Page 6 of There's No Us Without You
He eyes my hand on his arm. “For what?”
His skin is soft, just as I imagined it would be, and his muscles are firm as he tenses under my grip.
“I—what’s your favourite colour?” I blurt out.
Real smooth, Eden.
A soft smile forms on Emerson’s face as he runs a thumb over my bottom lip. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” With a wink, he stalks into the crowd, his height giving him an advantage over everyone else.
Some stop to stare at him with open mouths. Others lean in to whisper to someone else.
With a lump in my throat, I stare after him until he disappears into the night, the hole in my chest growing when I realise even in a room full of people, I’ve never felt so alone.
TWO
Emerson
Two hoursafter leaving the bar—even though I live twenty minutes away—I walk through the front door of the house I share with my best friend.
Will is seated in one of the two couches in the lounge room, flicking through TV channels, a beer bottle pressed to his lips, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles in front of him.
He’s also shirtless, his tattooed chest on full display. Not that I haven’t seen it plenty of times. It’s just that seeing him half naked the last couple of months has me feeling things I’ve only ever experienced with women.
Like right now, my dick is doing a little happy dance.
Fucking hell. Maybe I roofied myself earlier because that’s new.
Will raises an eyebrow when I haven’t made a move from the front door and juts his chin in my direction. “Where the fuck have you been? I waited up. Didn’t you get my messages?”
Messages,plural, is a bit of an overestimation. He sent one message that saidI ordered pizza.
“Don’t start.” I shake my head, dropping my sports bag on the tiled floor beside the door. “I’m not one of your playthings, Will. I don’t need to tell you what I’m doing every second of every day.”
Unable to look at him any longer, I march into the open-planned kitchen to my left and round the island, all the while knowing Will hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
I need another drink if I’m going to pull off this massive feat of pretending everything is fine.
My hands sweat, while Will’s heated gaze warms the back of my neck, sending what feels like tiny pin pricks dancing over my skin.
I open the fridge door and bend down to grab a beer from the top shelf, breathing in the cold air as it settles on my skin.
It’s not like me to ignore him, so I need a minute to compose myself—he has a way of knowing when people are lying, and I need to put my game face back on.
When I’m cooled enough to face the wrath of Will, I slam the fridge door closed and stand a little straighter, squaring my shoulders.
Just as I knew he would be, Will is glaring at me, so I suppress my need to limp and stalk into the lounge room to flop onto the couch opposite him. After popping the cap off my bottle, I take a long sip and relax into the dark, tanned leather. It protests under my weight, squeaking as I slide down further to throw my feet up onto the glass coffee table.
Will narrows his eyes on my black dress shoes propped up in front of him and runs his tongue over his top teeth. He hates me putting my feet on any item of furniture, especially the coffee table.
Right now, though, I don’t care what he thinks.
After a long moment of what I can only assume is torture for him to say nothing about my indiscretions, he clears his throat and forces his eyes up to mine.
“You good after that tackle tonight? Looked like it hurt.” His face remains calm as he takes another sip of beer, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m fine,” I say, fidgeting with the bottle in my hands as I direct my attention to the TV.
I can’t look at him any longer. If I keep going, I’ll be climbing onto his lap in a matter of seconds and asking him to hold me.
