Page 6 of The Fake Out

As I stood at the door, his mouth moved, words that I couldn’t catch passing quickly through his lips.

It wouldn’t shock me if he was talking to himself. It seemed on par.

That thought left me as I got another whiff of the delicious aroma wafting around me. The smell screamed alfredo, which was one of my faves.

When I came back to my senses, he was still talking. That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t catching the words because he was speaking in Spanish. He’d grown up in Puerto Rico, so it made sense. Quietly, so as not to interrupt him, I slipped over to the fridge to grab a water.

“Come say hi,” Emerson said in English, his green eyes focused on me. “Otherwise they’ll accuse me of sneaking a girl around my apartment, and my mother will give me a lecture about not stealing free eggs.” With that, he shifted his attention back to the counter and his phone, that I now realized was balanced against a bottle of olive oil. “This is Chris’s sister, Gianna.”

With one long arm, he pulled me close. His fingers skimmed the strip of bare skin between my sweater and leggings before he grasped my hip, holding me in place. The warmth of his palm heated my skin, even through my thin black pants.

I tensed at first, unused to physical contact. But I forced myself to relax as he pulled me closer so that I appeared on-screen beside him. A different spice hit my nose as his solid body pressed lightly against my own, causing my stomach to flip.

I swallowed hard and willed my body to remain relaxed. I’d never been this close to him. And I wasn’t sure I liked it. My last two boyfriends hadn’t been super touchy outside of sex, and after so long, apparently, my body didn’t know how to react to a normal touch.

“Hi!” came a chorus of female voices. And I was met with smiling faces and bright, happy eyes that matched Emerson’s. A mix of browns and greens.

“These are my sisters, Isabella, and Yevette, and my mom.” As he introduced them, he tilted his head just enough that his breath skated along my cheek.

I cleared my throat and tried not to inhale his intoxicating scent. “Uh. Hi?”

“Wow, I totally didn’t expect you,” one of his sisters said. She looked younger than the other. Maybe seventeen.

“How do you make your hair do that?” This from the other sister, who couldn’t have been much more than eighteen herself.

“You have really long lashes,” the first said.

My stomach knotted a little tighter with each comment. I wasn’t sure whether they were dishing out compliments or criticisms. Teenagers were hard to read. Before I could decipher their intentions, a male appeared, hovering behind the three women, standing a head taller than them. He narrowed his eyes, then he snickered and said something I didn’t understand.

Emerson’s mom whacked the guy in the chest, and in response, he barked out a laugh and shook his head.

“Enough.” Emerson chuckled easily. “Chris and Avery are going to be here soon, so I’m hanging up. Love you all.”

As the crowd on the other side of the screen shouted Spanish phrases, he ended the call, and the room went quiet.

“My brother Andre was the guy who showed up at the end. I love them all, literally couldn’t pick a favorite, but they are a lot.” With a shrug, he dropped his arm from my waist.

At the loss of his touch, my skin cooled, and a shiver coursed through me. It was almost like I missed it.

Get a grip Gianna. People were always weird around my brother now that he played professional baseball. There was no way I’d act like that with Emerson.

With a shake of my head, I wandered over to the stove and peeked into the saucepan. “Are you making dinner?”

Nerves skittered through me. What was I supposed to do if I didn’t have to make dinner?

He chuckled again. “Somebody should, and we can be sure your brother won’t.”

Of course Chris wouldn’t cook. The man couldn’t even scramble eggs.

I snorted, and a wisp of my asymmetrical bangs floated into my eyes. Without a pause, Emerson brushed them back, his fingertips gently skimming along my temple.

Our eyes met and locked, and a strange warmth spread through me. From this close, I could make out a small fleck in his right iris. He froze in place, his teeth pressing into his lower lip as his hand hovered just above my shoulder.

The air in the kitchen electrified, and his lips parted like he might say something, but before he could, the door opened, and we jumped apart.

“Bambi?” my brother called, stepping into the room.

Emerson spun toward the stovetop, blinking and swallowing audibly. Completely ignoring Chris, he cracked the knuckles on one hand, then the other. Odd. He almost seemed nervous. Or was he uncomfortable?

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