Remnants of Riley

Chapter 12

Iam an idiot.

It’s the only thing that can explain the hole I just dug myself into. Clearly, I shouldn’t be making decisions when my emotions are running high, because they turn out to be very poor decisions indeed. Thank God I’m not a doctor or something. All my patients would be dead.

I feel like I just poked a bear. A very big, very intimidating, very mean bear. I’m already regretting my rash decision to taunt Emmett by inviting him to my place. And all in some stupid attempt to make him jealous. To try to make him think he doesn’t mean anything to me. That he has no effect on me. That I have other men more than willing to be with me.

Great plan, Riley. Really thought this one through in your post-orgasm cry session.

When I pull up to my apartment and head inside, I find Jeremy and Emmett leaning against opposite walls of the hallway near my front door. Jeremy shifts uncomfortably, foot to foot, his hands shoved in his pockets as he looks anywhere but at Emmett.

Emmett just watches him, the scowl on his face mixed with his arms crossed over his chest making him look like a felon just let out of prison. The black leather jacket he’s wearing doesn’t help.

My stomach drops when my eyes meet his and see the warning look he gives me. He’s pissed.

Good. I hope I make him feel even a fraction of the insignificance he made me feel earlier today.

Still, it doesn’t make me feel any better, and I find my eyes darting away from his heated glare. Where the hell is that bravery I had earlier when I made this terrible plan?

“Hey guys,” I greet as I approach, trying my best to ignore Emmett. Balancing the pizzas with the beer stacked on top in one hand, I reach into my purse with the other for my keys. “Wasn’t the key under the flowerpot?” I ask Jeremy, my hand rummaging blindly in my purse at my side.

Seeing my struggle, he grabs the precariously balanced pizza and beer from my hand, freeing me up to dig into my mess of a purse.

“It wasn’t there,” he says. “Emmett and I both checked when we got here.”

“That’s weird.” I finally find my keys and unlock the door. “I always keep a spare there.”

I open the door and hold it for Jeremy to pass through. He sets the pizza and beer on the kitchen island.

Emmett follows, but pauses beside me. Leaning into me, breath hot on my ear, he murmurs, “You’re playing a game you can’t win here, Riley.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply, lacing my voice with as much sweetness as possible.

He smirks at me, clearly seeing through the fa?ade, and heads inside. His cool demeanor unnerves me, but I try my best not to let it show. Walking to the other side of the kitchen island, he takes off his leather jacket and hangs it over the back of a barstool.

I force myself not to look at those tatted arms as he reaches for a beer. And I definitely force myself not to look at those fingers, or remember where they were just a couple hours ago, as he grips the bottle.

He raises a brow at me when he catches me looking at his hands, as though he knows exactly what I was thinking. I quickly turn away, tossing my purse onto the kitchen counter.

The arrogant bastard. I take a deep breath.

You can do this, Riley. Show him he doesn’t mean anything.

“You still have plates out?” Jeremy asks, and I could kiss him, I’m so grateful for the distraction.

“Yeah,” I respond. “I haven’t quite finished packing dishes yet.” I grab some plates from the cabinet above me and set them on the island. Jeremy and I each reach for a slice of pizza–him the supreme, me the extra pepperoni.

Jeremy helps himself to a beer, and I grab the bottle of vodka I keep in the freezer and some orange juice from the fridge. If I’m going to survive tonight, I’m going to need something stronger than beer.

I pour myself about three shots’ worth of vodka into a glass and top it off with a splash of juice. It’s strong as fuck when I take a sip, and I have to fight back a cough as it goes down.

“So this is a party tonight,” Jeremy says as he watches me struggle, an amused grin on his face.

I laugh. “Well, I don’t work tomorrow, and moving furniture sucks, and I did just buy a house today. So I think that calls for celebration.” I hold the bottle out to the two of them. “Want a shot?”

“Sure,” Jeremy says, at the same time Emmett growls, “No.”

I grab two more glasses from my cabinet and generously pour them each a shot. I hand one to Jeremy, then slide the other over to Emmett. “Don’t be a party pooper,” I tell him, nudging the glass closer and giving him a pouty face.

Jeremy lifts his glass, and I raise my own up to it. We both look expectantly at Emmett until he lifts his as well.

“To Riley and her new home,” Jeremy says, toasting. Then, looking at me adds, “I’m really happy for you, Riley.”

The sincerity of his words has my stomach fluttering, and for a second, I forget about my game with Emmett. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Jeremy, though. He’s always been nothing but kind to me, and he doesn’t deserve the position I’m putting him in right now. He deserves my attention because of who he is, not because I’m trying to get under Emmett’s skin.

