“Gunner, are you wearing glasses?”
13
Gunner
My huge frame is stuffed into a bathtub that seems to be made for toddlers. For a minute, it makes me miss my behemoth tub back in the penthouse, but truth is, there is no other place I would rather be than right here, even if I have to squish myself into this sardine can.
I turn to Emma, a huge grin spreading on my face at the sound of her voice, and remove the tiny, silver frames. “Hey, not all of me could be perfect.”
She laughs then gestures at the book in my hand. “Are you still on The Count of Monte Cristo?”
I fold the book over an index finger to keep my place, showing her the cover with a beautiful black horse in full rear, its hooves pawing at the air. “Finished that one the other night. Then I started on Black Beauty.”
Emma uses her heel to shut the door behind her, closing us into the tiny room together. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Did you know people were real asses to horses back then? I mean, total assholes. I didn’t think this book was going to be this depressing.”
“It gets better,” she promises, lifting a bottle toward me — one of my chocolate stouts.
My eyes go wide. “Oh, hell! Where did you get that? I didn’t think there were any left.” I set the book down on the edge of the tub and accept my beer.
“It was hidden in the back of the fridge,” Emma says, lowering herself onto the closed lid of the toilet.
When I found the box of Emma’s bath stuff, it brought me back — way back. I used to love taking bubble baths when I was a kid, back when I actually would’ve fit in this tub. Once the girls had slipped off to bed, I decided to relive my childhood a bit, and now I’m wondering why I don’t do this every single weekend.
I probably used too much of everything, because I’ve seriously suds-upped the tub, and just the tops of my thighs and knees are peeking out of the water. But if Emma’s eyes keep darting to the mound of bubbles between my legs, something else is going to make an appearance.
“You know the way to my heart, foxy lady,” I tell her, cracking the cap off the bottle and taking a long pull.
“About that…” she starts, trailing off until she has my full attention.
I pull the bottle away from my lips and turn my head to her slowly, my stomach already in mid-fantasy. “Don’t tell me you made meatloaf. I swear to God, I’ll get out of this tub and go in the kitchen right now, in full glory with bubbles stuck to my ass. I don’t even care what kind of shrinkage I have going on.”
She throws her head back with a laugh. “No, sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t cooked anything.” Her expression turns serious. “But, speaking of which… you know how you feel about meatloaf?”
“Your meatloaf? Hell, yeah,” I nod emphatically. “I could eat it all. Night. Long.”
Emma squints at me. “We are still talking about food, right?”
I give her a frisky look. “Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes, both amused and exasperated. “Listen, I’m trying to tell you something, okay? The way you feel about meatloaf — that’s how I feel about you.”
A big, goofy grin breaks out on my face. I can’t help it. “Is that your way of saying you kinda like me, Emma Collins?”
She tilts her head, squinting at me again. “Do you just kinda like meatloaf?”
I think for a moment, trying to give myself a minute to swallow the feelings stuck in my throat. “No, I fucking love it.”
“Well, that’s what I’m saying.”
Watching me as closely as she is, I know she sees it for a moment. That vulnerable openness she inspires that has nothing to do with my confidence or cockiness or swagger.
Goddammit, everything about her just cuts through me like a knife and lays me bare. But just like before — when we were making love on the table — I shove it down. I reach a hand over to her and grab the ends of the cloth belt wrapped around her waist. “Take that robe off and get in this tub with me.”
Emma snatches the ends of the belt out of my hands before I can pull them. “First, I don’t think anything is going to fit in that tub with you,” she says, eyeing the space dubiously, “and second, I… I really want to talk, if that’s alright.”
I take a pull from my bottle. I haven’t really been able to talk to Emma ever since our fateful exhibition in front of the window which led to the situation with Zoey. It’s been a black fog hanging over me for days. The air in here is growing thick, and it’s not because of the steaming water. But this conversation has been a long time coming, and part of me is relieved she’s cornered me into it. “Okay, sure. Let’s talk.”
“So…” she takes a deep breath then falters. “…damn. I’m really not sure how to start this.”
I understand. I could have pulled Emma to the side a million times and talked to her, but I didn’t.
“Take your time,” I say.
“Alright. Okay. I can do this.” She takes another deep breath and claps her hands together in determination. “Lemme start with a question — have you ever been involved with someone and it became more than just sex?”
“Hey,” I say, feeling a little sting. But I know she doesn’t mean anything by it — there’s nothing but sincere curiosity in her tone. It’s just me feeling defensive about my own choices. “Don’t knock just sex. It can be pretty awesome.”
“I’m not judging, I promise,” she says quickly. “I… I just didn’t know if you’ve ever, I dunno… felt something deeper?”
My shoulders slump, mirroring the sinking feeling happening inside my gut. All those years of playing around and treating my body like a three-ring circus — it’s finally catching up to me. How could a woman like Emma ever want to be with a man-whore like me?
I make myself look at her. “Truth time?”
“Yes.” She nods, but I see the hesitation in her eyes. She’s worried about what I’m going to say, but not nearly as much as I am.
“No. I haven’t.”
