Page 35 of One Night Only
EMILY
D: I’m sorry, Goldie. I’m an idiot.
“No shit, asshole,” I mutter, glaring at Dallas’s message on my phone.
“I’m sorry?”
I startle, looking up to see the man behind the coat check desk gaping at me.
“Oh, no, not you.” I wave a hand, holding my phone up.
He nods, going back to the rack of coats to find mine, right as another message comes through.
D: Where’d you go baby?
Ignoring his messages—and the way my body reacts when he calls mebaby— I tuck my phone into my purse, waiting for my coat.
I lied to Andy. I told him I was coming down with a migraine and that I had to leave urgently before it got too bad. He believed me. But unfortunately, Jenn’s brother, Simon, being aliteraldoctor, was slightly more difficult to convince. He wanted to take me home to make sure I got back safe. With another lie—that my sister was already on her way to come get me—he took my word for it and let me go. Now, if I could just get my goddamn coat.
“Here you are, madame.” The attendant appears, holding my coat and offering to put it on for me.
I brush off his chivalry, far too heated right now to wrap myself in wool, and I hand the man a tip, taking the coat from him with a smile. He nods, tucking the money into the top pocket of his waistcoat, and I hightail it out of there before Dallas, or anyone else for that matter, can catch up to me.
The cold night air cutting through Chambers Street is doing nothing to help cool me down as I walk out of the venue. Shrugging on my coat so I don’t have to carry it, I’m stopped by one of the security guards huddled outside, asking me if I want him to hail me a cab.
“No, thank you.” I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
And, honestly, I know it’s stupid to be walking the Downtown streets alone, especially in four-inch heels that will be of no help to me whatsoever if I end up getting chased by an assailant, but I’m really angry, and I’m hoping the walk will help to cool my jets.
I don’t even know why I’m so angry. I was only dancing with Simon because I felt obligated. Like if I’d declined, it might get back to Andy and he’d be pissed. But seeing Dallas dancing with that woman. Laughing with her. Seeing her handsallover him. Her perfect breasts practically thrust in his face. I was jealous. And I hate myself for it because I have absolutely no right. First, I have no claim over him, at all. Second, nothing can ever come out of whatever is even happening between the two of us. Third, and most importantly, Dallas Shaw is a renowned playboy; of course he has women throwing themselves at him at every opportunity. How am I even surprised?
I turn right onto Broadway, the December air finally winning the battle and chilling me through to the bone. Hugging my arms around myself, I continue walking, but just as I’m crossingover Reade Street, I’m stopped mid-crosswalk by the abrupt honking of the car pulling up to the line. Squinting through the gleam of headlights, I catch sight of a Lamborghini badge on the hood, and I stop short. Are you serious?
“Come on, Goldie!” a familiar voice calls out over the rumble of the roaring engine, a hand waving at me. “Get in.”
And I know I should just keep walking. He can’t turn up Broadway, and I could flag down a cab before he has a chance to circle the block. But honestly, my feet are killing me already. Who was I to think I could walk anywhere in these heels? Where the hell did I even think I was walking to? The Upper West Side?Idiot.
Rolling my eyes, I walk to the passenger side, the door gliding up, and I reluctantly get into the car knowing full well that this is possibly the dumbest decision I’ve ever made as an adult. I can feel his eyes on me as I fasten my seatbelt, but I refuse to look at him. I feel like a fool, and the last thing I want him to see is my resignation. So I stare straight ahead while Dallas navigates the city streets.
After a few moments of tension-laced silence, he speaks first. “Why’d you leave?”
“I have a headache,” I lie, feeling him look at me.
“C’mon, now,” he says with a knowing smile in his tone. “Don’t lie to me, Goldie.”
I roll my eyes, folding my arms across my chest with a huff. “Just take me home.”
“Okay,” he says without missing a beat.
It’s only when we’re approaching the Brooklyn Bridge that I realize we’re not going home at all. At least not to my home, which is in the complete opposite direction.
I spear Dallas with a harsh glare, catching his smirk that’s highlighted by the city lights. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Shrugging a shoulder, he doesn’t look at me, that casual grin lingering. “Home.”
“I want you to takemehome, Dallas,” I say through gritted teeth. “Tomyhome.”
He looks at me then, grin falling, his eyes penetrating mine in a way that momentarily steals my breath.
