I shook my head, struggling to swallow my food. My eyes teared up a bit as I swallowed a particularly spicy pepper in that bite. “I don’t really show my stuff to anyone.” Well, other than what I put up on my walls. Just the idea of him seeing the one I did of him made me shudder.
Of course my work would go on display at the winter showcase coming up. Not that I was mentioning that to him. The showcase was for a grade. I had to participate. But I didn’t have to choose to display Shaw’s picture.
“How can you be an artist if you never let anyone see your work?”
“I told you. I’m probably getting a real job after college.” I used air quotes around “real.” “There’re a couple of design firms—”
“Lame.” He took a drink, watching me over the rim.
My mouth sagged for a moment before I recovered my voice. “Excuse me?”
“I said that’s lame.” He set his glass down on the Formica tabletop with a click. “It’s one thing to try to make it and not get anywhere, so you take a job behind some desk, out of necessity . . . but you haven’t even given it a shot. You’re not going to even give yourself a chance.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I bit out, his words seeping uncomfortably inside me.
“Well, tell me then. Explain how I’m wrong. Explain how not even giving your dream a shot is for the best?”
I stared at him, words strangling inside me. How could I tell him it was too hard? That putting myself out there like that, exposing myself in such a personal and intimate way . . . I just wasn’t comfortable doing that. Not now. Not ever. I couldn’t.
“I’m full.” I tossed my napkin on the table. “Take me home now please.” I dug around in my bag for my wallet.
“Put your wallet away. I got it.”
“No. This isn’t a date.” I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and scooted out from the booth. Without waiting, I strode out of the restaurant. He caught up with me quickly outside, his jaw clamped tight, so that I knew he was angry. He didn’t touch me, just moved ahead of me to open my door. Again, like this was a date. I compressed my lips and uttered nothing. It was almost over. Next time I wouldn’t let him persuade me to go out with him. It was sending the wrong message. Not just to him, but to my brain, too.
We sat in silence on the way back to my dorm. I slid him a glance. His jaw was still locked tightly. He was mad. Good. So was I. Arms crossed, I stared straight ahead again. “You were the one who twisted my arm into going out to dinner.”
Why I felt compelled to remind him of this, I didn’t know. Maybe I felt a little guilty for tossing that money down and storming from the diner. If this had been a date, it was ending badly. My chest felt hollow inside and I sucked in a deep breath as though I could fill every little empty corner. I was such a liar. The idea of never seeing him again made me feel like crap. Why was this happening to me? I slid another glance his way, wondering if I shouldn’t just give in, surrender, and see where this could go. Just scratch the itch.
“That’s right.” He nodded as he turned on the street that cut in front of my dorm. “I’m such an asshole for trying to buy you dinner.”
“I didn’t say that,” I whispered, my eyes suddenly burning.
“I wanted to take you out. You didn’t really want to go. I get it. You made that clear from the start. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Then why did I feel like I had?
He pulled into my dorm parking lot and parked in an empty space. Killing the engine, he climbed out of the vehicle. I watched him through the windshield as he stalked around to my door and pulled it open for me.
He walked me to the front of my building, keeping pace beside me. At the front door, he stopped and waited for me to open the door. I faced him. “Thanks—”
“Nu-uh.” He shook his head. “I’m taking you to your door.”
A quick glance at his face told me that this wasn’t open for discussion. Almost meekly, I led him inside. Tension swirled between us as we rode the elevator to my floor.
Thankfully, my hall was empty as he walked me to my door. I didn’t need anyone glancing at his brooding expression and wondering if I wasn’t being escorted by a serial killer.
I stopped at my door. “Good night.” And I might as well have said good-bye because that’s what this felt like. I’d done what I set out to do and pushed him away. I should be patting myself on the back.
He didn’t move away. Just stared. Looked down at me with an unreadable expression. His eyes roamed over me. He wasn’t touching me but it felt like he was. All over I felt him. My breath slipped in shallow spurts from my mouth.
“You know what the most frustrating thing about you is?”
I moistened my lips, and even though I told myself to say nothing, to not ask, I did. “What?”
“You don’t know what you want.”
That wasn’t true. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him. I could admit that much to myself. I just wasn’t going to let myself have him.
He continued. “I could walk away if I really believed there wasn’t anything between us.” It was like he was saying this more to himself than me. He lifted a hand to touch my face, but he stopped, his hand in midair, inches from my cheek. He lowered his head until our foreheads touched. “If you didn’t look at me the way you’re looking at me now, I could just go.” His breath brushed over my lips and I couldn’t help myself. I came up on my tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his, a betrayal to myself, but I couldn’t help it.
It was like a wire snapped. His hands slid around my back and hauled me close. My head rolled back against the door, my throat arching beneath the onslaught of his lips on mine. Hot and devouring. His tongue parried with mine, stroked and tasted. My hands flattened against his chest, fingers digging into the solidness of his flesh, hating the fabric separating my skin from his.
So much for convincing him that I didn’t want him.
In that moment, I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. There was only craving. Only need. If I could crawl my way inside him, I would.