I set my drink back down and throw my arms around Jeremy, giving him a squeeze. When I feel him put his arms around me, I reach up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

When I pull back, he holds me for another second before planting a kiss on my forehead and letting me go. The sweetness of it has my cheeks heating–or maybe that’s Emmett’s eyes I feel searing my face.

Lifting his glass again, Jeremy says, “To Riley,” before throwing it back.

I follow suit and swallow my entire drink down. When I look over to Emmett, he sets his back down on the counter untouched, so I grab his and down it, too. I can practically feel the tension rolling off him as he watches me take his shot.

He finally shifts his gaze off me to take a swig of beer and asks Jeremy, “So, how do you know Riley?”

“We, ugh, met at the grocery store I work for,” Jeremy replies, rubbing the back of his neck. I can tell he’s uncomfortable with Emmett and I don’t blame him. I’m uncomfortable with Emmett. I’m pretty sure his stare could melt steel.

“You know she’s not available, right?” Emmett asks, and I choke on my spit. Jeremy just looks between Emmett and me, the confusion clear on his face.

I glare at Emmett. “I don’t know what made you think otherwise, but I am very much single.” Then to Jeremy I add, “Emmett and I are not together, if that’s what you”re wondering.”

Emmett grunts before saying to me, “We’ll be sure to discuss this later.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol starting to set in, but I swear my stomach drops out of my butt at the wickedness in his voice.

“Look, I’m not trying to get in the middle of anythi—” Jeremy starts.

“You’re not,” I snap, my anger at Emmett coming out in my voice. Then more gently add, “You’re not, Jeremy. And I don’t know why we’re even discussing my lack ofa love life,” I give Emmett a pointed glare, “but let’s just drop it.”

Emmett gives me a wink, and I want nothing more than to refill my glass with another drink just so I can toss it in his face. Sure, I invited him here to piss him off and to make him jealous. I wanted him to think I had interest in another man. I wanted him to know how little he meant to me. But I didn’t think he’d actually call me out on it in front of Jeremy.

We make awkward small talk as we eat our pizza, and it isn’t long before I start feeling drunk. Like really drunk. I guess I did just down four shots of vodka in the span of about sixty seconds.

When we’re finished eating, I perch on the kitchen island and start directing Jeremy and Emmett on what furniture to carry out to the trailer first. I’m so tipsy at this point that I don’t even catch half of what the two are saying to each other, but they seem less than cordial. Emmett’s lost the glare at least, but Jeremy still awkwardly moves around him as much as he can.

When all the big furniture is out, I have Emmett carry out the boxes I had already packed, while Jeremy helps me box up the remainder of my kitchen.

“How do you know Emmett?” he asks me as I oh so carefully hand him a stack of plates to wrap and put into a box. I swear there’s two of him at this point, and I have to really focus to make sure I hand the real him the dishes.

“He’s my realtor,” I slur. Then try to clarify, “Welllll, not exactly my realtor, but he’s covering for her while she’s out of the country this week.”

“He seems… delightful,” he muses, wrapping a plate in paper.

I snort. Then immediately feel bad for the guy. “S-sorry he’s being so rude to you. You don’t–you don’t deserve that.”

He waves me off, then lifts the plates he just wrapped and sets them into a box. “It doesn’t bother me. I’d probably be the same way if the girl I liked was hanging out with another guy. Just less of an asshole about it.” He laughs.

I stare at him, trying to focus. “Okaaaay, first,” I start, putting my hand on his chest and stepping closer so he really hears me. “He doesn’t,” -hiccup- “he doesn’t like me. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like anyone, actually. And second…” I stumble into him and he catches me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Wait, what was my second point?

I look up at him to see him watching my face closely, as though hunting for something. “W-why are you looking at me like that?” I scrunch up my face, trying to read him.

“Are you interested in him?” he asks, and even in my drunken state, I can tell he’s genuinely curious.

“Nope,” I respond, popping the p. “Ughhh, maybe.” I drop my head into his chest. “I don’t know.”

He laughs as his arms tighten around me. When I lift my head up to look at him again, he flashes me one of those signature smiles, and I feel like I actually melt a little bit when I see that dimple. Or maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’m pretty sure my body is no longer a solid.

“I wish I’d taken you up on coffee sooner,” I confess, my voice barely more than a whisper. Life would be a lot less confusing if I had.

“I wish so, too,” he says. “But if you ever change your mind, I’d still like to buy you that cup.”

I nuzzle further into him, and he tightens his arms in response. “You’ll still come to my housewarming party, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he murmurs into my hair.