She presses her lips together as she digests my reply. “So, you’ve never wanted anything more than just a physical connection?”
I sigh. How to put this? “I could make a million excuses — I didn’t have a steady place to call home when I was a teenager, I moved around too much in the military, I work long hours at Pentabyte, I’ve never had the time for anything more serious. On and on.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve used all those excuses dozens of times before?”
I nod. “Because I have.”
“But?”
“The truth is, I never met anyone I wanted anything more with. But you can’t say that to women. Not unless you’re trying to be an asshole.”
“That’s true, I guess.” She shifts on her perch. “So, why are you telling me?”
“Because you already know I’m an asshole.”
The sting of her slap on my arm is sharp, and I yelp, nearly spilling my beer. “Be serious!” she admonishes.
I rub my arm, a well-deserved red imprint of her fingers already coloring my skin, and look up at her. I just need to fucking say it. But the words are running from me. “I think you know.”
Emma looks at me for a long time before speaking, her eyes searching mine. “I think I might know, too,” she says cautiously, “but my head is about to explode from trying to figure everything out, and I want to be sure I’m not imagining stuff.”
“You’re not imaging anything,” I say, reaching over to taking her hand in mine. “You’re the exception, Emma. You’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted more with. The only woman.”
I feel her hand tremble, and she swallows hard. Ah, hell. If she cries, I won’t be able to stuff down my own tide of emotional shit, and that will lead to a very embarrassing scene. I do not want to start sniffling in front of her right now, especially not half naked in a tub full of scented bubbles.
Instead, I pull her to me, sliding her onto my chest, and she doesn’t resist, even as her robe dips i
nto the water. I cradle her face in my hands and bring her lips to mine, letting every ounce of emotion I feel pour into my kiss.
Emma responds in kind, her mouth just as eager as mine, her fingers trembling as she wraps her hands around my neck. “Gunner,” she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips — both contentment and longing in her sigh — makes more than just my chest ache.
I move a hand down her neck and slide my palm against the exposed sliver of her throat. I slip underneath the fold of her robe, aiming lower, her skin like warm silk, so inviting.
She pulls away from my lips and gives me a playful, scolding look. “Hey, I thought we were just going to talk.”
I slip my hand further under her robe. “Keep talking. I’m listening, I swear.”
Emma isn’t having it, though, and she pushes my hand away. “I know how this goes, mister. You couldn’t tell me your own name once you get going. Stop trying to avoid the subject by seducing me.”
I raise an eyebrow and point an accusatory finger at her. “You’re the one who came in here knowing I was bare-ass naked. And you’re the one who climbed on top of me. I think it’s the other way around.”
Her mouth falls open in protest. “I did not climb on top of you,” she laughs. “You are so full of shit.”
I pout as she reaches for the edge of the tub and hoists herself off my chest. She stands up, looking down at her soaking wet robe, dripping all over the floor. “Now look. I’m like a drowned rat.”
“Or a sexy stripper. Take it off,” I plead. “Lemme see you all wet and naked.”
“Ha! The jokes on you,” she says, hugging the robe tighter as she reaches for a towel. She drops it to the floor and slides it around, mopping up the water with her foot. “I’m not naked, I’m wearing a camisole and pajamas pants under this.”
My eyes light up. “Even better. Wet t-shirt time!”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh my God. It’s like talking to a Goliath-sized fourteen-year-old.”
I give her a pout, and she sighs in frustration, but there’s a smile in her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “If you behave, I’ll take the robe off — after we talk.”
“Deal.”
“Now focus. If anyone can help me figure this out, it’s you.”
“Right, okay.” I pull more suds across my lap, trying to ignore the erection that sprang to life while we were kissing. I take a deep breath, trying to relax into what is a long overdue talk. I tip my head back to the wall and rest my beer bottle on my stomach, half submerged in the sudsy water. “Alright, conversation. I’m ready.”
She settles herself back onto the toilet lid, scooting the towel under her feet to catch the still-dripping water. “So… feelings, yes?”
“Yes.”
Emma opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and she shuts it again, reaching for her wine glass. She tips the glass and takes a big swallow.
I decide to help out. “Let me guess, you have feelings for the other guys, too?”
She cradles the wine glass in her hands and stares down at the red liquid. “Would that bother you?”
“No.” I don’t even have to think about it. I’ve known the answer ever since the first time I saw the sparks fly between Emma, Trigg, and Jax the night at the club.
But Emma doesn’t look too sure of my answer. “I know you don’t mind sharing me with Jax, at least in the bedroom. And you told me you think it’s hot that I slept with the other guys. But I’m talking about more than just sex.”
“I know. We’re talking about feelings. I’m with ya.” I take a sip of my beer and lower it back to my stomach. “My answer’s still the same.”
She lets out a breath, looking relieved. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“But there’s more, right? That’s not all you want to talk about.”
“Right. I’m just not sure how to put it all into words.” She fiddles with her glass, swirling the wine. “God, I’ve never had this much trouble forming sentences before. But I need to get it out somehow.”
