He also does a good job at differentiating between those two instances, a trait I’d imagine he developed by raising a daughter.
As we make our way to the elevator, he takes two plastic cups by the water station and pours our drinks into them, handing me my wine once again. We go two floors up to the casino level and as soon as the elevator doors open, cigarette smoke chokes the air.
It’s even louder than the ballroom was downstairs, so when Emmett puts his hand on my lower back to usher me through the swarm of people, he has to lean in even closer to say, “Outside.”
He keeps his fingertips pressed into me, guiding me through the drunken crowd. It’s an eclectic group. Bachelorette parties. Twenty-first birthday parties. Some random guy who looks like he just lost his life savings at a blackjack table.
Vegas is weird.
I’m buzzed, but definitely not drunk enough for this. But then Emmett slips his arm around my waist because there’re way too many people we’re attempting to move through. And it’s then I realize that, nope, I am drunk enough for this. Because I’m not trying to pull away from him.
The outside air is by no means fresh, but it’s so much better than the stale recycled air in the casino. Our hotel is right on the main strip, so though it’s late already, the sky is still illuminated from all the Vegas lights.
“Are your feet okay to walk?”
I look down at my heels. “I could run a marathon in these babies.”
I couldn’t even finish a marathon in running shoes, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m sure you could, Reese. Walk with me, then.”
“Are you going to ask me about my ex-husband while we’re on this walk?”
“There’re a lot of things I want to ask you while we’re on this walk. I didn’t know you were married before.”
“That’s not a question.” I take another long sip of my wine from my plastic cup like the fancy bitch I am. “And of course you didn’t know that. There’re a lot of things we don’t know about each other.”
Looking down, he arches his brow at me. “Maybe we should change that.”
Fuck me, he looks good in that suit. Perfectly fitted to his wide body, tatted hands spilling out past the cuffs at his wrist. And thick thighs that want to test the durability of the fabric in the way it pulls across his muscular legs as he takes each step.
And no baseball hat tonight, letting me witness his handsome face without the shadow of a brim to conceal it.
“Did you know he was going to be here?” Emmett asks.
“I assumed he might be. I heard he had a new position in the commissioner’s office. Hey, look! Isaiah and Kennedy got married there.” I point at a small white chapel, recognizing it from a particular newspaper article.
Without paying attention, I step off the curb to cross the street and almost eat shit as I do.
“Okay.” Emmett loops an arm around my waist to steady me. “So much for that marathon.”
“It’s not my fault that I’m buzzed. No one would talk to me. I got bored. I was nervous. And why am I telling you anything?”
“You don’t have to tell me shit, Reese. But I like the idea of you starting to talk to me again.”
Arm still around me, he leads me into a different hotel. The air isn’t as stale here. The crowd isn’t as rowdy. Near the entrance, there’s a small cocktail bar that’s hidden and quiet. Emmett gets us a spot in the back where two plush chairs face one another. He orders us another round before he sits and gives me every ounce of his attention.
His position is widespread and sprawled out, his legs open around mine. The outsides of my knees kiss the insides of his in a way that feels far too intimate because he’s my employee, so I cross one leg over the other to buy myself some space.
But then Emmett leans his elbows on his knees, crowding me again, and I don’t have it in me to lie to myself a second time by pretending I don’t like it.
I’ve truly never felt small in my life, but the way this man’s body covers mine in this protective manner has me thinking that if I ever gave myself permission to feel fragile, it’d be safe to do so here.
“So talk to me,” he urges.
My lips are loose tonight. “Jeremy is kind of a prick. He doesn’t come off that way, but—”
“Oh, no. Trust me. He comes off that way,” Emmett interrupts. “Did you get him a job?”
