Miss me, Miller?
Me
Nah. I can still see you when I close my eyes.
Redheaded Assassin
I have no clue what you’re talking about.
I’ll be there in a second. The Metro broke down.
Me
It’s freezing out.
I have a second vehicle parked in the garage at my place. You can borrow it.
Redheaded Assassin
No thanks. I don’t like owing people things.
Me
Like your underwear?
Redheaded Assassin
I might kill you for those. They’re my favorite pair.
Me
Interesting.
Mine too.
“What’s so funny?” Hudson looks over my shoulder. “Did I miss a message in the group chat?”
“Nope.” I click my phone off. “You ready to throw some axes?”
Before he can answer me, the door to the building opens. Emerson waltzes into the lobby in a pair of leather pants, boots that come up to her knees, and a sweater that hangs off her right shoulder.
It gives me a nice view of the bite mark I left on her neck the other night, and I grin at the sight of her.
“Is that Emerson Hartwell?” The kid behind the counter stands up, and his stool goes flying. “Oh my god. She’s my favorite player in the league. Holy shit. Is she going to come over here? Can I say hi? Will she give me her autograph?”
“Ask her yourself. Hey, Red,” I call out, and she glances my way. There’s a half a second where I think her eyes sparkle, but then she blinks, and her usual cool indifference settles into place. “Come here. Someone wants to meet you.”
She shuffles past the guys who all say hello to her. There are a couple of hugs. A couple of high-fives. She and Ethan do some sort of secret handshake that involves wiggling their fingers and bumping their hips, and I’m jealous of the attention everyone is getting.
“What’s up?” she asks when she finally makes it to the desk.
“This is Kevin,” I say, looking at his name tag. “He’s a big fan of yours.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Do you think you could—” He gulps down a breath. “Sign something for me? That’s not a legally binding waiver?”
“Of course.”
