Chapter 34 Emmett
THIRTY-FOUR
EMMETT
“Hey, Veronica,” Theo says to the server as she places our drinks down on the table.
“Is Finley okay? I haven’t seen her in a while.
” He pulls at the label on his beer bottle, trying to act nonchalant, although I know he’s anything but.
I swear, he only comes here to be near her, which is hilarious since he can barely find two brain cells to rub together when he is.
She props the drink tray on her hip. “I think so. She’s been feeling kind of sick, so she’s switched shifts a few times. Something about the strong scent of men’s cologne up here making her puke, I guess.”
He swallows, nodding as he thanks her quietly. She walks away, none of us grilling him about why he cares so much, because we know he has a massive crush on her. Eventually, he’ll come clean, but I know what it’s like to want someone you can’t have, and I’ll be here when he’s ready to talk.
“Oh, shit,” I say, my eyes falling to the bottle in front of me and realizing that Veronica brought the wrong beer for Stella.
She loves her Christmas Ale, even though I swear it’s the most disgusting thing ever.
The spice is overwhelming, and if it gets warm, it’s like drinking window cleaner—but I’ll be damned if my girl doesn’t get whatever she wants tonight.
I step up to the bar, lifting a palm and garnering the bartender’s attention. She smiles in acknowledgment, sliding a glass of amber liquor in front of a patron before walking my way.
“I ordered a Christmas Ale, but got this, instead,” I cringe.
I hate to bother her, since the VIP area has been fairly busy tonight, and this may be the only lull before the hockey game ends, and it gets really crazy.
The Crunch players will be here soon, likely radiating testosterone and adrenaline, so she’ll have her hands full.
They’re good guys—just on another level after playing.
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” she replies. “Unfortunately, we might be out since we were on our last case, but let me go in the back and see if we have some hidden.”
I laugh, thanking her as she disappears, hopefully to locate at least one or two more bottles for Stella. I make a mental note to stock up when it’s back in stores, so she can have it whenever she wants.
“Emmett Hayes. I thought that was you,” a feminine voice says, and I turn just as a petite blonde slides up next to where I’m standing.
Her black dress looks like it’s painted on, her high heels giving her at least six inches.
Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail on top of her head, and her overlined lips are painted a bright pink.
Her tongue darts out to wet them as she reaches up, dragging her long nails down the sleeve of my shirt.
My brows knit as I pull back, trying not to recoil so quickly that it comes off as rude. But I already know what’s happening. It’s something I’ve experienced at least once every time I’ve been here—and in every other city I’ve lived in since I was drafted.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I ask, even though I know I don’t.
I’ve barely spoken to anyone besides my teammates in Cleveland, and I certainly haven’t entertained any women.
I have nothing against the guys who have had one-night stands after an evening of drinks and dancing—I just haven’t felt the urge since moving here.
It’s almost like fate was telling me to hold on just a little bit longer, because my soulmate was on her way.
“I’m Cheyanne,” the woman purrs, ignoring my attempt to put space between us as she steps closer.
I back into the bar, glancing over my shoulder in hopes that the bartender is on her way back with Stella’s beer.
But I’m not that lucky, an uncomfortable sigh pushing from my lungs as the woman continues.
“I’m like, your biggest fan. One of my friends told me she saw you here last week, so I had to give it a shot. I was dying to meet you.”
I back up a few inches before extending my hand between us.
We have a lot of amazing fans who are women, so maybe she really did just want to introduce herself.
Even though I’d rather it not happen on a night out with my friends, I wouldn’t say no to a selfie or autograph.
“Nice to meet you, Cheyanne. Thanks for the support.”
She slips her palm into mine, any semblance of hope that she had noble intentions fading away as she steps closer, her breasts pressing into my arm. I release the connection, once again moving away, but she goes on, looking up at me through her dark, full lashes.
“I was thinking maybe we could get out of here,” she says, biting her lip coyly. I have absolutely no desire to continue this conversation, but I also don’t want to be cruel, so I attempt to let her down easy.
“Thank you for the invite, but I’m seeing someone,” I reply, the words tasting like vinegar as they pass over my tongue.
Stella may not currently be my wife on paper, but she’s a hell of a lot more than someone I’m seeing.
However, the last thing we need is to be bombarded by paparazzi and interviewers before we’re ready to talk about our relationship.
We haven’t exactly been hiding, but our friends are really the only ones who know the details right now.
“Mmm,” she hums. “She doesn’t have to know.
I can give you my number, and you can call me the next time you’re lonely.
” My stomach roils as she skims my arm again, the touch so incredibly imposing that I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her to back the fuck off.
