Page 49 of There's No Us Without You
Emerson snorts. “I take it you weren’t picked to play on any school sporting teams with your hand-eye coordination.”
My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. I slowly turn, spatula raised, before smacking him in the arm, this time with my aim on point. “Huh,” I say. “What were you saying about my hand-eye coordination?” I give him the most innocent smile I can muster and bat my eyelashes at him.
Groaning, he slowly moves closer—like a tiger stalking its prey—until I’m trapped between the bench and his earthy scent. Hazel eyes find mine, and I swallow hard, my momentary lapse in focus allowing him to snatch another piece of broccolini from the pan.
I pick up a knife this time and aim it in his direction. “I’ll chop your fingers off if you so much as make another move towards that food.”
Emerson rolls his eyes and holds his hands up while taking a step back. “Calm down, psycho. I’m not into knife play, but you can always ask Will.” Before I can respond, he snatches a green bean from the pan and sprints out of the kitchen while cackling like a goddamn hyena.
“Next time I’ll stab you,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him when he races past me, his sports bag now slung over his shoulder.
“I don’t doubt that.” His deep laugh taunts me as he disappears up the stairs, only quieting when a door slams shut.
I’m left with the sound of sizzling vegetables and heat in places that have me squirming.
What we’re doing is classed as flirting, right?
Maybe I can wear him down after all.
And on another note, what did he mean aboutasking Willin reference to his knife play comment? Should I be scared I am going to get murdered after all? After my encounter with Will today, he’s as intense as they come. Emerson’s gaze lights me up inside and sends my vagina into a panic. With Will, my vagina doesn’t know if it wants to smother him to death or put on a chastity belt so he can’t get anywhere near it.
Great. Now I’m referring to my vagina as if it’s a person and we have daily conversations.
Sighing, I turn my attention back to the vegetables. When they’re perfectly cooked—tender on the outside with some crunch in the middle—I take the hot pan to the dining table and place the greens into the awaiting ceramic dish to keep them warm.
A quick glance at my phone sitting on the dining table tells me Will should be home any minute, so I race back into the kitchen to tend to the steaks waiting on the bench. First, I drizzle a little oil onto each side before cracking a little salt and pepper onto them. Next, I place the pan back on the stove, and once hotenough, I gently place the steaks in with a knob of butter and some crushed garlic.
The moisture on the meat sizzles against the hot pan, sending up a garlic-infused rush of steam, making my mouth water.
I haven’t been this content since I was about thirteen and spent an entire weekend at the restaurant with my dad. Mum had gone away with a couple of her tennis friends, and Dad set up beds, pillows, and blankets in the office so we could have a slumber party after the restaurant closed.
We ended up staying awake until two in the morning, baking brownies and red velvet cupcakes. Dad let me demolish an entire bowl of icing until I almost threw it all back up an hour later.
Let’s just say, I haven’t learnt my lesson either. Hand me anything sweet and I swear my brain forgets to turn on theI’m fullsignal.
Emerson races back down the stairs a couple minutes later, his curls bouncing on the top of his head. His hair looks so soft, I just want to run my fingers through it.
He winks as he comes back into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge. “Last one, want it?”
I clear my throat, shaking my head. “It’s all yours.”
“Suit yourself.”
In the span of a few seconds, he’s popped the cap and chugged down half the bottle. Call it intuition, but he seems on edge, a tenseness in his jaw that wasn’t there before—the same as when he told me about the bet.
I’m about to ask if he wants to talk about whatever is bothering him when the front door swings open and Will walks through the doorway, a paper bag tucked under his arm as he juggles a stack of papers.
Emerson’s face lights up and he grins like a kid on Christmas morning. “Hope you’re hungry. Eden is feeding us with love.”
A snort escapes me. “Are you sure it’s love? Might be poison.” I poke Emerson in the ribs with the tongs in my hand, making him jump back.
“If it tastes as good as it smells,” he says, swatting me away, “I’ll eat your poison.”
“Fucking hell.” Will drops the stack of papers on the hall table when he passes it. “If I’d known it’d be that easy to get rid of you, I would have poisoned your food years ago.”
“Easy on the insults, I’m fragile.” Emerson smirks while winking at me. “I had a hard session.”
“Whatever.” Will pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag as he comes into the kitchen, then places it on the bench. “You’re definitely something. I’m just not sure fragile is the right word.”
