Whether she’s noticed me watching her dance around the kitchen with Blake strapped to her chest or not doesn’t stop mefrom leaning against an exposed brick wall and taking in one of the best sights I’ve ever witnessed.
With Scott out of the question and Freya picking up extra hours, my volunteering to help Billie and Blake move didn’t carry the same guilt I usually feel when I think of excuses to spend more time with my best friend’s daughter. Like offering to take her out for lunch and choosing the best steakhouse in town because I knew the owners took their time over service and that would mean an extra half hour in her presence.
Secretly watching Billie whenever I get the chance though? I’m pretty sure that’s not fundamental to a successful house move, even if it’s impossible to tear my eyes from her.
Amy Winehouse’s “Tears Dry on Their Own” plays through the blue retro radio on the kitchen counter, and as Billie spins around to adjust the volume, her eyes connect with mine, bringing their dance session to an abrupt halt.
She turns down the music, and I push off the wall, making my way over to both of them.
“Don’t stop on my account,” I tell her, the broad smile I’m wearing reflected in my voice.
Billie moves some hair away from her forehead, a rosy tinge staining her cheeks. I can’t be sure if she’s embarrassed or flushed from an afternoon of moving boxes, but I know that I like that look on her, especially the sheen of perspiration making her flawless complexion glow.
Coming to stand a few feet in front of her, I push away inappropriate thoughts and shove my hands into the pockets of my gray sweatpants, restricting any urge I might have to suddenly reach up and swipe my thumb above her brow.
Billie Quinn is off-limits.
“I didn’t know you were into Amy Winehouse.” I bite down on my bottom lip when she flushes a little pinker, color traveling down the column of her throat. “Didn’t she die before you were even out of diapers?”
Billie deadpans in a way only she can, causing me to burst out laughing.
“Not true. And even if I wasn’t out of diapers, that doesn’t stop me from listening to every song of hers.”
She strokes a dainty hand through the soft, dark hairs atop Blake’s head.
“Is this one your favorite?” I tip my chin at the radio, still playing the same song.
She shakes her head, eyes following my arms when I fold them across my chest. Moving is hard work, and I removed my sweatshirt earlier, leaving me in a Dri-FIT shirt that hugs my toned abs. I probably should put my sweatshirt back on now that I’m starting to cool down, but I’m having too much fun watching Billie’s eyes.
Jesus, Emmett.
“‘Back to Black’is my favorite, but this song feels more fitting to my life right now.”
Billie’s response pulls me from my thoughts, and our eyes snap to each other.
“Fitting how?”
When Billie spins on her heel and heads for her bedroom, I figure it’s time for Blake’s nap.
I don’t move from the spot I’m standing in, patiently waiting for her to return so we can continue our conversation. I want to know what’s got her so twisted up.
“What did you mean when you said fitting?” I repeat my question as she emerges from the bedroom with a baby monitor.
Billie sets it down on the kitchen counter and then comes to stand in front of me, at least a few inches closer than we were before.
Pulling a black hairband from around her wrist, she throws her long, wavy hair into an effortless bun, hands slapping against her thighs when she’s done.
I should probably keep my eyes fixed on her face,but I’ve learned over the past few weeks that they like to betray me, along with my moral compass.
So, I check out the way her tight black leggings cling to her perfectly shaped legs.
“It’s just a female power ballad, one that makes me feel less shitty about Tucker and his new girlfriend.”
I almost swallow my tongue, quickly bursting out a, “What?”
Billie nods like this news is neither surprising nor a big deal, but I know it is. I can see it in the lines as they crease around her big green eyes. I know because she needs to hide her feelings and hurt over it in the first place.
That feeling is familiar for me, too, as is the need to disguise it.
