Chapter 1
ONE
Emmett
Present day
I’ve always been sure of who I am. I’ve never questioned it for a second.
I have my dad to thank for that; whether it was trying lacrosse and deciding to swap it out for the honors’ society and art history club, buzzing all of my hair off (which was an admittedly bad decision), trying out smoking, or diving headfirst into going for my master’s, nothing that I ever did was wrong.
He was always proud of me, and he stood by me through my mistakes, letting me figure out on my own who I was and what I wanted from this life.
Now that I’m a few weeks into being a shareholder in Fowler Enterprise, I feel more confident than ever standing on my own two feet, not relying on anyone to help me get by or make the world move for me.
I don’t have to use anyone’s name to make things happen; my own name holds power now, and that feels pretty damn good.
“You can bring that in through here,” I tell the pair of movers holding my old couch as I press the button on my brand-new garage door opener. “Thanks, guys.”
I hoist one of the boxes into my arms and follow behind them, directing them to the spot just to the right of the front door where I want the couch to sit before I move toward the kitchen and drop the box on the counter.
Once all of the bigger pieces are brought in, I pull out my wallet and pass out hundred dollar bills to each of the movers, thanking them again for their work.
After closing the door behind them, I rest my hands on my hips and take a look around the house. It’s nothing extravagant; I’m a single guy and I don’t like to show off, so I don’t need a ton of space.
‘You really should get something bigger,’ my dad had suggested. ‘This place is awfully small. You won’t always live on your own.’
‘Oh, leave him alone,’ his wife – my closest friend – scolded him.
While he might see a small, cramped space, I see more than enough room and – most importantly – freedom. Sure, I got out of my old apartment, but the coolest part of all of this to me is that I bought this place with my own money in cash, and I have no student debts to worry about, either.
So yeah, compared to the people around me, a three-bedroom, single-story home might seem small. But to me, it looks like three thousand square feet of success.
The first thing I do is get my bluetooth speaker set up and connect it to my phone, then I fire up my playlist of current favorite songs, blaring it throughout the house.
I spend the next several hours unpacking a few of the boxes that I brought with me, putting everything in them away before I decide that I’ve earned a break long enough to watch a movie and grab something to eat before I have to leave for the night.
·
Fed, showered and rested, I tuck the tip of a pre-roll between my lips and light the end, pulling in a breath of earthy smoke as I head for the boxes laid out in my new bedroom.
I really should have planned this move better, but I wanted to get in here as soon as I got the keys, and I’m probably going to be too hungover tomorrow to do much of anything if Uncle Davis has anything to say about it.
He’s not my actual uncle, he’s my dad’s best friend and we’ve called him my uncle since I was in grade school, so it just kind of stuck.
Digging through the boxes, I pull out a black t-shirt, a pair of dark wash jeans, and a deep green bomber jacket. I grab a pair of black sneakers from another box and throw them on before digging out some pomade to comb through my hair with my fingers.
It takes me all of ten minutes to get ready, throw on a couple spritzes of cologne and be out the door.
I don’t get why women take so damn long; any time the girls join us on nights out, they start getting ready at goddamn four in the afternoon to leave by nine.
It’s not like any of them actually need that much time, they’re already good-looking.
Tonight, it’s just the guys. A group of us are heading to Arcane to scope it out; it’s Nash Montgomery’s new club, and people have been talking about it for weeks all over social media, so it’s time to finally see what all the fuss is about.
The place is absolutely packed with a line around the block of people just waiting to get in. Thank god we have a table waiting for us in VIP; I would have been pissed to have to stand in line for this.
“Jesus,” Dad says, looking at the crowd.
“Ah, ours’ll be better,” Davis shrugs as he leads us into the building and up toward our table, where three drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous women meet us, dressed in matching navy blue lingerie sets.
We’re not even here twenty minutes before one of them is straddling my lap on the couch, tipping a bottle of champagne into my mouth.
I’m in heaven.
Out of the four of us, my dad is the only one tied down. I’ve been single for a couple of months now, Logan’s been single for roughly two weeks, and I’m pretty sure Davis has been single for his entire life; so having three women to split between us works out pretty perfectly.
A couple of hours pass, and a couple of bottles right along with them while we drink and those of us who aren’t married dance with the pretty lingerie-clad ladies, touching whatever skin they’ll give us access to touch.
Everyone knows how Nash runs his clubs; we all know how fuzzy the idea of consent is in these places, but that’s not how any of us do things.
If they don’t want it, we’re not doing it.
With Davis keeping two of our servers for himself, Logan and I trek down the stairs toward the main floor of the club.
We slap our palms together, curling at the fingertips before we part, each on our own mission to find someone to go home with tonight.
Normally, I’d be pickier or I wouldn’t even care about taking someone home, but this is the first time I’ve been out like this since I broke up with Naomi.
I haven’t had sex with anyone but myself since, and it’s time to feed the beast.
