Chapter 15 Joelle
JOELLE
Iwake up to silence in the apartment. Usually, Collette is stamping around like an elephant.
I check my phone and realize it's almost noon.
I've slept most of the day away. Guess I needed it, jet lag is brutal.
I roll out of bed, my body still feels heavy, exhausted, but I drag myself to the kitchen.
There's a note on the counter in Collette's loopy handwriting.
Went to brunch with Harper, Issy, Eve, and Vi.
Didn't want to wake you.
Back around 2.
Great, finally alone. Last night's party and shock have zapped my social battery for the day.
No, the month. But I know Lettie is just going to give me today off the hook before I am forced to attend brunch.
Not that I don't like the girls, they are great, but they are so much more extroverted than I am.
I make myself coffee, and the smell helps wake me up.
I shower, letting the hot water work out the tension in my shoulders.
When I get out, I don't bother with real clothes because I'm lazing around the apartment today, getting things ready for my first day tomorrow.
I grab the first thing I find, a white tank top and linen shorts, no need for a bra. I'm going for comfort today.
The apartment is a disaster from last night, with empty bottles sitting by the trash, and bags filled with rubbish that need to be taken care of.
The boys cleaned up before they went, but they forgot to take the trash out.
I grab the two bags and carry them to the door.
The trash chute is just down the hall. A quick trip.
No one will see me in my dodgy outfit. I open the door and push it open with my hip, then step into the hallway.
It's only a couple of steps. I'll make it back and forth in time.
But as soon as I rush away from the door, I hear it creak.
No.
I turn around and drop the bags. A gust of wind comes through and slams it shut.
Shit. I freeze. I stare at the shut door that I’ve left everything on the other side of. I look down at my wrist, where my watch would normally sit, and curse myself for not putting it back on after my shower. I would have been able to text Lettie.
With my shoulders hunched over, I grab the bags of trash, throw them down the chute, and then head back to the apartment.
I try the handle, even though I know there's no hope.
It doesn't turn. Locked. I try again, jiggling and pulling harder.
Still locked. I kick it out of pure frustration and curse everything.
Fuck my life.
"What did that door do to you?" a deep voice rumbles down the corridor.
My heart stops. Please don't be him. Please don't be ... Emmett. I turn around slowly and try to hide my exposed tits.
He's in gym clothes, a gray tank top, and black shorts.
He's been working out, he's all sweaty, his hair is damp and dark with moisture as it sticks to his forehead.
His arms glisten, highlighting his defined muscles, those veins that make women's knees weak.
He looks good. Really good. Damn it. Those dark eyes scan me, head to toe, then linger on my chest where my stupid nipples are trying to pierce through my tank top.
My face burns as I cross my arms tighter over my breasts.
"Trouble?" His voice is rough.
"Don't call me that," I warn him, I’m not in the mood.
He walks closer, each step slow. "Are you locked out?"
"No, I'm taking in the view. What does it look like?" I snap at him.
This earns me a smirk. "Smart ass." He's tall, and I hate how I have to look up at him.
"Where's your sister?"
"Brunch, she won't be back for a couple of hours."
His gaze drops again, just for a second, then back up. "And you're standing in the hallway like that?"
"Like what?"
"Half-naked." Those stormy green eyes narrow on me like I've personally offended him with my half-nakedness. Heat floods my face and spreads down my neck.
I try to cover myself more. "I was taking out the trash and the door shut behind me."
His jaw clenches. "Anyone could have seen you."
"It was only a couple of steps. I also didn't think I was going to get locked out."
We glare at each other for a couple of moments.
"Come on." He sighs.
I stare at him. "What?"
"My place. You can wait there."
I shake my head, I am not going to his apartment.
"I'm fine here. I'm sure Lettie won't be long."
Emmett raises a brow at me. "Is it because you don't think you can keep your hands to yourself?"
My mouth falls open in surprise. Is he serious right now? Then the asshole smiles.
"Joelle." The way he says my name, low, rough. I hate that it does things to me. "I'm kidding. Stop being stubborn. I'm sure we can hang out for a couple of hours, civilly."
He's right. We are about to start working together. If I can't sit in a room with him, how the hell am I going to be able to work on him?
"Fine." I sigh, admitting defeat.
We walk to his door, and I'm hyperaware of him beside me.