“Fuck, Emerson,” he mumbled against my mouth. “You taste so good.” His hand slid down my back to cup my butt and lift me against him. Instantly I felt him. His hardness prodded against my belly and my stomach clenched with need.
A loud throat clearing penetrated dimly. Shaw lifted his head and I had to stop myself from diving back for his mouth. It took me a moment to focus my gaze on Georgia, standing there looking amused.
She waved, her eyes going back and forth between me and Shaw. “Hi.”
“Oh, hey, Georgia.”
Shaw stepped back from me, putting much needed space between us. I tucked my hair behind my ear, my hand shaking.
“Hey,” she echoed.
I motioned with a still shaking hand toward Shaw. “This is Shaw. Shaw, my roommate, Georgia.”
They shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you, Shaw.” Georgia’s smile was blinding, and I knew she was enjoying my discomfort a bit too much.
She motioned to the door. “Sorry to interrupt. I just needed to get something from my room, so if you two—”
“No worries,” I said quickly. “Shaw was just dropping me off.”
“Oh. Great.” Her voice didn’t sound like she thought it was great though. In fact, she looked a little disappointed. Like she regretted interrupting us if it meant our making out was coming to an end.
Shaw looked at me steadily, and I knew if Georgia wasn’t here he would definitely be saying something more. Or, actually, maybe nothing at all. We’d probably still be lip locked.
I forced myself to meet his too perceptive brown eyes. “Thanks again.”
He nodded. “Good night.” His gaze skipped to Georgia. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Georgia’s bright smile was back in place. We stood rooted to the floor in front of our room as he headed down the hall and stepped onto the elevator.
“Wow,” Georgia murmured. “I thought I was going to have to get a fi
re extinguisher for you two.”
My cheeks burned as I turned and unlocked our door. Stepping inside I tossed my bag on my bed and fell down beside it.
“That’s Shaw? Forgot to mention just how beautiful he is.”
“Pepper and I said he was hot.”
“There’s hot and then there’s that.” She waved toward the door.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” I reminded her.
She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I’m blind. But more important, you don’t have a boyfriend, so—”
“And I don’t want one.”
She sank down on her bed across from me. “So you and he are just—”
“Nothing,” I cut her off. “We’re nothing.” I rubbed the center of my forehead where a headache was forming.
“That looked like something to me. It looked kind of intense.”
I bit back the unkind reply that anything would look intense to her given that Harris was her barometer for passionate kisses. The guy seemed more inclined to kiss his image in the mirror than Georgia. I kept my opinion to myself. It wasn’t my place to judge. What did I know about relationships anyway?
Deciding to change the subject, I asked, “Are you heading to Harris’s tonight?”
“No. He’s studying.”
I frowned. “You said you just needed to get something from the room—”
“Well, yeah, I wanted to give you your space. I would have just grabbed some books and headed to the library or something. You were clearly in the middle of something, and I didn’t want to ruin it. Thought I’d give you two privacy.”
I smiled. “Thanks, but unnecessary. Remember? I don’t have guys stay over the night.”
“There’s always a first time, Em.”
I shook my head. “Nope.” Those were my rules, and I wouldn’t bend them.
Georgia rose and started to change. She kicked off her jeans and slipped a pair of comfy-looking pajama bottoms over her shapely runner’s legs. “So, you going to see Shaw again?” she asked as she slid a knit T-shirt over her head.
I shook my head. I didn’t plan on it, but then something told me I hadn’t seen the last of him. And that fired both excitement and panic through me. I really needed to get a grip.
Tugging off my boots, I rose and shrugged out of my jeans.
“You dropped some money.” Georgia pointed to the carpet.
Bending, I picked up a crumpled twenty, deducing that it had fallen from my pocket. Where I had not put it.
“Damn him,” I muttered.
“What?”
Just then my phone buzzed. I dug through my bag and read the screen.
Shaw: It was a date
With a growl, I flung the phone on the bed. The guy didn’t play fair. I was always in control.
Except around him.
“What?” Georgia repeated.
My eyes snapped to her as determination rushed through me. “No. No, I’m not going to see him again.”
Whatever it took, I had to get him out of my life.
My phone buzzed again. I glanced down, fully expecting another message from Shaw, but no.
Annie: You’re in
I frowned, confused. I typed back three question marks and waited, watching as she typed.
Annie: The kink club. I’m a member now. After tonight, honey . . . of course, I am
Me: Congrats
Really. What else could I say?
Annie: You’re my first guest, girl. You better bring your game
My fingers hovered over the keys, unsure how to respond. I didn’t especially want to hang out with Annie anymore. And the idea of the kink club might have sounded fun at first. But now . . . I wasn’t that intrigued.
“Who is it?” Georgia asked.
“Annie.”
“Ugh. Her.” Georgia whipped her long golden hair into a messy knot on her head. “Let me guess. She trying to get you to go out?”
I nodded. “Something like that. She got into that kink club.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. “Really?” Her lips quirked. “Not surprising, I guess.”
