Page 34 of The Fake Out

Shit. I halted all movement and shut my eyes, breathing in a long breath to calm myself down.

A warm palm pressed into my arm, garnering my attention. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a set of bright red nails against my bare skin.

She reached out and took the bowl from me. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Her damp hair hung around her shoulders, and her face was shower fresh. Water still clung to her eyelashes. Nothing like the perfect hair and makeup she normally sported, but she was just as beautiful. And standing this close to her made my heart race.

“I’m gonna throw clothes on.” She set her bowl on the dresser, then shuffled into the closet and shut the door. I wanted to follow her. See the white towel fall to the floor. Touch the skin she kept hidden beneath it. I wanted to bury my head between her thighs while I devoured her pussy. Relish the taste of her as she came all over my face, screaming my name.

“Want to hang with us while we get her ready?” Linc’s voice startled me back to the moment.

I cleared my throat as I blinked at the closet door. “Sure.” Then, with a long breath out, I dropped to the bed. Apparently, I was a complete glutton for punishment.

“Dude, you should totally come,” Linc said over his shoulder as he wrapped the wand around a strand of my hair. “It’s November, so the season will be over. It’s going to be sick. Everyone needs to do Jazz Madrid.”

“Spain’s on my list.”

My stomach had done nothing but somersaults since I’d stepped out of the closet. When I was fully dressed and ready to face my friends, I found Emerson perched on the bed, chatting with Linc about his trip to Spain this fall. Their conversation only paused while Linc dried my hair. During that time, Mila and Em dove into a conversation, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise of the hair dryer. From my vantage point, all I could tell was that they were both chuckling. Not that I was surprised. Positivity oozed from both of them. As soon as he shut the dryer off, Linc was back on Em about Spain.

I hadn’t realized Emerson wanted to travel. I hadn’t had the time or money to travel much yet, but I had a list too. I wanted to paint the northern lights. See the sun set over the pyramids. Watch the rain run off a heliconia flower.

“And stick men, man,” Linc said. “They are a must for a jazz lover.”

Emerson’s deep chuckle warmed my belly.

“You can’t peer pressure him into tagging along with you,” Mila warned.

“Oh, I totally can.” Linc waved her off.

“Okay. Rephrase.” She held up a hand, palm out. “You shouldn’t.”

“Nah.” Emerson waved her off. “I wouldn’t be opposed, exactly. I just have to figure some stuff out before I lock much in.”

The thread of uncertainty in his voice made my stomach clench. What did that mean?

I turned to ask, but Linc yanked my head back. “Do not move. But let’s explain that, Knight, because our girl is curious.”

“I am not,” I snapped.

Linc cocked a brow, silently calling me a liar. Okay. Fine. Maybe I was.

“It’s not a big thing.” Emerson shrugged a shoulder, going for nonchalant. “My contract is up at the end of the year. And it’s starting to look like Boston isn’t going to renew it. So I’ll have shit to figure out.”

This time when my head whipped toward Emerson, Linc didn’t stop me.

“What?” I demanded.

He lifted that shoulder again and set his bowl on the nightstand. Then he stood and cracked his knuckles, avoiding eye contact. “It’s okay. I’m not the playmaker or the big bat. The payroll is high, and if they have to cut me to make it work, I get it.”

“Idiots.” I glared. He wasn’t the big bat or the playmaker, but he was fast. And on top of that, he led morale for the team, and the fans loved him. Those things were worth hanging on to.

Two lines formed between his brows, and his throat worked as he swallowed. “They actually aren’t, Gi. Miller and Langfield are smart. Honestly, there isn’t a better front office in the league. They will do the right thing for the team. I respect that. It just might mean that I’ll be moving in November, not going to Spain.” He shrugged again. “It comes with the job.”

He said it like it didn’t matter. But his green eyes were dull, and the smile he shot my way was forced.

“I can’t believe they would let you go. Ever,” I said, working hard to keep the anger out of my voice.

Emerson’s response was another small smile.

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