengthy shower and a silent cup of coffee, he settled in with an old, battered copy of Great Expectations , refreshed and ready to start the day. But his focus was continuously interrupted by curiosity. Where was Emma?
    Tossing the book aside, he went to her bedroom door and knocked. “Emma?”
    The door glided open and he stilled, certain it was bad roommate etiquette to visit a roomie’s room without an invite. “Em?”
    Glancing around the empty area, he slowly pivoted. Whoa. This was definitely not common area loft space. Her bed, which was made, sat against the exposed brick wall, dressed in vibrant floral prints. Why had she made it? Was she expecting company?
    Pictures of girlie shit like birdcages and pearls were everywhere. She had fresh flowers on her nightstand. Who took the time to buy fresh flowers? Unless they’re from Becket. He scowled at the flowers.
    Cracking open the closet, he noted how orderly all her dresses were hung. Emma wore a lot of dresses, not the trampy kind, but soft cotton ones that smelled like sunshine and came in Easter colors. They reminded him of that laundry bear that giggled and bounced on fluffy towels.
    In the back of her closet was the dress, still wrinkled and hanging like a forgotten dream. He gently touched the delicate beadwork at the hem.
    Becket was an asshole.
    Riley hadn’t realized how cool Emma was until recently, but he hadn’t asked her to marry him. Becket had to know the cool girl he was giving up.
    Shutting the closet and checking to make sure everything was as it should be, he left her room and wandered into the kitchen. The front door opened and he immediately smiled. “Hey, stumpy. Where you been?”
    Emma’s steps slowed and she pursed her lips. “What did I do to you that you have to call me the most insulting nicknames?”
    He scoffed. “They’re terms of endearment.”
    “So far you’ve called me Stumpy, Piggy, Ma ‘goats, and Tiger. How flattered should I feel?”
    She was in a feisty mood today. “You’re short. There are too many compact names I never get to use. I’m trying them out, sugar pants.”
    “Sugar pants?”
    He took in her short white shorts and blue striped shirt. Her hair was tied back in a white cotton headband. “Where were you?” Yachting?
    “The roof. I came down to grab more sunblock. Wanna join me?”
    “Sure. You have music?”
    She disappeared in her room and returned a moment later lathering sunscreen on her shoulders and neck. “Only my iPod, but I’m not into music right now. Everything’s a love song and most songs remind me of Becket.”
    “You’re listening to the wrong genre. I’ll grab my boom box and meet you up there.”
    After selecting some cassettes he went to the roof. Emma lounged on a sunny yellow chair in her shorts and a red bikini top. Nice jubblies. Stripping off his shirt, he popped in The Cure and collapsed on the blue chair beside her.
    “How was work last night?” she asked, her face veiled by her oversized Jackie O. sunglasses.
    “Work was work. The inn’s always busy on Sunday nights, so I made good tips. You enjoying your sabbatical?”
    “Yes. I found two places looking for PA’s. I’m going to apply to both of them.”
    “Good for you.”
    Her brow wrinkled above her sunglasses. “What are we listening to?”
    “The Cure.”
    “I said no songs about