Just then, the patio door slams shut, and I try to jump out of Jeremy’s grasp, but he holds on tight.

My eyes find Emmett where he leans against the back wall, arms crossed. “Everything okay in here?” he asks, his eyes locked on Jeremy.

“Yeah, I’m just leaving,” Jeremy responds, before saying to me, “I’ll come by around noon tomorrow to haul your stuff to your new place. Try to get some sleep.” He dips his head to kiss my forehead before letting me go and heading for the door.

I watch as he opens it, then turns back toward Emmett. “You don’t deserve her, you know.”

I barely see the nod Emmett gives him in return.

Jeremy gives me one last look before leaving my apartment and shutting the door behind him.

I walk over to the front door and lock it before turning my attention back to Riley.

If she thought she was going to make me jealous by unexpectedly inviting me over here tonight with another man, she’s wrong. I’m not jealous. Jealousy implies I have competition, and I don’t. Riley is mine. That’s just facts.

What I am pissed about is the fact that she thought she could play games with me to begin with. And that she thought she had any chance of winning.

But damn if it doesn’t get me hard seeing my timid little thing trying to fight back, even if that fight was fueled by alcohol.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I say as I walk over to her.

She’s so drunk I’m surprised she hasn’t passed out yet. She downed at least four shots when we had pizza, and I’m pretty sure I saw her sneak another drink while she was ordering us around with the furniture.

I lean down and grab her under her knees and shoulders, cradling her to my chest. She doesn’t try to fight it, instead snuggling in against me. She fits so perfectly into me. I take a second to hold her a little tighter and brush my lips against her head before walking her to her room.

“You’re really confusing, you know that?” she slurs. I glance down to see her heavy-lidded eyes trying to focus on me. “Sometimes I hate you and sometimes I don’t. And I think sometimes you hate me and sometimes you don’t. And it confuses me, you know?”

I chuckle at that. She doesn’t have any idea how spot on she is. “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” I tell her.

I hate that she makes me feel things, a tightening in my chest I’ve never experienced before. I hate that she gets under my skin, riling me up like no one else has ever been able to. I hate that she tests my self-control, something I’ve prided myself on my entire life. I hate that I find myself thinking about her when I have a million other things I need to be focusing on. And I fucking hate that she won’t give in to me like I want her to. I like her fight. I like that she thinks she has any power here. But at the end of the day, she’s mine. And she needs to fucking know that.

I walk into her room, careful not to knock her into the door frame, and stand her up by what remains of her bed. I had carried her frame out to the trailer earlier, so all that’s left in her entire room is her mattress on the floor with some blankets and pillows.

I hook my fingers into her leggings to help her get undressed, but she swats my hands.

“No!” she says, shooing me away. “You already took my pants off one-once today. No more.”

I put my hands up, feigning innocence, but don’t try to help her. I do stay close enough for her to reach a hand out and grasp my arm as she steadies herself while trying to undress.

She finally manages to pull her leggings off, then pulls her sweater over her head. I’m surprised when she unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the ground, leaving her standing in front of me in nothing but her panties. If she were sober right now, I know she’d be embarrassed and trying to cover herself. Hell, if she were sober, she wouldn’t be taking off her clothes in the first place.

I remind myself to breathe. She’s so damn beautiful. If she wasn’t drunk off her ass, I’d be throwing her onto that mattress and plowing into her like a man possessed. But I won’t. Not when she’s drunk. I may be an asshole, but I won’t take advantage of someone who isn’t in a clear mental state. Not like that.

Besides, I want her to remember every moment of when I’m inside her. I want her to remember who made her moan. Who made her scream. Whose name she cries out as she comes on my dick.

As much as I’d like to stand here and devour her, I instead move to the mattress, pulling the covers back for her and urging her to lie down. “Get in,” I say, and when she does, I pull the blanket up over her.

I move to the foot of the bed and start unbuckling my belt when I hear her breathlessly ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not sleeping in my jeans,” I say simply.

She pulls the blanket up tight under her chin. “You weren’t invited to stay.”

I ignore her, stepping out of my jeans and pulling my shirt over my head. When I see her staring at me, I give her a wink, and her cheeks instantly turn pink. Moving to the other side of the mattress, I climb into bed beside her and pull the covers up to my waist.

“I’m not fucking you,” she slurs, but her tone is firm.

I laugh, putting my arm behind my head. “No fucking. I promise.”

“Good,” she says.

I’m not expecting it when she slides over to me and puts her arm across my stomach, laying her head on my chest.

And fuck if it doesn’t do something to me, my stomach doing a little flip. I grab her leg and pull it over me, holding onto her thigh as I listen to her breathing even out as she falls asleep.