My back presses harder into the wooden bar behind me just as something silver shines in my peripheral vision.
I whip my head in its direction, finding Stella completely frozen as the lights in the room reflect off her sequined dress.
Her face is blank, bottom lip quivering as she watches the woman, who I already shot down, look up at me with determination written all over her expression.
She clearly thinks she can make me reconsider, even though there isn’t a chance in hell I ever would.
My first instinct is to rush to my girl—to tell her it’s not what it looks like, and to beg her to understand. But I think better of it. This is it. This is her chance to look her fears right in the face, and for us to move past them together, instead of running in opposite directions.
Our gazes lock across the room, and I lift a brow, daring her to make a choice.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, fingers toying with the hem of her dress as she takes in the scene for a few beats longer.
Cheyanne is still going on with her proposition, but I can’t hear a word of it over the blood that’s whooshing between my ears.
C’mon, Wild Girl. I’m yours. Now, come get me.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Stella snaps back to the here and now, her chin lifting and shoulders pushing back as she struts my way.
I choke out a relieved sigh, my heart continuing to beat like a drum inside my rib cage.
The anxiety that was flowing through me just moments ago has morphed into intense pride, making me feel like I just took a hit of the world’s strongest drug.
She eats up the space between us, her dress sparkling like a disco ball as her luscious hips sway.
I’ve never seen such fire in her eyes, the confidence in her posture unfaltering and so fucking sexy.
It takes every bit of self-control I have not to meet her halfway and drop to my knees, thanking her for choosing me—for choosing us.
She steps up beside me, gaze narrowing on Cheyanne as she shoots daggers her way. Stella’s delicate fingers wrap around my arm, her head tilting into my bicep as a sweet, but lethal, smile stretches across her face.
“Hi,” she says, offering her free hand to the other woman in introduction. “I’m Stella Hayes. Emmett’s wife.”
Oh, fuck yes.
My cock immediately thickens, pushing against the zipper of my jeans in a desperate attempt to get to her.
Filthy thoughts play like a slideshow in my head, images of me bending her over the bar and fucking her into oblivion only making me harder as the seconds tick by.
I have to take several deep breaths, reeling myself in, because now is not the time for any of this.
Stella just turned my world upside down in the best way, and I don’t want to miss any of it.
Cheyanne’s eyes go wide with surprise, ping-ponging back and forth between me and my girl.
She swallows, clearly humiliated by the fact that she was caught propositioning a taken man by his partner.
She doesn’t say a word as she turns away, heading back to her group of friends with Stella’s message heard loud and clear.
I can’t hold back the cocky smirk that tugs at my lips, my stomach flipping with excitement.
I feel like a fucking teenager, ready to run up to the railing that overlooks the dance floor so I can let the whole club know who I belong to.
Instead, I angle my body so that we’re face-to-face, curl a large hand around her waist, and yank her into me.
She lets out a surprised squeal, giggling as I dip down and pepper playful kisses all over her cheek.
“My wife, huh?” I ask, pulling back slightly.
I’ve been calling her that all along, but this is the first time she’s said it.
Even in the heated moment, it was like music to my ears.
The way she claimed me with that monumental title is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
When I’m on my deathbed, I’ll remember how it felt to hear that word roll off her tongue so surely.
She scoffs, attempting—and failing—to stifle a grin. “Whatever,” she says. “She was all over you, so I had to put her on notice. Don’t make it a thing.”
I raise a brow. She’s crazy if she thinks I’d ever let that go. “Not a chance of me not making it a thing, Wild Girl. In fact, what do you say we make it official?”
Her brows furrow in confusion, and she blinks several times as my words slowly settle in. I can tell the moment it all clicks, because she looks up at me, shock written in big, bold letters within her deep caramel-brown pools. “What?”
I cup her jaw, my heart beating wildly inside my chest, but I’ve never been surer of anything in my entire life…well, at least not since the last time I did this. It may seem impulsive, but it’s not. This woman is my forever, and now that I know I’m hers too, why waste another second?
“Marry me, Stell,” I choke out, everything in the room fading away so it’s only us.
“I was born to be your husband, and I’ll spend every day reminding you of how madly in love with you I am.
Whatever crazy shit life throws our way, we’ll face it together, just like we should’ve all along.
Be my wife for real again, baby. Please. ”
Tears fill her eyes, spilling down her soft cheeks.
She inhales, releasing it shakily through pursed lips.
For a moment, I worry that she may say no.
But when her gaze locks onto mine, wordlessly conveying all the love, trust, and certainty in the world, I know we’ve finally made it through the darkness.
The clouds that have followed us for nearly eight years separate, letting in the sunlight as she finally replies.
“Yes.”