Page 36 of Clipped Wings

Emma was a good person. She stayed out of trouble and volunteered. Not just to get into Columbia, either. She’d spent this past spring working at a soup kitchen in the Bronx for no reason other than she wanted to give back.

I placed my hand on the small of Emma’s back, guiding her toward the front of the restaurant. We were almost to the door when someone called her name, and she halted.

“Emma Marshall?”

The voice belonged to a young man around Emma’s age. He was good-looking in a preppy, generic sort of way—styled blond hair, deep blue blazer, clean hands. He walked toward us from the sunken dining area, a grin engulfing his face. I had to bite the inside of my cheek at the way his eyes were glued to Emma.

“Jamie?” Emma answered, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Much to my chagrin, she let go of my hand and gave the little git an affable hug. From the way he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms low, he didn’t want a simple friendship. Who the hell was this guy? Emma only had one boyfriend in her past and he was dead.

Emma broke the hug before I could give into the urge to rip the stranger’s hands off.

“My parents came to town for my birthday,” he explained, glancing somewhat nervously at me. He’d just noticed that I was standing right beside her. “I’m more of a pizza in the park kind of guy, but they insisted.”

“Same,” Emma agreed, turning to me. “This is my boyfriend, Jack O’Connell. Jack, this is Jamie Carlyle.”

Reluctant, I held my hand out for Jamie to shake.

“Jesus,” Jamie said, eyeing me with trepidation. “You’re… I mean… Do you work out?”

“I fight,” I said, hoping he got the memo.

“He owns a gym,” Emma clarified, pulling my hand from Jamie’s and inserting her own. There was a warning in her tone. “Jamie and I take a lot of the same classes at Columbia. He’s a history major as well.”

“Wonderful,” I replied bitterly, but Jamie’s attention had already returned to Emma.

“A few of us are going through the course catalog in a couple weeks if you want to join,” Jamie said. “I’m trying to avoid Professor Callahan this semester if I can.”

A blush crept up Emma’s neck. I knew where her mind had strayed—we’d fucked on Professor Callahan’s desk at the beginning of the year.

“Sure, I’ll see if I can make it,” Emma rasped.

Jamie’s face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. I wanted to stomp on that hope with my heel, irked that Emma had a common interest with this bloke. She was serious about her education. It was something I was proud of her for, but I never quite understood the appeal. Clearly, Jamie did.

“I have your number. I’ll send you the details.”

“Thanks. Good to see you, Jamie.”

Jamie opened his mouth to say something else, but Emma turned around, yanking my arm toward the door. I guided her onto the busy street. It was sweltering even with the absence of the sun. I wanted a cool night with Emma all to myself. I hadn’t even been to my apartment yet. I could still feel the jet’s circulated air on my skin. And I missed my damn cat.

“Why the hell does that beta have your number?” I asked, keeping my tone level. It wasn’t Emma’s fault she was attractive, and I didn’t want to ruin the evening I had set aside. I didn’t know how much time I’d be able to devote to us in the near future.

“It’s for school, Jack. I had to borrow some notes last year because I missed a few classes.”

Internally, I slapped myself. She’d missed those classes because she had been with me. Unbeknownst to me, I’d put her in connection with the kid—and now he was foaming at the mouth.

“He wants to jump your bones.”

Emma sighed. “I’m not going to whatever study group he has anyway. I can read a course catalog all by myself, thank you very much.”

Fine. I would drop the discussion, but I’d have Eoghan run a background check on the bastard just in case. If Emma was going to be in the same classes as him, I wanted to know who was fawning over my girl.

“By the way,” Emma started as I texted the driver to let him know we were ready, “even if Jamie does have a crush on me, you have no right to be jealous.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why is that?”

“‘Faye is unreliable at best’,” she snarked, repeating my words from weeks ago. “You know her on an intimate level, don’t you? Thanks for the heads-up. She couldn’t wait to throw that in my face the moment you left.”

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