As I watchedthe message disappear into the void between us, it felt like she was farther away than ever, but her response came faster than I’d expected.
Emma: I’ll let you know.
That was it. No heart emoji, although she only used it occasionally. No teasing sign-off. Just four words that landed with a hollow thud inside my chest.
I let my arm fall to the mattress. My phone was still clutched loosely in my hand as I moved my gaze back to the ceiling again. Something about our messages these last few weeks felt thinner. More superficial. Like the thread between Emma and me had frayed while I hadn’t been looking.
And God help me, I hate how relieved that makes me feel.
I squeezed my eyes shut, exhaling sharply through my nose. Five years. That was what I was so relieved to lose. Five fucking years of my life, the last few of which I’d practically been abstinent.
In the beginning of our relationship, it had just been a cyber thing. A friendship that had been growing but no more. Back then, I’d been the same as my brothers and cousins, avoiding all emotional attachment while plowing through one woman after another when the mood struck.
God, we’re assholes. All of us. Every last one.
But even so, I’d thought of it as a necessary evil. Not even Uncle Harlan had started with his ultimatums in those days, so while we’d all known what was probably coming, there had been no due date. No deadline. It had simply seemed easier just to satisfy my urges and get the hell out.
Until one day, when I’d been about to bring a woman home with me, a message had come through from Emma moments before we’d left for my place. My fleeting interest in the one-night stand had drained out of me when I’d seen Emma’s name, and ever since, I just hadn’t gone back.
My chest tightened as I remembered Kate against those couch cushions. The sound of her breathless gasp when I’d lifted her up echoed in my ears. The heat of her body still warmed me. I remembered how soft she was. How fucking wet.
I groaned and dragged my forearm over my eyes like I could physically block out the memories. Some miracle of self-preservation had slammed the brakes before Kate and I had crossed that final line and I was grateful for it. I was.
But shit.
It was like walking up to your favorite Italian restaurant, stomach roaring with hunger, and only having the bread they serve before the meal. Sure, it’s great fucking bread, worth making the trip for all on its own. But it’s not the chicken parm your heart really wants.
I stared into the darkness, my cock straining against my shorts as her moans sped through my mind. Turning onto my side, I looked at the faint outline of the city lights bleeding through the curtains. Chicago glittered beyond the glass, indifferent to the fact that my personal life had gone to shit.
I probably should’ve been thinking about Emma. About finally meeting her on Sunday. About five years of history that deserved more than the fractured attention I was giving it right now, but my brain kept circling back to the way Kate’s new ring—my mother’s ring—had caught the light when she’d twisted her hand in the car. How soft, almost shy, her voice had gotten when she’d said maybe we could try being friends.
A humorless laugh slid out of me at the thought. Approximately two minutes after she’d said it, my mouth had been on hers and we’d done things to each otherfriendstypically didn’t.
I rolled onto my back again, pressing the heel of my palm against my hardening dick. “Get it together, Nate. Come on.”
In roughly forty-eight hours, I’d be in New York, standing in the same city as the woman I’d built half my emotional life around, and all I could think about was my fiancée. My soon-to-be wife.
The woman I was apparently becoming addicted to one heartbeat at a time, because the longer I lay there, the more I wanted her—and only her. With a need that was so overwhelming that I eventually just gave into it.
The next morning, I knocked on Kate’s door earlier than necessary, mostly because sleep had been a joke and staring at my ceiling had stopped being productive around five a.m. I shifted my weight, running a hand through my hair and debating whether I should’ve texted first when the door suddenly swung open.
Kate was already fully dressed, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder and a small suitcase standing behind her like she’d been waiting for me.
“Oh,” I said.
“Good morning to you, too,” she replied, adjusting her grip on the suitcase handle. Her tone was lighter than I’d expected, but her eyes flicked over my face quickly before darting away, like she was checking for something and didn’t want to linger long enough to find it.
“You’re ready,” I finally managed.
Kate in jeans and a fitted shirt was a sight to behold, though. She arched an eyebrow at me. “You said early, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think you’d take it as a challenge.”
The corners of her lips curved into a smile, but it vanished as quickly as it’d appeared, the silence that followed strangely foreign between us.
Kate Vanderhaul had never been quiet a day in her life, at least not around me. I reached for her overnight bag automatically and our fingers brushed during the exchange, thecontact brief and accidental, but it still somehow sent a jolt straight up my arm.
She noticed it too, her shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly, but neither of us acknowledged it. I transferred her bag to my shoulder and reached for her suitcase.
