CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emery
The door clicks shut behind me and suddenly the quiet of my apartment is too stagnant. Especially after a day filled with noise and laughter and him.
I stand there longer than necessary, my hand still resting on the doorknob, my heart beating erratically like it did back on the street. The music. His body against mine. His hand steady on my waist.
Too steady while my head and heart raced out of control.
God. I close my eyes and drag in a breath as I rest my forehead against the door.
That almost happened.
The realization had been coming slowly during the ride home, but now in the quiet, that singular thought lands hard.
It wasn’t imagined. It isn’t a hypothetical. He leaned in. I leaned in. There was no confusion in it—just want and proximity and a moment where the gravity pulling us together wasn’t one-sided. He wanted it just as badly.
And that’s the part that scares me the most.
Because I wanted to kiss him.
I push off the door and move into my apartment. I’m restless, antsy, needing an outlet and knowing the one I’d most likely choose to use to get it is currently on the other side of the hallway and completely off-limits.
Completely.
Lost in thought, my fingers move absently to my lips. His breath was brushing against them—warm. Familiar already—as if my body had already decided something my brain hadn’t signed off on.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be full of laughter and sunshine. Proof that I can exist outside of work without unraveling.
But my stomach flipped when he smiled just now. I felt protected and content as he steered us through the crowd.
Safe.
Isn’t that the most dangerous part? It’s not like I’m looking to date, but today showed me what it felt like to be valued. My opinions mattered. My dry humor was appreciated. My banter was reciprocated.
I was acknowledged in a way I can’t ever remember feeling before, and in a time when I’m trying to move on from the scars Jared left, it means more to me than I ever could have expected.
Lucas Hale temps me to reconsider dating. I promised myself that men were off my radar, and yet, he unknowingly changed my position. His attentiveness and thoughtfulness reminded me what it felt like to be seen and heard.
Fuck.
I pace the length of my living room. Past the stupidly bright lamp, the ridiculous cactus pinata, the bright throw pillows, and hand-crafted platter I bought. All of them proof that today happened. That I laughed and wanted and almost forgot every rule I’ve set for this fresh start of mine.
Lucas Hale is my patient. My responsibility. A professional line I can’t cross without risking everything I’ve worked for.
A fling would be easy.
The traitorous but delicious thought slips in uninvited.
The gratification people warn you against but secretly understand and cheer you toward. A libidinous, uncomplicated distraction with a man who makes me laugh and looks at me like I matter.
It’s tempting.
He’s hot. Single. Kind in ways he doesn’t advertise. And he lives ten feet from me.
But this job?
This fresh start?
That’s not replaceable even if it is for a toe-curling orgasm and someone to cuddle up to after a hard day.
I didn’t agree to end a marriage that made me feel small and careful and apologetic, just to risk it all for great chemistry.
Even if that chemistry makes my skin hum.
And especially if the almost kiss keeps replaying in my head.
My feet falter and I laugh once. It’s short and breathless and self-deprecating. “Get it together, Porter,” I mutter to myself.
This cannot happen.
Not willingly.
Not impulsively.
Not at the cost of everything I’m rebuilding.
“Would you listen to yourself?” I ask as I pull my shirt over my head. “You’re already talking yourself out of falling madly in love with the man when all he did was steady you in a crowd. Overthinker of the century right here,” I say and hold my hand up like I’m being picked out of a crowd.
I glance again at the items I came home with and smile despite myself. It was still a good day, right?
You’re lonely, Em. Lonely people make up imaginary interest without solid proof the other person is even thinking the same thing.
I sigh and shimmy off my shorts.
Tomorrow I’ll be professional. Careful, controlled.
I unhook my bra.
Tomorrow I’ll remember exactly where that line is.
I turn the shower on, knowing even if these thoughts were true, that doesn’t mean I get to have him.
Even if wanting him has made me feel more alive than I have in years.