Page 54 of The Summer I Destroyed You

You STARTED that conversation.

Yes, but a gentleman would have refused to participate in it.

She’s right. I’m going to stop. I put my phone away just as Melanie’s friend leaves, and I spend the rest of the meal listening to Melanie talk about how much she hates cancer.

I sort of thought everyone hated cancer.

Melanie goes to the bathroom while I pay the bill. Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone again.

So, is there a reason you’re texting me about my dick on a Wednesday night?

The Princess

Maybe it’s because I’ve been wet for hours thinking about how you might put it to use.

Bullshit. You’re just trying to mess up my date.

Seems to me that you’re the one messing it up by texting another woman, but I can provide proof. Hang on.

I wait, my whole body tied in knots, to see what she’ll say next. I know she’s just trying to bait me, but it’s fucking working anyway.

There’s nothing I want in the entire world right now more than a glimpse of her proof.

Melanie comes out, and I tuck my phone away before I walk her to her car. “I had such a nice time,” she says. “It’s cool that we both surf.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I’m already edging away. “Thanks for coming out.”

Her smile starts to fade as she realizes the date didn’t go so well after all. I’m being rude, I guess, but I can’t bring myself to care. I wave to her and turn toward my truck, already pulling out my vibrating phone.

Emerson’s sent a photo—I see a long leg stretched above her desk and suspended from one heel—a thong.

A thong with a tiny wet spot dead in the center.

Fuck.

She’s at the office right now in those fucking heels with her panties off.

And I’m tired of being toyed with.

28

EMMY

I’ve never sent a nude in my life, but this photo could prove pretty embarrassing too. And the bigger question is why I sent it.

Why am I fucking up his date? Liam’s a good guy. He deserves some sweet, devoted girlfriend who makes sure he hasn’t fallen through a roof at the end of each day. Why does it bother me so much when I have no intention of being sweet or devoted myself, and I work way too many hours to consistently monitor his roof issues?

I don’t know. But I’ve had a pit in my stomach since he said he had a date, and that pit grew immeasurably when he walked out the door this evening as if he’d given up on me. I just wanted to fight with him a little. I wanted to give that string between us a little tug to see if he was still holding the other end.

And he was.

I open up the laptop and begin watching more of the interviews for the grocery manager’s position. While I’m not normally involved to this extent, everything in our attempt to win Lucas Hall has to be perfect. I refuse to throw it all off track because some new manager with a snotty attitude is making us look bad.

I’ve watched the interviews of four lackluster candidates when the front door wooshes open.

I grab scissors and have barely climbed to my feet when Liam enters the office. His eyes are black in the dim light. There’s not a hint of a smile on his face.

“Come here, Emerson,” he says. “And put down the scissors.”

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