Chapter 7
SEVEN
EMMA
It had been a while since I’d seen Jackson, but the warmth of our friendship hadn’t faded—only strengthened when he instantly agreed to meet me at our usual spot, the Irish pub, as soon as I reached out that Friday night. A true sign of loyalty. Or boredom.
I spotted him sitting at the bar, his usual calm demeanor in place, though his eyes lit up as he glanced in my direction.
There was that familiar smile—kind, warm, and filled with genuine joy at the sight of me.
It reminded me how long it had been since we’d last caught up.
Seriously, how had we let so much time pass?
"Em," he breathed, the sound of my name carrying relief as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to my cheek like some old-world gentleman. He started to pull back, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easily. I threw an arm around his neck, dragging him into a proper half-hug.
He stiffened for a second, probably doing the mental math on whether or not this level of affection was necessary, then finally returned it. It was a little awkward—like we were both figuring out how to reconnect after so much time apart—but it was still fine. Familiar. Safe.
When we broke away, I opened my mouth to say something, but then I spotted it—a plate of fries already on the table, still steaming, along with a Scotch I definitely hadn’t ordered. My stomach growled audibly.
“You pre-ordered?” I asked, eyes narrowing.
He gave an innocent shrug. “I figured you’d want carbs and a coping mechanism.”
I dropped into the seat, already reaching for a fry. “That’s disturbingly accurate.”
I bit into one like it was the first warm thing I’d touched in weeks. “Honestly, if you’d thrown in a side of onion rings, I’d be legally obligated to name my first child after you.”
Jackson gave me a look. “That’s a lot of pressure for bar food.”
I popped another fry in my mouth. “And yet it’s still more emotionally available than most men.”
He snorted. “I reject that gender-wide slander on principle.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “Want to tell me about your last three romantic relationships?”
He blinked. “Not particularly.”
“Exactly.”
I laughed as he took a slow sip of his drink, clearly regretting ever trying to win this exchange.
"Seems like forever since I’ve seen you," I said softly, the words carrying a hint of apology.
Jackson raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You can say that again. Pretty sure I haven’t seen much of you since you started dating my best friend."
I shrugged. "Not like I’ve seen much of him either."
A frown appeared on his usually stoic face. "Do I detect a hint of unhappiness in that lovely voice of yours?"
Okay, way too deep for minute five of this reunion. I smiled through it, and tried to deflect with a joke. "Nah, it’s the hunger talking. Pretty sure I haven’t eaten a decent meal in weeks."
Jackson’s serious expression cracked as he laughed. "You and food. I’m starting to think James might have some competition."
I grinned. "Don’t tell him, but food’s winning by a mile."
"How tragic," he said. "Outshined by a fry."
“To be fair,” I said around a mouthful, “it’s a damn good fry.”
“It better be, if it’s outperforming my best friend.”
“Well,” I shrugged, “not on one of his good days.”
He chuckled, but his amusement flickered away as his gaze shifted over my shoulder. I followed his line of sight to the bar, where a blond, handsome guy had settled onto a stool. Recognition hit instantly—he was the guy I’d seen portaling in with James and Maurice’s body.
"Who’s he?" Jackson murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
I stole another glance, pretending not to notice the sudden rigidity in his posture. "I think he’s an Offensive from Crown." I turned back to Jackson, studying his face. Something was…off. "Want to go over and introduce ourselves?"
Jackson swallowed hard, nodding once. Which was interesting, because Jackson never swallowed hard. He wasn’t the swallowing hard type.
We both stood, making our way toward the stranger. The guy looked up, pleasantly surprised at our approach, and stood to greet us. Up close, he was even more striking—tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of effortless confidence that made it clear he was used to being noticed.
His tousled blond hair was long enough to be perpetually messy in that annoyingly perfect way, and his sharp blue orbs carried a glint of mischief, even as he studied us with quiet curiosity.
A hint of stubble shadowed his jaw, adding to the rugged, charmingly unbothered look, screaming Irish rogue.
Jackson extended his hand. "Hi, I’m Jackson Lau," he said firmly and measured.
Before I could introduce myself, the new guy’s voice cut through with an unmistakable Irish lilt. "Sean McGrath. Third cycler. Nice to meet ye. Lau ye say? Yer James’s friend, the first cycle Orator?"
