Page 87 of The Fake Out

“Then don’t ask me a question you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Because somewhere along the way, vague answers and omissions had turned into lies and actively hiding shit from my best friend. Although I hated it, I wasn’t willing to give Gi up yet, and I couldn’t apologize or be remorseful if I wasn’t sorry. So hopefully Chris would never find out. If he did? Then maybe it would be far enough down the road that I could fake an acceptable reaction.

“For the record, we aren’t telling Gi about this until we get there.” I had been forced to tell Chris and Avery. When Wren texted to tell me she needed to get them over to the auction for presale photos, I was in Minneapolis, so I had no choice but to ask for their help.

“Oh, this is going to be such a shit show.” Kyle laughed. “Can I come?”

“I would have made dinner,” I said, looking at Emerson working in the kitchen. “You had a game today.”

“I like feeding people.” Shrugging, he held up a spoon for me.

“What is it?” I asked, eyeing the yellow mush on the spoon and taking half a step back.

“Mofongo.” He chuckled at my reaction.

Returning to where I had been, I forced myself to unscrunch my nose.

“It’s not poison. It’s garlic mashed plantain. Try it.” He lifted the spoon higher.

I parted my lips for a small taste. It wasn’t bad. Like a potato, but richer. It didn’t have a lot of flavor, but the garlic gave it a savory taste.

“It’s good.”

“Chris likes it. And he loves the fried pork on top.”

Apparently, my brother had invited himself over for dinner tonight. He and Avery had done it a few times since I’d moved in, so it wasn’t totally out of the blue. But it had been a while since they were here. And rather than just showing up like they usually do, they actually gave Em a heads-up.

“Can I do anything for you?” The plates were stacked by the stove, and he looked like he had the food managed, but I’d feel guilty if he did all the work himself.

In true Emerson fashion, he glanced over his shoulder and waggled his brow.

Huffing, I shook my head. “If Chris is on his way, then anything that results in that kind of happy face is off the table.”

He full-on laughed, the sound one I’d come to love. And it managed to always make me respond with an answering smile of my own. Even on a bad day. Not that today was bad. The last few days had been uneventful. I hadn’t had to deal with Jake at all, and I’d worked on a logo for a pitch next week and a full branding project that was due the week after.

I had finalized the logo for Dylan a few days before, and she was thrilled with it, so that was off my plate. The only stressor still eating at me was the apartment situation. But at this point, I could admit that I was actively putting off the hunt. Every time I thought about it, the idea of locking into a lease gave me a stomachache. So I was in full-on avoidance. Though I had to face reality soon. Eventually, my brother would want to get rid of this place, since he was living with Avery.

Emerson had turned back to the stove, his broad, bare shoulders on display. A shirt was in a heap on the counter for when Avery and Chris arrived, but he rarely wore a shirt at home, and I wasn’t complaining. Until the idea of leaving popped up again. I had a lot of complaints about that.

“Is this more of a wine meal or beer?” I pulled open the fridge and ducked to peruse its contents.

“Beer,” he said from behind me, “but I’ll have water.”

I grabbed an IPA out of the fridge for myself and filled a glass with water for him.

He’d probably prefer the beer, but lately, he’d been following his diet plan pretty strictly, only stealing a sip of my beer or wine here or there. His game was on fire, his on base percentage was the highest of his career, and he was leading the league in steals, but none of that stopped him from pushing himself. The lack of a contract was eating at him. And it hurt to know there was nothing I could do about it.

I popped the top of my beer, and as I set his water on the counter next to him, he snaked an arm out and pulled me in tight.

“One more before your brother gets here.” His mouth settled against mine. But instead of the peck I anticipated, he cuffed the back of my neck, locking me in against him. He coaxed my lips open and invaded my mouth. Teasing me. Tempting me with an idea he had no time to follow through with.

With his other hand, he grabbed my ass, fingers biting into me as he squeezed. He slipped a thigh between my legs, and I rocked against him. The groan that vibrated deep in his chest in response to that move flipped my stomach. When he swatted my ass, I moaned.

Maybe we had time…

“Em.” I whimpered against his lips.

Instead of tightening his grasp, he pulled back, releasing me.

---