Double Exposure. Erin McCarthy

      4

      EMMA LOOKED OVER at Kyle, horrified. She had no house key. She didn’t keep a spare key outside her apartment because everyone knew that was the fastest way to get robbed. She had been on the police-blotter beat for six months and it had convinced her that a key under the welcome mat was a safety risk akin to jumping rope with a live power wire.

      Her next-door neighbor, Mr. Stein, had her spare key, but he was eighty-six years old and there was no way in hell she could ring his doorbell like this, painted green, with fast-food napkins stuck to her boobs. The man would die of a heart attack and she could not have that on her conscience. The only choice she really had was to go with Kyle and borrow a T-shirt and some basketball shorts.

      Lord help her.

      Shifting on the seat, hoping she wasn’t smearing paint onto the upholstery, she bit her lip. “Can I take a shower at your place? This paint is actually starting to pull on my skin.” As it had dried, it had tightened, and she had to admit, she was about done with the whole thing.

      Maybe once showered and clothed, she would be much less aware of Kyle and her own reaction to him. She crossed her legs tightly, wishing the deep ache between her thighs would ease up. Unfortunately, she suspected there was only one way to make it go away, and down that path lay disaster.

      Or ecstasy.

      Emma shook her head, irritated with herself. No. She could not. Would not. Ever. With Kyle. Not while they still worked together. She’d seen the results of fraternization between coworkers too often to be insane enough to fall into the same trap. There had been Jenny in Copy, who had slept with the head of Advertising after the holiday party and had been so embarrassed by her drunken enthusiasm that she’d quit. Bill and Stacey in their online department, who had been hot and heavy for two months, had broken up and wound up shooting staples at each other in their small shared office space. Dating, sex, love and relationships all made people emotional and irrational. It didn’t mix with work.

      Though one could argue she and Kyle didn’t technically work together. They just overlapped in the same office space. Which was a lame rationalization and she knew it. It would be hard to sit in a meeting with ten people if one of them had seen you naked.

      But Kyle had basically already seen her naked. She was almost naked right now.

      Emma dug her fingernails into her emerald knees. Why did it seem like all her reasoning was evaporating into thin air and they hadn’t even gotten to Kyle’s yet?

      She reminded herself that Claire would never be okay with an in-office affair between two staff writers. And if anyone would pay the price for it, it would most likely be her, since Claire was fond of Kyle. As in, Claire wanted to bang him herself, Emma was fairly certain.

      “Sure, of course you can take a shower. And I’m sure I have something you can wear home.” Kyle pulled out of the parking lot. “Man, I’m starving. I want to go through the drive-thru, but that’s probably not a good idea.”

      “No.” Emma shook her head vehemently. “Definitely not a good idea. They have cameras, you know.”

      Kyle laughed. “That would really get people at McDonald’s talking, huh? Good thing we don’t have that far to go. I live downtown.”

      It was a good thing, Emma realized, as they cruised to a stop at a red light. She glanced to her right and was met with the startled gaze of an older woman in the car next to them, her hands gripping the steering wheel. Before she opened her mouth to comment to Kyle that they were already getting people talking, the woman whipped out her cell phone and snapped a picture of Emma.

      Horrified, Emma simultaneously slouched down in her seat and yelled at the woman. “Hey! You can’t do that! Delete that! Delete!”

      Realizing the woman probably couldn’t hear her, she hit the button for the window to glide down and pointed, gesturing to the phone and making frantic throat-cutting motions in what she hoped was the universal language for “get rid of that shit.”

      “What’s the matter?” Kyle asked.

      “She took my picture!” Emma felt the heat of mortification flushing her green cheeks. The woman was resolutely looking in the other direction, clearly having no intention of deleting anything.

      “No one will recognize you. And she couldn’t have gotten anything from the neck down.”

      “Somebody could recognize me!” As the light turned green and Kyle started driving, Emma flipped the visor down and angled it so she could see herself in the mirror. What she saw had her gasping in horror. My God, it was worse than she’d thought. “I look...insane,” she said, feeling faint.

      Her hair was shot out in all directions, the paint acting as a holding gel, her face the bright emerald green of the rest of her body, with the whites of her eyes and her teeth gleaming in stark contrast. The napkins tufted up from her chest. “I look like a frog eating barbecue!”

      Kyle started laughing so hard he ended up coughing. After a second, Emma flipped the mirror shut and felt the corners of her mouth turning up. Maybe it was a little funny. Besides, his laughter was infectious. He laughed with zero restraint, deep from his gut. Emma couldn’t even remember the last time she had laughed like that.

      “It’s not funny!” she protested, even as she started giggling. He was right. No one would ever recognize her. That was a definite positive.

      “Oh, yes, it is,” he managed to say between chuckles. “I’ve never heard anyone describe themselves in quite that way, and the hilarious thing is, it’s true.”

      “Oh, it is, is it?” Emma exclaimed, unable to deny the ridiculousness of the situation. “Thanks a lot!” She peeled one of the napkins off her breast, balled it up and threw it at him.

      It bounced off his green chest. He just laughed harder, but he did give a token “ow.”

      “Be quiet. There is no way that hurt.”

      Kyle glanced at her and his eyes bugged out. With a finger he reached over and pointed, stopping a few inches short of touching her. “You left some napkin behind.”

      Emma glanced down and couldn’t hold in a sharp burst of laughter. It just got better and better. Now she had a piece of napkin stuck to her nipple. “Are we there yet?” she asked, because really, what else was there to say?

      Kyle grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, yes. We’re pulling into my building now.”

      “Thank you, baby Jesus.” Before any other Sunday drivers decided to immortalize her on the internet.

      Kyle lived in an old warehouse that had clearly been turned into chichi apartments. Normally Emma would have loved a leisurely stroll around the building to admire its brick-and-iron architecture, but today she just wanted to get behind a closed door without anyone else seeing her.

      That was too much to ask for, though. Almost immediately when they stepped out of the car, they encountered a man who was potentially homeless, given his layers of crusty denim and flannel, despite the warm June day. He pushed a shopping cart. Emma figured her hair was on par with this guy’s, which was matted and uneven. Trying not to make eye contact, she crossed her arms over her chest and let Kyle usher her toward the door.

      The shopping cart’s squeaky wheels quieted as the cart slowed down, the man probably gawking at the picture they made.

      “Damn hippies,” they heard him grumble.

      As