Emma and Luke Are Totally Together Read online

  “Well, at least be more subtle about it, huh?” Luke says. “You were the one who established the no-flirting rule, remember?”

  “Whatever,” I say, looking away.

  Butterbean lurches forward, jerking me with her.

  “Butterbean,” I say sternly.

  In response, she snorts and shakes out her mane.

  I can’t deny that the hour-long ride that follows is beautiful—we go up and down the ranch’s hills, and through little shady groves, and continually get glimpses of the mountains and the ocean. After a while, though, my butt cheeks start to hurt, and my bladder starts to throb. Butterbean, too, is starting to get grumpy. Every time we have to scale another hill, I swear I hear her grumble.

  Everyone else still seems to be having a fabulous time, though. Especially Luke. It’s kind of infuriating how easy it is for him to impress my parents. But I tell myself that it’s because he’s a stranger, not their daughter. I also remind myself that he’s faking having his life together.

  As hesitant as Luke was when I’d first brought up wanting him to lie to my family about being an entrepreneur, he sure doesn’t seem to have any qualms about it now. From the back of the pack, I overhear snippets of him telling them about the startup that he’s recently launched. Apparently, he’s developed some kind of marketing software, and it’s going even better than he expected. Luke is talking about it so convincingly that, for a second, I even believe him myself.

  On our way back, I finally get Butterbean to get her butt in gear and I catch up with Luke.

  “Having fun?” I ask.

  “Actually, yeah. I like your family.”

  “You do remember that you’re here for my benefit, right? Not yours?”

  He gives me a funny smile. “Uh, yeah?”

  “So then stop—” I sigh. What am I supposed to say? Stop being so charismatic? Stop doing such a good job at what I asked him to do?

  “Hey, Armstrong? Relax. Enjoy yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me to enjoy myself,” I grumble. “I am enjoying myself.”

  After leaving the ranch, we pile back into the minivan and head to some restaurant that Catherine says is one of the best on the island, according to her “research,” which I’m sure was just reading reviews on the internet. She’s right, though, of course. The food is amazing. We order, among other things, the shrimp dumplings, the blistered shishito peppers, the seared ahi tuna, the yucca fries, the guava chicken; it’s all perfect cooked, perfectly plated.

  I unabashedly stuff my face.

  Later, back at the rental, we collectively decide to call it a night. As Luke and I return to our shared bedroom, I try to ignore the awkward feeling that follows us in.

  I glance at the bed, then at Luke.

  “We are not sleeping together in that thing,” I say.

  “Fine by me,” he says.

  “We can trade nights sleeping on the floor.”

  “That’s what I was going to suggest, too,” he says. “I’ll take it tonight.”

  I grab my pajamas and toothbrush and step out of the room to use the bathroom down the hall. When I come back, Luke has changed into a white undershirt and pajama bottoms. Red pajama bottoms with reindeer on them.

  “You do know it’s not Christmas, right?” I say.

  “I thought I grabbed a different pair,” he says. “Anyway, will you stop checking me out? Jeez.”

  I know he’s just deflecting my teasing, but my face warms.

  “Bathroom’s all yours,” I say.

  While Luke is brushing his teeth, I toss one of the pillows and the top blanket from the bed onto the floor for him. Then I get into bed and try to get comfortable. By the time he comes back into the bedroom, I’ve found a good spot.

  “You’re not one of those weirdos who needs a completely dark room to sleep, are you?” he asks.

  “I’m not a vampire, no,” I say.

  “Good,” he says.

  I listen as he settles down onto the floor, trying to get comfy with the blanket and pillow. I do feel a little bad. There’s plenty of room in the bed. But…no. It would be too weird.

  Anyway, I’m a tosser and turner when I sleep. And I’m not about to put myself at risk of tossing and turning onto Luke.

  “Good night,” Luke says from the floor.

  “Good night,” I say. I shut my eyes and pretend like he’s not there.

  Thankfully, it’s easy to do.