“How about you start with me?” I shift my weight to one side, leaning on the edge of the tub, positioning my body so she knows she has my complete attention.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to hear about Emma’s feelings for Gunner.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Only if you promise to never refer to yourself in third person again.”
“Promise.” I try to hide a boyish grin behind my bottle of beer, but it’s there. I really want to know.
She studies me for a minute, biting her bottom lip. Then the most beautiful string of words I’ve heard in a long time begin flowing out of her. “I feel like when I’m with you, I want to start playing college pranks again,” she says. “To be carefree and mischievous and throw caution to the wind. I love how open you are, and how you never pretend to be anyone other than yourself. I love how fiercely you adore the people in your life, just so full-hearted — you don’t hold anything back. I know you’re always going to make me laugh or lift my spirits. But then there’s how your voice gets all husky when you’re turned on. The way you’re so strong and make me feel so safe when I’m in your arms, but you touch me so gently. Or how you can just sit on a couch with your arm around me, looking like it’s the best thing in the world to have me next to you. Everything about you is amazing. I just want more of it. More of you.”
I had no idea my heart could race so fast and come to a stop all at once. It jump-starts again, and I try to find my breath. “You can have more. You can have as much as you want. All of me.”
Emma smiles shyly, a warmth in her eyes that I adore. But a moment later, the smile fades, and she leans forward, laying her elbow on her thigh, supporting the weight of her chin on her palm. “But what if I told you I also want more of Jax… and Jude and Trigg and Daniel? Doesn’t that cheapen it?”
“Hell no, it doesn’t cheapen it.” I had meant what I said before, that this isn’t a traditional setup — and it doesn’t have to be. “Was the night you had with Jax and me cheap?”
A bright red flush creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks at the question, and she stares into her wine glass. “No. It certainly was not.”
There’s been something nibbling at the edges of my thoughts, and it finally takes a big bite, coming into focus. “But you feel like you have to choose?”
Her eyes flick up to mine. I can see the frustration. It’s in the way her lips immediately purse and then release, the way she spins her wine glass with nervous fingers.
“I know I can talk to you about this because you’re so open, and you don’t have a jealous bone in your body,” she admits. “And Jax, he’s… well, he’s Jax. He makes his own rules.”
I nod. “Yes, he does.”
“But most men aren’t like the two of you,” she continues. “They’re possessive. They get jealous. They don’t share. Hell, neither do women. We either want to play around, or we want to settle down with that special someone.”
Yeah, there’s nothing traditional about this, but fuck it if traditional has ever applied to me. To any of us. “So, you think that you have to choose between us because of the nature of men?”
Emma runs her fingers nervously through her hair. “You, Jax, and I had a great night, but… you know, I’ve never done this before. And you haven’t, either, not with feelings, right? So, who’s to say even you guys won’t start to feel jealous eventually?”
I want to tell her it’s not even possible, but I’ve lived long enough to know never to say never. But I also know something else. “I’m not gonna say there will never be any issues there. But, if something does come up, we’ll deal with it.”
“That’s easy to say now, when there’s no threat of it. But I worry this could change things. And I don’t want to come between you all.”
The water in the tub sloshes violently as I sit up. “Let me tell you something — the guys and I, we’ve been through hell and back. We’ve pulled Jax from the clutches of death. We’ve literally held
Trigg together with our bare hands when his body was ripped apart by an RPG. We’ve brought Jude back from the brink of madness after losing good men in the field.”
She draws a long breath. “Wow.”
“We’ve survived just about everything you can throw at us,” I tell her. “And it’s not been easy. I know it doesn’t look that way, maybe, to see us now, but we’ve had some rough times between the five of us. We’ve had knock-down, drag-out arguments over shit and said hard words that were bitter pills to swallow back later. The thing is, we never gave up. We always worked it out, no matter how hard it was. And I know we’ll do the same with this, Emma.”
She nods, but there’s still a torrent of uncertainty in her eyes. “I really hope so. That’s my greatest worry. That something will happen and at the end of this, you all won’t be friends anymore.”
I think about that a moment. “We’re all grown men, here. And we’ve made our own choices, however risky they might be. Each of us has an equal stake in this, Emma. It’s not a burden you need to be carrying on your own. If something does happen — God forbid — that’s on us. All of us.”
“I know that what you’re saying makes sense, logically. That’s a fair way to see it. But in my heart, I feel like… like I alone hold the fate of your brotherhood in my hands. It’s a huge responsibility.”
I nod. “I get that. But I think it’s gonna be okay. I really do. The military tried to break us up, competing companies have tried to break us up — we’re a package deal.”
She smiles. “I like that image. A package deal.”
I lower my hand under the water and give her a cocky grin. “I’ve got a package for you right here.”
That gets her laughing. “Gunner,” she groans, shaking her head. “You were doing so good.”
“Hey, seriously — can I ask you something?”
She nods. “Sure, absolutely.”
“Why do you think we’re all single? I mean, look at Daniel, for godssake. He’s like the James Bond of the tech world. The man’s a catch. You don’t think there have been women who would’ve loved his ring on their finger?”
Broken Process Page 9