Jackson cocked his head, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face. "Yes, I’m a first cycler. Is that a problem?"
Sean frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. "Why would that be a problem, eh?"
Jackson’s tone grew colder. "It shouldn’t be, but you asked as if it were."
"Well, it’s not," Sean shot back, looking slightly irritated now.
"Glad to hear," Jackson replied curtly, his posture straight and rigid.
I glanced between the two, some kind of charge in the air like a live wire. They were staring each other down, neither backing off. I stepped in, trying to cut through the awkwardness. "Okay…" I ventured hesitantly, "That seemed unnecessarily hostile."
Sean shook his head once, then turned to face me, as if noticing me for the first time. A charming grin slowly spread across his face. “Ah, beautiful, smart, and witty—ye must be Emma.”
I blinked, slightly taken aback. “Those are a lot of compliments, coming from someone who’s never met me.”
Sean’s grin widened. “James’s words, love. He wouldn’t stop goin’ on about ye. Glad to finally put a face to the woman who’s managed to put a smile on me broodiest friend.”
I couldn’t help but grin back. It was impossible not to like this guy—though Jackson’s glowering suggested it wasn’t entirely impossible.
"Yes, well, my Mister Dark ‘n Stormy certainly has his broody days," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Sean let out a laugh, bright and infectious. "Ye named him after a cocktail? A woman after me own heart." With a wink, he hopped off his stool, then smoothly linked his arm with mine as he steered me away from an even moodier Jackson.
"What’s his deal?" Sean whispered, nodding toward Jackson as we made our way to the other side of the bar where the bartender stood waiting.
I shrugged, a ridiculous spark of excitement surging at how easy it was to connect with Sean. "Never known him to be like this. You must bring it out of him."
“Just my luck,” he muttered under his breath, clearly amused.
I smirked, deciding to tease him a bit. “So, this accent of yours… Any chance you’re from Ireland?”
Sean let out a hearty laugh, filled with warmth and a chiming charm. “What gave it away? Was it me rollin' ‘R’?”
“That, plus I’m from Boston,” I said with a wink. “I’m used to hearing it. Makes me feel at home.”
Sean’s smirk deepened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Explains your presence at this wonderful pub. Glad you’re that comfortable with me. Though I don’t know how yer boyfriend’s going to feel about it.”
“About what?” a cold and angry voice cut through the air behind us.
We spun around to find Jackson and James standing there, both glaring daggers at us. James’s intent was dark with jealousy as he stormed over, grabbing my arm and yanking me to his side.
“Hey!” I protested, but my words were cut off when his mouth crashed onto mine, the kiss possessive and alive with a hunger which left me breathless.
“Wanna go back to my loft?” he murmured, his lips barely lifting from the kiss, his eyes now shining with desire.
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, utterly unraveled and unable to form a coherent response.
James’s grip on my arm was firm but gentle as he guided me away from Sean, whose expression wavered between confusion and concern.
Jackson kept staring at Sean, who called out, “I guess that’s my cue to step back. Enjoy yer evening!”
James didn’t respond, his focus entirely on me. He led me toward the exit, his steps quick and purposeful. As we reached the door, James pulled me close again, his breath warm against my ear. “I missed you,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with vulnerability.
I looked up at him, seeing the raw honesty etched in his features. “I missed you too.”
He smiled faintly and pressed his forehead against mine for a brief, tender moment before opening the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
We stepped into the cool night air, and I glanced back one last time at the bar before stepping through James’s portal.
Once we were inside his loft, James closed the door behind us, his hands lingering on the handle for a moment before turning to face me.
He took a step toward me, his gaze intense. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his voice filled with longing. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek, sending a shiver cascading down my spine.
Damn it. I was angry with him, wasn’t I? For ignoring me the whole week without reason?
But when he touched me like that, it was hard to remember. I leaned into his embrace, closing my eyes as his warmth enveloped me. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” I admitted.
He slowly traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips, his caress feather-light but electrifying.
His lips followed, brushing softly against my skin, planting delicate kisses that made my breath catch.
Each kiss was tender, exploring the contours of my face with a reverence that made my heart race.
All thoughts of fighting with him instantly gone.