The heat radiating off his body, the way his shorts hang low on his hips.
Stop looking. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me, letting me enter first. Manners.
That's nice. I step inside, ignoring the way I have to brush past him to do so.
His apartment is the same size as ours, which makes sense as he has the other corner of the building.
It's cleaner than ours. He didn't just have a party. It looks very bachelor pad-like, with dark furniture, and minimal decor. Hockey accolades are displayed on the wall with his old jerseys. It’s masculine. Very athlete.
"Wait here," he says, his voice strained as he disappears down the hall. I frown at the empty space he left. I hear mumbling and banging coming from down the corridor until he pops back out with something in his hands. He returns with a large navy-blue Mavericks hoodie. "Put this on."
I take it, the fabric is soft, worn. "I can't wear this."
Emmett gives me a look. "Just put it on. Make yourself at home. I'm going to have a shower," he says before he disappears back down the corridor.
I stare at the hoodie and realize it's one of his training ones with his name on the back.
I bring it to my nose without thinking, breathing in.
It smells like him. Dammit. I pull it over my head quickly.
It swallows me, hanging to mid-thigh. The sleeves cover my hands.
Much better. I feel less exposed now. But I'm not sure how I feel about being in one of his shirts.
I look at myself in a mirror and turn around to see his name on my back.
My brothers always warned me never to wear a guy's name on my back.
Because seeing a girl wearing your name does something to a guy.
I shake that thought from my mind. Emmett was just helping me, it means nothing.
I'm not sure what to do next while I wait for him to reemerge.
So, I decide to walk around his living room, taking it all in.
There are a couple of framed photos of his family, one with a girl who looks similar to him.
I'm going to assume his sister. There are framed jerseys on the wall with hockey sticks, and framed pucks from games that must have meant a lot to him.
Photos of him winning the cup, some team photos, and other images of him scoring goals or action shots.
I take them all in. Like our apartment, the entire living room has windows that look out over the bustling city below.
We should be thankful, I've been told that the glass is only one-way so the people outside cannot see.
But I'm not so sure about that. You're not going to catch me walking about naked.
I'm studying a photo of him hoisting the cup when I hear a door open down the corridor and footsteps approaching.
I turn, just in time to see Emmett freeze in the doorway.
His hair is wet, he's changed into gray sweats that hang low on his hips, and a white T-shirt that fits way too well.
Water droplets slide down his neck and disappear into the collar.
He's not moving, he’s just staring at me.
Then I realize where his eyes are. On my hoodie.
His hoodie. The one with his name across my back.
His jaw tightens. His hands flex at his sides.
Those stormy green eyes darken as they travel down my body, linger on where the fabric hits my thighs, and then snap back to my face.
"What?" I ask, looking over myself.
"Nothing." His voice is rougher than before.
"You're being weird."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
Rolling his eyes at me, he clears his throat. "You want a water or something?"
"Sure."
He walks to the kitchen, his shoulders seem stiff. Did he hurt himself at the gym? I watch as his back muscles flex with each movement as he opens the fridge and grabs two bottles. He turns around and catches me staring at him.
"What?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Nothing," I answer quickly.
"Who's being weird now?" He walks over and hands me a water. Our fingers brush for a second, but it's enough to feel the electricity between us. He pulls back like I burned him, then glares at me like I did it to him on purpose.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Fine," he grumbles.
"You don't seem fine."
He ignores me and takes a rather large gulp of water.
I follow him as the silence that's fallen between us is deafening and awkward.
I watch him over the rim of the bottle, he's not looking at me. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps the water down.
A memory of me kissing that very throat catches me off-guard.
Stop it. That's when I realize he's glaring at me again.
"What?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing, Trouble."
There's that damn nickname again. "Would you stop with the nickname?"
"No."
My mouth falls aghast at his answer. "Why not?"
"It suits you."
"No, it doesn't." I sound offended. He knows nothing about me. I'm the least problematic person.
"Yes, it does. You're trouble." He walks slowly over to me. "Since the moment I met you."
"That's not fair. I had no idea who you were.
" I can tell he wants to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, those stormy green eyes continue to glare at me.
If he is going to hold that night against me, then that isn't fair.
If I could change things, I would, but I can't. It happened.
Get over it. "You know what? I'll just wait in the hallway.
" I huff, storming off toward his front door.
"Don't." He catches my wrist.