I can tell. Wiping down the kitchen counter, I toss the cloth into the sink and rest my hands against the sides, gripping them tightly.
We’re getting there.
I’m getting there. I don’t know why I feel so… restless. Blowing out a breath, I listen to the sound of Emmy moving around in the bedroom after her shower.
And then I try to think about something else. Anything else.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I go for my bag instead of walking in there after her, pulling out a notepad and searching for a pen.
Lesson plans. A distraction.
There is nothing stopping you.
I can’t find a pen. “Em? Have you got a spare pen anywhere?”
“In the sideboard,” she calls back. “Middle drawer.”
Grabbing a black pen from the open packet, my fingers brush something smooth. I glance at it briefly and then away, before my eyes return to it.
Carefully, I lift it out.
The glossy picture of Brazil is clearly pulled from a magazine of some sort. But that’s not what catches my eye. It’s the small note, scribbled in the corner.
One day.
The curling letters stand out as Emmy’s handwriting.
“It’s getting late,” Emmy murmurs. “Come to bed.”
I close the drawer, turning to her. “Em—,”
Shit.
She leans against the door, her arms crossed. One eyebrow raises, a slow smile curling her lips. “See something you like?”
I’ve seen her in a hundred different outfits at this point. Every single version of Emmy makes my heart beat that little bit faster.
But this one… my mouth goes dry.
She lifts her foot, rubbing the material against her other leg. “I forgot to do my washing. You don’t mind, do you? I’ve never seen you wear this one.”
Vague memories of putting clean pajamas in her drawers float away into the back of my mind like confetti on the wind. I shake my head. “I don’t mind.”
The words are a croak.
She’s wearing my shirt. The soft white cotton is buttoned over bare skin, several buttons left undone at the top and giving me a glimpse of the curve of her breasts. Emmy’s hair is loose, caramel strands trailing over her shoulders and curling gently. The shirt brushes the tops of her thighs, leaving miles of creamy leg on show, and my groan slips free before I can stop it.
The small smile on her lips grows. “You’re staring, Jared.”
Of course I am. “Because you’re fucking beautiful.”
Andmine. My cock hardens behind my sweatpants.
I’m holding my breath as she steps forward. Emmy walks up to me, her hands slipping around my waist and her cheek pressed to my bare chest.
Listening to my heartbeat.
I almost think that’ll be it. That we’ll head to bed, curl up together. But she turns her cheek, and I inhale as her lips press to my skin.
