Something Borrowed - Emily Giffin [6]
And then, somehow, I am having sex with my best friend's fiancé.
* * *
I wake up to my ringing phone, and for a second I am disoriented in my own apartment. Then I hear Darcy's high-pitched voice on my machine, urging me to pick up, pick up, please pick up. My crime snaps into focus. I sit up too quickly, and my apartment spins. Dexter's back is to me, sculpted and sparsely freckled. I jab hard at it with one finger.
He rolls over and looks at me. "Oh, Christ! What time is it?"
My clock radio tells us it is seven-fifteen. I have been thirty for two hours. Correction—one hour; I was born in the central time zone.
Dex gets out of bed quickly, gathering his clothes, which are strewn along either side of my bed. The answering machine beeps twice, cutting Darcy off. She calls back, rambling about how Dex never came home. Again, my machine silences her in midsentence. She calls back a third time, wailing, "Wake up and call me! I need you!"
I start to get out of bed, then realize that I am naked. I sit back down and cover myself with a pillow.
"Omigod. What do we do?" My voice is hoarse and shaking. "Should I answer? Tell her you crashed here?"
"Hell, no! Don't pick up—lemme think for a sec." He sits down, wearing only boxers, and rubs his jaw, now covered by a shadow of whiskers.
Sick, sobering dread washes over me. I start to cry. Which never helps anything.
"Look, Rachel, don't cry," Dex says. "Everything's going to be okay."
He puts on his jeans and then his shirt, efficiently zipping and tucking and buttoning as though it is an ordinary morning. Then he checks the messages on his cell phone. "Shhhit. Twelve missed calls," he says matter-of-factly. Only his eyes show distress.
When he is dressed, he sits back on the edge of the bed and rests his forehead in his hands. I can hear him breathing hard through his nose. Air in and out. In and out. Then he looks over at me, composed. "Okay. Here's what's going to happen. Rachel, look at me."
I obey his instructions, still clutching my pillow.
"This will be fine. Just listen," he says, as though talking to a client in a conference room.
"I'm listening," I say.
"I'm going to tell her I stayed out until five or so and then got breakfast with Marcus. We got it covered."
"What do I tell her?" I ask. Lying has never been my strong suit.
"Just tell her you left the party and went home… Say you can't remember for sure whether I was still there when you left, but you think I was still there with Marcus. And be sure to say you 'think'don't be too definite. And that's all you know, okay?" He points at my phone. "Call her back now… I'll call Marcus as soon as I leave here. Got it?"
I nod, my eyes filling with tears again as he stands.
"And calm down," he says, not meanly, but firmly. Then he is at the door, one hand on the knob, the other running through his dark hair that is just long enough to be really sexy.
"What if she already talked to Marcus?" I ask, as Dex is halfway out the door. Then, more to myself, "We are so screwed."
He turns around, looks at me through the doorway. For a second, I think he is angry, that he is going to yell at me to pull myself together. That this isn't life-or-death. But his tone is gentle. "Rach, we are not screwed. I got it covered. Just say what I told you to say… And Rachel?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really sorry."
"Yeah," I say. "Me too."
Are we talking to each other—or to Darcy?
As soon as Dex leaves, I reach for the phone, still feeling