His body is as hard as stone, the strong, fast beat of his heartunmistakable as I whisper, “Anything we say to each other will never go any further. I promise you that.”
He debates telling me for a moment; I can see the war in his eyes.
“No.” He wraps his hand around mine, dropping our joined hands down between us. “This is the one and only time I’ll ever speak to you about how I feel.” His eyes rove my apartment. “I’ll stay tonight, share a pizza with you, and help you unpack, and then I’ll leave, and we’ll never talk about any of this again. You got that?”
“But?”
“No buts, Billie.” He interlaces our fingers, jaw ticcing and under strain. “This is the way it has to be, and I’m not going to change my mind. I’m freshly divorced, and you have your whole life to live in a new place with Blake.”
Against my own will, I breathe a soft, “Okay.”
When he releases our hands, I feel the loss, like I’m standing outside in the pouring rain, the heat previously coursing through my body immediately doused in cold.
Like he’s retreating, Emmett takes a step back from me, hands sliding straight into his pockets.
“Okay, cool.” He turns on his heel, ripping a large brown box open in one easy motion. “Show me where you want to store your skillet.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMMETT
Scott
Hey, buddy. Are you still good for tomorrow night? Freya wants to finalize numbers.
Sitting on my bench in the white towel I wrapped around me at least ten minutes ago, I continue to stare down at the message from Scott. It’s Freya’s birthday tomorrow night, and each year, she hosts a full dinner party to celebrate.
Friends and neighbors will be there, including Maria.
Although it’s not the prospect of seeing my ex-wife that has my ass glued to the bench and head spinning out.
It’s been a week since I walked out of Billie’s apartment at one a.m., and we haven’t spoken since. By the time I left, all her major boxes and cases were unpacked, even if the same couldn’t be said for the true depths of my feelings.
Just admitting my attraction to her was a mistake. The second the confession left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. Not because I didn’t mean every word. Jesus, I wanted to go a lot further than simply pointing out how stunning she was. Regardless,telling her with my words or showing her with my body would have moved us into dangerous territory, and there’s no hiding away now that the cat’s out of the bag.
And if I’d ever questioned whether or not she felt the same way, then her reaction laid any of those doubts to rest.
We’re into each other, and there’s no denying it. The difference is, I know that my feelings for this girl run deeper than surface level, and that’s a scary fucking thought. Not least of which because I shouldn’t even find Billie attractive, never mind have her laugh and smile on repeat in my brain as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling in the dead of night.
Scott’s text arrived over three hours ago, and I’ve typed out multiple responses since, all without hitting Send. The first was a direct question, asking if Billie would be there; another where I tried to surreptitiously find out the guest list; and a final text, where I admitted everything to him. That draft got deleted in record time.
I’ve lost count of the number of occasions I’ve stood in the shower, braced my palm against the cold tiles, and gazed down at my hard dick, desperate to jerk off to thoughts of how well Billie would swallow me, how good it would be to bury my face between her sweet thighs. The flush of pink that so often painted her cheeks would turn crimson as she unraveled beneath me, right after I punished her for giving me back talk.
“I’m assuming you don’t have press duties tonight.” Archer takes his usual seat next to me on the bench, wet hair dripping onto my phone screen.
I side-eye him, and he swipes a quick hand over it, snapping away droplets of water.
“You played well tonight,” he says, bracing both elbows on his knees.
I don’t respond because it’s bullshit. We kept a shutout against Boston, but it wasn’t the performance I needed. Every other length, it felt like my knee was going to give out.
“Want to talk about it?” Archer’s usually playful voice is way more serious when he tips his chin at my phone.
I continue to stare down at Scott’s message right before I give up on a reply and toss my cell into my bag.
“It’s not really something I can talk about,” I confirm, mimicking his stance. “The last thing I needed in life was more complications, but somehow, I’ve managed to find them.”
“Or they’ve found you …”