  12

  The first thing I hear when I wake up the next morning is the sound of a dying animal. Groggily, I roll to the edge of the mattress and peer over it to find the source of the sound. Luke is sitting hunched over on the floor, rubbing his shoulder, grimacing the worst grimace I have ever seen.

  “Hey,” I say. “You okay?”

  It’s a stupid question. Of course he’s not okay. I try again. “The floor messed up your back, didn’t it?” Not that that’s much better. Now I’m just stating the obvious.

  “I’ll be fine,” he groans.

  Taking the stairs slowly, Luke and I head down to join everyone. Mom and Catherine are finishing up making breakfast. Golden brown bacon is heaped on a plate and fluffy scrambled eggs practically hover over another. A third plate is covered with flawlessly uniform sliced fruit. The rich smell of coffee swirls around us the moment we step into the room.

  “Sleep well?” Catherine asks, looking us over.

  “Fine,” I say. Luke nods in agreement, although I can see that grimace hiding beneath his smile. We definitely need to figure out a different sleeping arrangement for the rest of the trip.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” says Catherine. She pops a blueberry into her mouth. “God, is this baby making me crave fruit. It’s funny, though, I can’t handle artificially sweet stuff now. Makes me nauseous even thinking about it.”

  Of course pregnancy would make Catherine crave healthy food.

  Five minutes later, we’re all seated around the table eating. I’m shoving a forkful of eggs into my mouth when Catherine brings up the nice, long hike that she has planned for us all. My eyes dart over to Luke. There’s no way he’s going to be able to hike with his back screwed up. And while I know I could tell everyone about Luke’s problem and they would understand, I don’t want to embarrass him. And I definitely, definitely don’t want anyone thinking it was a sex injury.

  I quickly swallow and clear my throat. “Actually,” I say, “Luke and I were thinking about doing a couple’s massage today.” It’s the first and only thing that comes to mind, but I have to say, it’s not the worst fib I’ve ever come up with. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Luke give me a grateful look.

  “Oh,” says Catherine, faking coolness through her obvious annoyance. “Well, you two have fun.”

  “Be sure to take lots of pictures on the hike,” I tell her.

  “We will,” she says, practically through clenched teeth.

  While Luke and I take a cab into town, I search on my phone for places that offer couple’s massages. Not that I particularly want to do a couple’s massage with Luke, but I figure it’s easier to just go along with it. I’m already lying enough to my family. Besides, what am I going to do, sit around while Luke’s getting a massage?

  “Thanks for doing this,” says Luke. He sucks in a sharp breath as the cab drives over a pothole.

  “No problem,” I say. “I can tell your back is really bothering you.”

  “It’s my treat, though. The massages, I mean.”

  “No. It’s mine. It’s my fault for making you sleep on the floor.”

  “You didn’t make me do anything,” says Luke. He nods his chin toward my phone. “Any luck?”

  “I’m still looking,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll find something.”

  Unfortunately for me, though, it seems like everything is booked. Each phone call I make is met with the same answer: Sorry, miss, but we don’t have any availability this afternoon. Is there another day that would work for you?

  By the fifth pho
ne call, we’ve reached town. The driver asks where we want to be dropped off.

  “Here’s fine,” I say, at the same time that Luke says, “Keep driving around.”

  “Which is it?” the driver asks.

  “Here’s fine,” I repeat. Why should we pay more to be driven around the block? But as soon as the cab pulls over and I watch Luke hobble out onto the sidewalk, I feel terrible all over again. I just hope there’s a spa somewhere close by.

  “Sorry, Luke,” I murmur, and drop my eyes to my phone again, redoing the search now that we’re actually in town. Damn it. There’s nothing around here—well, nothing except for a spa in a five-star hotel.

  “Find anything yet?” Luke asks. He rubs his neck. “God, I think that cab ride made it even worse.”

  “Uh, hold on,” I say. I zoom out on the map. The next nearest day spa is more than ten blocks away. Oh, forget it. When else am I ever going to get a massage like this? I pull up the fancy hotel’s website and call their spa’s phone number. A honey-voiced woman answers after one ring.

