I pocket my phone and join my team in celebrating oursix-game winning streak.And tomorrow, I find out if I can have the one thing I want more than the Cup.
34
JOELLE
I'm standing outside Emmett's apartment door trying to remember how to breathe. My hand is raised to knock, and has been for thirty seconds. Maybe longer. This is insane. I should leave. Text him I changed my mind and go home and pretend none of this ever happened. But I can't, because despite every logical reason to walk away, I want this. I want him, and have wanted him since London and I'm so tired of fighting it.
I knock.
The door swings open immediately. Emmett stands there in dark jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look almost silver in the dim light. His hair is damp, like he just got out of the shower. I can smell his soap, something clean and masculine that makes my stomach flip.
"Hey," he says, his voice gravelly.
"Hey."
For a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other, the air between us crackling with everything we haven't said.
"You came," he finally says, looking relieved.
"I did.” My stomach somersaults.
"I wasn't sure you would."
“I wasn’t sure either,” I confess.
He nods, steps back, and invites me in. I walk past him, his scent wraps around me, that fresh clean soap smell and something else. Him. And then I see his apartment.
"Oh my god." I gasp.
The lights are dimmed, candles scattered everywhere.Battery operated ones, don’t want to burn the apartment down.The dining table is set with actual china plates and matching wine glasses. There's a bouquet of white roses in the center. Music plays softly from his speakers, something jazzy and low.
"Emmett ..."
"I know it's a lot," he says, closing the door and walking toward me. "I asked the building concierge for help. Told her I needed to impress someone."
My heart does this stupid stuttering thing in my chest.
"You didn't have to …"
"I did." He turns me to face him. "This isn't just dinner, Jo.”
I can't speak, can barely think, because he's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters, and it's terrifying and perfect and … I want it.I want him.
"Come on." He takes my hand, leads me to the table, and pulls out my chair. I sit and watch him pour wine. His hands are steady, mine would be shaking, they are shaking.
"I'll be right back," he says.
He disappears into the kitchen and returns with two plates, perfectly seared steak and roasted vegetables
"You made this?"
“Yes.”
We eat, the food is incredible, the wine is smooth and expensive. We talk about safe things, the game, the streak. How Sully almost got into a fight with Ottawa's left wing. But underneath it all is this current, this awareness, every time hiseyes meet mine. I'm halfway through my steak when I can't take it anymore.
"Emmett," I burst out.
He sets down his fork. "Yes.” He looks slightly confused by my sudden outburst.