I nodded slowly, thinking. “She invited me to go with her next time.” I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Whenever she goes again. She’ll get back to me with all the details.”
Georgia’s amused smile slipped. “You can’t.”
I sat up straighter on the bed. “Why not?”
“Well . . . Shaw . . .”
I bristled. Clearly I was doing something wrong if my own friend thought I was so involved with a guy that I couldn’t carry on as normal and go to a kink club. She wasn’t hearing me when I said there was nothing between us. Okay, and maybe going to a kink club wouldn’t exactly be my normal. It would be a first for me, but I had always been the kind of girl who would have embraced an opportunity like that. At least before.
“I’m going,” I declared with a shrug. “Why not?”
Georgia looked at me warily, disapproval lurking in her eyes. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Em.”
Of course I did. I was taking control of my life again.
Chapter 12
WHEN THE UNKNOWN NUMBER popped up, I was in the process of stuffing my laptop into my bag. Sometimes my hair salon called to confirm appointments and they didn’t always use the main line I had plugged into my phone. Zipping up my bag, I answered. “Hello?”
My art history professor, a Frenchman about my height, glared at me as I was squeezing out between desks. I sent him a small, apologetic smile. Class was over, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Emerson? It’s me. Justin.”
I stopped, my fingers clenching around my phone until my joints ached.
A girl bumped into me from behind at my sudden stop.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply.
I looked dumbly over my shoulder and stepped aside so she could pass, too shocked to even muster up an apology.
“How did you get this number?” My lips felt numb as the words passed out of my mouth. I stepped out of the classroom and walked slowly down the hall. It was crowded, lots of students buried in their phones or talking to the person next to them. Except for my snail-crawling pace, I didn’t look out of the ordinary. Even if I felt it. Even if I felt like I’d just gotten hit by a semi.
“Your mom.”
Of course. My thumb started to stretch for the end button, ready to push it and put to death his voice in my ear.
“Wait! Don’t hang up,” he pleaded. Like he could read my mind, like he knew what I was about to do.
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure why, but I stopped. I’d never heard his voice sound like that. There was a thread of desperation to it. He’d always been cocky and teasing, but he had never sounded quite so human.
Unable to keep walking with his voice in my ear, I stepped to the side of the hall and leaned against the wall, staring blindly into the ebb and flow of students.
Thumb poised, I waited for him to say something else, something more . . . to reveal that he was a different person. That what had happened between us was just a mistake of youth. That it had been the alcohol and poor judgment.
He sighed into the phone. “We want you to come to the wedding, Em.”
By “we” I assumed he meant Mom and him. His father wouldn’t care either way. The good thing about Don was his lack of opinion when it came to me.
“I want you there,” he added, filling the silence.
“Why?”
“We’re family. Don’t you think it’s time we move past—”
“Are you owning up to what you did?” I cut in. Because that would go a long way. If he just admitted it to me, I could maybe move on. If he admitted his mistake to Mom, even better. She had never believed me. She thought it was me being a pain in the ass and trying to wreck what she had going with Don.
He sighed again. “Will that change anything, Emerson? I want us to move on and not rehash old history.”
A pause fell between us as I processed this. Just the
fact that he was even calling meant he had changed.
But I was different, too. I wasn’t as trusting.
“I just don’t think I can go.” Show up and pretend like we were the perfect family? No. I couldn’t play that game. I waited, expecting him to turn nasty on me, but that didn’t happen.
Suzanne walked into the building right then and spotted me. She was bundled up like she was going on an Arctic expedition. The usual for her. She was cold when it hit sixty degrees. She claimed that was her winter back home in Texas. She waved energetically and headed in my direction.
Justin sighed again. “All right. I had to try. Maybe you’ll feel differently in the future.”
I flexed my fingers around the phone. “I have to go.” Suzanne was almost to me now, and the last thing I wanted was for her to hear any part of my conversation with Justin.
“Sure. Take care, Em.”
The line went dead. I pulled back my cell and stared at it for a moment, not sure how I felt about the conversation. I’d made Justin out to be a monster for so long now. It was easier than accepting him as something real. As my stepbrother. And yet even though I’d turned him into this villain from the shadowy past, a part of me always knew the real villain was someone much closer to me.
Mom’s betrayal wounded me the most. She was the one I couldn’t expel from my life. Justin was nothing. No one. My mom . . .
She would always be my mother. And the hurt she’d inflicted went deep. It was like a wound that could never fully heal. The moment it would start to close up, she would come along and tear it back open.
I tucked my phone into the deep front pockets of my coat and smiled at Suzanne. Maybe overly bright, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey, you,” she greeted me, her cheeks chapped from the outdoors.
“Hey, Suz.”
“Finished with class?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to go see that new Bourne movie this week?”
I hesitated for a moment, thinking about whether I should spend more time in the studio preparing for the upcoming showcase or not. No matter how much time I labored over my work, I never felt ready to reveal it to the world.
Apparently she misread my hesitation because she lifted her eyebrows. “Unless you’re all booked up with . . . special plans with someone?”
Tease Page 12