  “Hi,” I say. “I know this is extremely last minute, but I was wondering if you had any availability for a couple’s massage? Like, um…available now?”

  “Let me check on that for you,” the honey voice says. She daintily clicks a few keys on her keyboard. “Miss? Good news. We do have something available. Would you like me to go ahead and book you for the ninety-minute couple’s massage?”

  “Great,” I say, relieved. “Yes. Thank you.” I’m too afraid to ask how much it’s going to cost me, though. I hang up and muster up the cheerfulness to tell Luke the good news.

  Two blocks later, we step into the fancy hotel, which is not kidding around with its fanciness. Everything about it is so…shiny. And serious. And heavy-looking. I keep expecting someone to come up to us and tell us there’s been some mistake, that we clearly aren’t cut out to be here. But the woman at the reception desk doesn’t blink twice when I ask her where the spa is. She simply whips out a map of the property and traces a line with her perfectly manicured finger from where we currently are to where we’re trying to go.

  Despite her directions, we make a wrong turn—or, rather, I make a wrong turn and half-blind-with-pain-Luke follows me—but eventually we make it to the spa, where the honey-voiced woman from the phone call greets us and gives us robes and points us back to the changing rooms.

  “See you in a bit, I guess,” I say to Luke.

  “Yep,” says Luke, before hobbling away.

  The women’s changing room is a fog of eucalyptus-scented steam and nudity. I waste no time getting out of my clothes and into the unbelievably soft robe. I then maneuver my way past more naked women and exit the changing room to the waiting room, where Luke is relaxing in a chair as he flips through a magazine.

  “You’re looking better already,” I say, taking a seat next to him.

  “I think they’re pumping something into the air here.”

  I laugh. “Well, whatever it is, it’s working.” I nod at the magazine in his hands. “You gonna subscribe?”

  “Oh, definitely,” he says. He angles the page toward me and taps a photo of a woman in a contortion-esque yoga post. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can do that.”

  “Two hundred.”

  “A hundred and fifty.” He sizes me up. “Wait. You’re probably really flexible, aren’t you? You go to that dance thing all the time.”

  That dance thing. It amuses me that he doesn’t remember what Dance Den is called, not to mention that he seems to think it’s more disciplined than it actually is. Dance Den has made me exactly zero percent more flexible compared to when I started.

  A woman comes into the waiting room and calls our names. As she leads us down the hall, she makes small talk, asking how long we’re in Hawaii for, how long we’ve been together. When I tell her we’ve only been together for a few weeks, she says, “Oh, how sweet!” in a tone that she probably uses regardless of whether the answer is a day or fifty years. Then she opens a door that leads out to a wooden structure that opens onto a tropical landscape. It’s a gorgeous setup.

  Gorgeous and expensive-looking.

  The masseuse tells us to make ourselves comfortable on the massage tables and says she’ll be back in a few minutes. As soon as she leaves, I make a speedy transition between getting out of my robe and tucking myself beneath the sheets on the massage table. Which is followed by several awkward minutes of silence where both Luke and I are lying naked on our respective tables, both staring down through our headrests at the ground.

  “It’s nice here,” I say, my smushed cheeks distorting the words.

  “It is,” he responds from his table.

  Finally, the masseuse returns, bringing with her a second masseuse, their four shoes clapping quietly on the floor as they approach our tables. My masseuse lightly places her fingertips on my shoulders and says, “Are we ready to get started?”

  With still-smushed cheeks, I say, “Uh huh.”

  It’s been forever since I’ve gotten a massage, and I’ve forgotten how nice it is. Within seconds, I’m transported into the heavenly state that is getting your body wrung out by expert hands. The masseuse works her way from my neck to my toes and back again, ever so politely folding back the sheets and then recovering them as she does so.