I find a beautiful blonde near the bar, and she looks like she’s by herself, so I approach her with a hand resting at her shoulder. “Hey,” I say loud enough for her to hear over the music. “You’re beautiful. My name’s Emmett.”
“Sasha,” she tells me with a warm smile. She moves her hips side to side to the beat of the music while she leans against the bar, waiting for service.
“Some friends and I have a table upstairs,” I tell her, “you should come join us.”
“You’re not some kind of creep, are you?”
“Oh, I don’t have time to be,” I tell her as I lean against the bar, “the schedule would clash with all the ax murdering I do on weekends.”
With a laugh, she grabs her clutch bag and holds onto my bicep, signaling that she’s down to follow me, so I lead her back toward the stairs and up into the VIP section, where everyone else is waiting.
Dad arches a brow at me while I walk over with her, my hand resting at her lower back, and I mouth to him, ‘I’m being a gentleman! ’
As we pour the next round of drinks, Dad slaps his palms against his knees and stands. “Alright, I’m off.”
“Booo,” Davis taunts, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You’re such an old fuckin’ fart.”
Dad laughs, bringing his wrist up to check his watch. “My daughter has been waking up screaming bloody murder at twelve thirty like clockwork for the past week. I have about twenty minutes to get home before then.” Walking over to me, he wraps me in a quick hug. “Use protection, will you?”
He gave me ‘the talk’ probably twelve different times, in twelve different ways as soon as I was old enough to get what he was saying.
I wasn’t allowed to close my door if I had a girl over, but there were still always condoms in the house because he did not want me to be a teenage dad like he was.
If he knew a girl was coming to the house, he’d remind me about our talks.
As soon as she left, we’d have another one.
Be a gentleman, get clear consent, wear a condom, get tested.
I’ve made it to twenty-five without knocking anyone up, so I guess his method must have worked.
Sasha and I do a little bit of dancing together, but we spend most of our time upstairs drinking and flirting, with my hands wandering over the exposed skin of her thigh; a touch which she reciprocates.
By three o’clock, we’re on our way out of the club, and Sasha has her arms snaked around my waist while we stumble toward the Uber waiting for us in the parking lot.
·
My ‘date’ holds onto my belt while we step into my house; I forgot about all of the boxes I still haven’t unpacked or even bothered to put into the right rooms yet. It’s kind of an eyesore, now that I’m really looking at it.
“Did you just move in or something?”
“Yeah,” I laugh, “like eight hours ago.”
I cup her face, meeting her mouth with mine, and she deepens the kiss by slipping her tongue into my mouth while I pull her toward my couch.
I sit, pulling her on top of me to straddle my lap as my dick twitches with the anticipation of some long overdue relief courtesy of actual human contact, and she wobbles at the movement.
My hands slide along her thighs to slip under her dress and my fingers hook around the thin straps of her thong. When I move to guide the fabric down her thighs, she falters and crashes into my chest.
“Whoa,” she says, pushing herself back up.
“You alright?”
“I think I might be maybe a little too drunk for this,” she tells me with her cheeks going pink. Her eyelids droop just a little bit while she tries to focus on me. “I’m really sorry.”
I take my hands off of her ass, moving them to her shoulders instead to steady her. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “Uh, do you like shorts or sweats better?”
“Huh?”
I help her off of my lap and get up, heading for my kitchen to grab her a glass of water. “I’m not gonna make you leave because you aren’t having sex with me,” I chuckle. “You can crash on my bed, I’ll take the couch.”
“I thought you were an ax murderer,” she slurs.
“Oh yeah, but my shift doesn’t start until after six.”
I slice open the box marked COMFIES and dig out an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that I won’t miss – not that I’m not planning on seeing her again because she isn’t sleeping with me.
I wasn’t planning on seeing her again before we ever got here.
The last thing that I need right now is to dive into another relationship or situationship or flirtationship – any kind of -ship, I’m not getting involved in it.
My breakup with Naomi was enough chaos to last me the next few years, at least.
I get Sasha situated in my room with some sweats, a trash can, and a fresh glass of water before heading back out into the living room.
Dropping down onto the couch, I grab the TV remote and flip through to old reruns of Golden Girls.
Nothing gets rid of a semi quite as quickly as a bunch of old ladies making raunchy jokes.
While I scroll through social media, a text message drops down from the top of my screen and I open it with a loud laugh. A blurry selfie fills the screen, with Davis holding his middle finger to the camera and a bare ass on either side of his head.
Davis: You wish you were me right now.
I respond with a picture of my TV screen.
Me: I don’t know, I bet Blanche is a freak.
His lack of response after ten minutes tells me that he’s likely face-first in one or both of those asses, and I probably won’t hear from him again for the rest of the night.
I kick my shoes over the arm of the couch and settle in for a long and, judging by the ache in my crotch, uncomfortable night.