Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BILLIE
Unlike my place, Emmett’s floor doesn’t creak when I tiptoe down the hallway with Blake at just past five a.m.
To my surprise, Blake slept-in this morning, even if the dark circles under my eyes tell the real story of how I managed less than four hours last night.
I was painfully aware that just across the hallway, Emmett was sleeping only a few feet away.
It felt a strange combination of foreign and comforting, staying overnight in his place.
With his penthouse set so many floors above street level, everything is eerily quiet, a stark contrast to my apartment that never seems to fall silent.
And speaking of stark, Emmett really needs to start thinking about turning this place into a home.
A single small plant in the corner of his living room is really the only color in an otherwise bland box.
Everything is neat and tidy, but nothing feels lived in.
I remember visiting the place he shared with Maria for the holidays, and I half expected to see some of the same soft furnishings scattered around in here.
But I don’t recognize a single item from his previous marriage.
He really meant it when he said that the divorce was a clean break for him, the empty walls a reminder that Emmett truly is rebuilding his life.
Adjusting Blake in my arms, I lift my nursing top so she can take her morning feed. The floor-to-ceiling windows provide a breathtaking panoramic view of nighttime Brooklyn, the whole city still smothered in darkness.
I pad across and take in the view, dropping my face to the top of Blake’s head so I can inhale her fresh baby scent. She had a ball in Emmett’s oversize tub last night, splashing around until her tiny limbs were fresh out of energy.
Maybe that’s why she slept so well. Or maybe she simply enjoyed the peace and quiet of Emmett’s luxury apartment.
Maybe it’s neither of those things and everything to do with the man she loves to be held by.
The second Blake sits against Emmett’s chest, it’s like her whole world goes still, eyelids drooping, chest rising and falling a little slower.
At first, I thought it was a preference for men, but by the way she squirms in my dad’s arms, I think my daughter might follow after her mom when it comes to Emmett Richards.
“We can’t catch feelings, Blakey,” I whisper into her hair, closing my eyes as she continues to suckle on my breast.
For so much of my pregnancy, I dreaded motherhood.
A real fear that I’d fail ate away at me in the dead of night.
Being honest, I’m still not sure if I’m pulling it off.
Mom is convinced that I’m killing it, although I’d argue that the credit should go to Blake.
She’s the easiest baby in postnatal classes, drawing envious comments from other new moms about how they wished their babies would learn to chill out.
When I think about it, it’s hard to believe that she’s Tucker’s daughter. That boy wouldn’t know the meaning of relax if it slapped him right across the face. A tempting thought and definitely an accurate one.
Reaching into the pocket of my robe, I pull out my phone and take a quick selfie of me and Blake, attaching it to a message for Clara.
Her reply is immediate, but that doesn’t shock me. She’s likely pulling an all-nighter, the queen of leaving assignments until the final minute.
Clara
I have a couple of questions. One, why do you not send me more photos of that stunning baby girl? Because … wow! Two, where the fuck are you? Buckingham fucking Palace?
I blow out a laugh as she returns a photo of her, sitting alone in the library, papers stacked around her, along with three cans of Alani energy drink.
But as my laughter fades and Blake slips into a milk-induced coma, I’m hit with an emotion I wasn’t expecting to feel when I first messaged my friend.
Sadness.
My time in that library is over, as is the life I once led around campus.
Late-night studying with Clara, followed by early morning sprints to my professor’s office to make submission deadlines—that was what my life once centered around.
If the campus coffee shop had run out of raisin toast, that was a disaster to me, especially if I had a lecture first thing with Professor Barnett, otherwise known as The Dragon.
Perhaps it makes me a bad mom to grieve the life I once had, and if it does, then I guess I’ll have to sit with that reality.
Because regardless of the deep way that I love my daughter, the dreams I once had of graduating with honors and studying for the bar exam are all but gone.
A promise of support from Tucker and his family has transpired into nothing more than false hope and bitter feelings toward a boy I thought I once loved.
And now, as I stand here, looking out over the Brooklyn skyline, I realize that nothing in life is guaranteed, and neither are the people that you think have your back—a hard fucking lesson to learn at only twenty-one-years-old.