  When she’s done with my back, she asks me to flip over, and I raise my face out of the hole and turn. As I do, I catch a glimpse of Luke also flipping over on his massage table. Only his lower half is covered by the sheets, and I see, for the first time, Luke’s shirtless upper body. He’s more built than I expect. I mean, it’s not like I thought he was flabby under those slim-flit shirts he wears. But I didn’t expect such a…well, a toned upper body.

  Not that it matters. I couldn’t care less how often Luke works out.

  I settle onto my back and close my eyes and pull my attention back to the massage. I do not think about Luke’s bare chest again. Not once.

  When our massages are over, and we’ve changed back into our street clothes, we meet up back at the spa’s front desk. Luke is walking upright now, without a trace of a pain on his face. As for me, I feel like a whole new, relaxed, glowy person.

  “How were your massages?” the honey-voiced woman asks.

  “Wonderful,” I say. Even my lips feel new.

  “Yeah, it was great,” says Luke, and starts to pull out his wallet. I tell him to stop, that I’ll get this, that I’m happy to take care of it. I pull out my credit card and slide it across the counter.

  “Your total today is five hundred,” says the honey-voiced woman. “Would you like to add a tip?”

  Five hundred dollars? Is she serious? I don’t—I can’t even—

  “We’ll actually be splitting the cost,” says Luke, placing his credit card firmly on the counter. “And the tip can go on my card. Let’s say forty.”

  “Thank you, sir,” says the woman.

  Outside of the hotel, in the bright sunlight, I stammer out an apology. “God, Luke. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would be that expensive. I wasn’t expecting it to be cheap, but five hundred dollars…”

  “Well, technically, it was only two-fifty each, before the tip. Practically a steal, huh?”

  I blow air out between my lips.

  “Come on, cheer up,” says Luke. “It’s not that big of a deal. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

  I check my phone. There are no messages from Catherine, so it seems safe to assume that they’re still on the hike.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Any cravings?”

  “Uh…something cheap? We could grab some canned Spam or something.”

  I’m joking, but I’m also not.

  Luke cranes his neck to look down the street. “Looks like there are a bunch of restaurants over there. Come on. Let’s go see what looks good. It’ll be my treat.”

  “Luke, you really don’t have to—”

  “Stop, Armstrong. I’m treating you to lunch, and
that’s final.”

  The way he says it makes it clear that there’s nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. And so I give in. We head down the block and decide to get a table at one of the restaurants that has patio seating and happy-looking diners. Along with our food, we each order one of the big blue cocktails that everyone’s drinking, which ends up tasting like happiness in a glass. By the end of our lunch, I’m even feeling glad to be here with Luke.

  13

  We’ve barely been back at the house for two minutes when Catherine pulls me aside and says we need to talk.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she says in a loud whisper. “Why’d you have to go get a couple’s massage?”

  I shrug. “What’s the big deal?”

  “I’m gifting a surprise couple’s massage to Mom and Dad.”

  “Um, okay?” I say. “So?”

  “So, it doesn’t make it as special if you and your boyfriend decide to go out and get one on a whim. It makes it seem like their surprise is an afterthought.”

  “Catherine, come on. I didn’t know. Besides, you’re overthinking—”

  “You would have known if you’d read the itinerary that I emailed out.”

  I roll my eyes. How can I not?

  “Oh, forget it. You’re impossible,” she says, and storms out.

  Catherine and I avoid each other for the rest of the day. With the house the size it is, it’s easy enough to do. The rest of the day passes by at a leisurely pace: we all hang out in the yard, we drink beers, we crack open a coconut that falls from one of the palm trees. Luke and Garrett have a long conversation about sports that I listen to briefly before tuning out. Dad asks me about work, and I shrug and say that it’s pretty much the same as always, then ask how things are going with the restaurant. We eat dinner outside that night, a meal of fish tacos and more beers.

  Later that evening, returning to our bedroom, Luke and I look at each other and then at the floor.

  “I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor,” Luke says. “You can take the bed again.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” I say. “Do you not remember how screwed up your back was today?”