“Well, are you going to walk me home or not?”
“Oh.” He perks up, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
I try to bite back my grin as he jogs to catch up to me, slowing to a walk when he meets my side.
“Hi, by the way,” he says softly. “You look absolutely stunning.”
Well, fuck me.
“Thank you.”
“Are you cold?”
I should be cold. I’m wearing only a silk cocktail dress that lands at my knees and has a slit up my thigh, but I’m not. It’s a warmer night in Chicago, not to mention the blush taking over my entire body just from being around this man again.
Part of me is tempted to tell him that I am cold just to see if he’d offer me his henley and walk the rest of the way to my apartment shirtless.
Professional boundaries, Reese.
“I’m good. I’m actually kind of warm. So warm. I don’t need more clothes. I could take this dress off because that’s how warm I am right now.”
Stop. Talking.
My wide eyes shoot to his, finding him watching me with that stupid freaking smirk on his lips.
“Are you thinking of me naked right now?”
He offers me a single, slow nod. “Yes, I am.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Swallowing hard, I quicken my pace, needing to get home before I do something rash. But Emmett’s long legs hardly have to make an effort to keep up with my new pace.
It’s as if abstaining from his presence over the last week has only made me want him more. But this is not one of those romantic cases of distance making the heart grow fonder. This distance has only made me weaker.
“What’s the work emergency?” I ask, taking a sharp left onto my street.
And it’s then I realize I’ve never taken a man to my condo. I’ve never takenanyoneto my condo. Not that he’s comingintomy condo, but it’s become such a sanctuary for me after my divorce and taking over this new position that I’ve never taken anyone into my space, let alone allowed someone to know where I live.
This is fine. We’ll separate at the front door. Or maybe the lobby. Or maybe my elevator.
“I hope this emergency you’re referring to is an emergency apology,” I say, chin held high, quick tempo to my feet. “My inbox has been flooded with press requests, wanting the inside scoop about what happened with you and Harrison today.”
Emmett chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not apologizing for that.”
Never thought he actually would.
“And why is that?” I ask.
“Because I’m not sorry.”
Looking up, there’s not an ounce of apology on his features.
And fuck me, I like that too. I like that he’s owning it. I like that part of what happened during the game today happened because he was protecting me.
“The way I see it,” he says. “Now you can blame it on me. When you trade Harrison, and the media wants to give you shit for it, you can say it’s my fault. It’s right there on camera for everyone to see that he and the field manager weren’t getting along.”
