Page 79 of Faker
“I lied. I wanted to surprise you.”
Tate gives my body a visual once-over. I feel on display, but in the best possible way.
“Damn, do I love surprises from my girlfriend.”
Giddiness pools at the bottom of my throat. I have the sudden urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. Instead, I beam at him.
He wipes the sweat off his face with his upper arm, careful to avoid a small cut on his brow. “I like your outfit.”
I’m wearing the rattiest tank top I own over a highlighter-yellow sports bra and the same yoga pants I wore at the worksite today. Based on the whistles and car honks I received during my stroll this evening, I look positively indecent.
Brendan waves and walks up to us. “Hey. Emmie, right?” he says with a smile. “Look at you out and about. You’re looking great. How do you feel?”
“Tons better. Thanks again for all you did when I was in the hospital.”
He nods. “Glad you’re recovering well. Did you catch any of our game?”
“The last bit, yeah. How’d you guys do? Sorry, I’m a rugby noob and I had no idea what I was watching.”
The two of them laugh. “We won thanks to Tate.” Brendan gestures at him with his thumb just as Tate looks away at the other side of the field. “He stopped the other team from scoring at the end with a killer tackle.”
“Way to go,” I say. Tate smirks at the ground.
“Well, I’ll leave you two, then.” Brendan grabs his car keys out of his pocket and walks past me. “Do me a favor, Emmie, will you? Tell Tate to reconsider about this weekend. And don’t take no for an answer.”
Tate’s face slips into twisted frustration.
“I’ll do my best.”
Brendan pats me on the back and walks off. We’re left standing across from each other again.
“What’s this weekend?”
He crosses his arms and purses his lips like he’s eaten something sour. “I’ll tell you once we get to my place.”
He wraps an arm around my waist and walks. His body is still hot from all that glorious physical exertion minutes ago. I bite back a cheesy grin and relax into his hold. The sour scent of sweat laces his usual evergreen spice. I breathe deeply, giving his chest a quick nuzzle. This surprise walk to his place is way, way better than my surprise.
“You smell so damn good. Like a man’s man. Rugged and sweaty.”
He lets out a low laugh. Two blocks later, he leads me to a brick duplex and lets go of me to unlock the door. The places on my waist where he touched me tingle.
It’s a decidedly bachelor dwelling. In the living room is a faux-leather sectional and a massive flat-screen. There’s a beat-up wooden coffee table in the middle. No dining table, just a couple of wooden stools sitting by a counter that juts out from the open wall, which divides the living room from the kitchen.
“Nice place,” I say, walking around the living room.
“Have a seat.” He gestures to the couch and walks to the kitchen sink. “Water?”
“Yes, please.” I hover over his sectional, not wanting to press my sweaty self on it. Instead of sitting, I walk to the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?”
“A couple years.”
“Really? It doesn’t look like it. There’s not much to it.” Rock climbing shoes, a harness, and a bag of chalk litter the floor of what I assume is the dining room.
He hands me a glass of water, and I chug half of it. “What a rude thing to say.” He winks, then raises an eyebrow. The throbbing between my legs commences.
“I didn’t know you lived in a duplex too. Yours is nicer than mine, though. More modern. Mine looks like a tiny red barn from the outside.”
He drains his glass of water in two quick swallows and turns around to refill it. The back muscles poking through his wet shirt are a tractor beam for my eyes. It is physically impossible to look away. Instead I force myself to finish my water.