Me
If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.
Clara
Be my guest. If I don’t turn in this paper on time, I’m pretty sure my dad will throttle me anyway.
Me
So dramatic.
Clara
Perhaps. Anyway, back to you and your lavish surroundings.
I look down at a sleeping Blake, thinking about how much I should reveal to my college friend. I’m hesitant to tell her too much, but I also need a girlfriend to talk to about Emmett.
Me
Do you remember me mentioning my dad’s best friend being an NHL player?
Clara
Girl, how could I forget? Although I’m still pissed about the fact that you wouldn’t tell me his name.
Me
I’m in his apartment.
Clara
Cool.
Wait.
At five a.m.?!
Start. Talking.
Me
I’m not sleeping with him, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Clara
So, you decided to have a pajama party at his place?
Me
My apartment needs maintenance, and he offered for me to stay here until it’s fixed.
Clara
Sorry, but do you expect me to believe this?
Me
It’s the truth.
Clara
I don’t doubt that it is. All I’m saying is, you could’ve stayed at your parents’, no?
I turn on my heel, heading for the bedroom so I can set Blake down in her bassinet. Then I take a seat on the edge of the bed. The only light in the apartment is the one filtering down the hallway from the living room floor lamp. Shrugging off my robe, I take in Emmett’s closed bedroom door.
Me
He’s my friend, but I can’t deny that there’s something between us. We’ve spent a lot of time together since I got back from Austin.
Clara
Have you guys spoken about it?
Me
Sort of. It’s pointless though because nothing could ever happen, even if we wanted it to.
Clara
Because of his friendship with your dad?
…
Me
That and other complications. Including the fact that he’s fourteen years older than me.
Clara
Shit. Billie, are you asking me for permission to fuck your dad’s best friend?
When light suddenly shines beneath Emmett’s bedroom door, my heart thumps in my chest.
Me
I don’t know what I’m asking for.
Clara
Well, I’ll tell you what you’re asking for instead then. Trouble. Your whole world just got turned upside down at the hands of a prick who, by the way, just broke it off with Rachael, saying that he wanted to “make the most of” his final semester. Ugh.
Me
I don’t care about Tucker.
Clara
Good. But let his memory be a lesson in men. You’re hot, and this guy is much older. The chances are, he wants to bang you to prove a point to himself.
I shake my head at Clara’s last text, and my regret over bringing this up with her grows stronger.
Me
I don’t think that’s true. Emmett’s a good guy.
Shit.
Clara
Holy. SHIT. You’re talking about the Blades defenseman Emmett Richards!
Me
Please, PLEASE don’t say anything.
The next thing I know, a voice message lands in our text thread.
Lowering the volume, I hit Play and hold the speaker to my ear.
“Okay, so this is where I take it all back,” Clara’s giddy voice whispers down the phone.
“Bang him. Fuck his goddamn brains out. Emmett freaking Richards? Girl, he is quite possibly the hottest thing I have ever seen on skates, and here you are, sitting in his apartment at five in the morning, listening to my voice note when you should be hearing him call you a good girl. Woof.”
I snort a laugh and close out the message, setting my cell down beside me on the duvet.
What would Emmett do if I crept into his room, dressed in tiny pajamas?
Maybe his light is an invitation for me to do just that?
With my confidence bolstered and inhibitions at an all-time low, thanks to Clara’s voice note, I cross the hallway and stand at Emmett’s door, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath as I twist the handle.
A large king-size bed sits in the center of another stark white room, one bedside lamp lit and a dark gray duvet thrown back, almost like he climbed out of bed in a hurry.
Turning on my heel, I realize how stupid of an idea this really is when the sound of his shower turning on stops me in my tracks.
With the door to his en suite partially open, the opportunity to take a few more paces and catch a glimpse of the naked body I know I’ll never get to touch proves to be too tempting.
My conscience knows that this is wrong on so many levels, but the increasing thrum of my pulse urges me to keep moving forward.
And when my hand finally reaches the door, pushing it open so I can get a better view, my previously fast heart rate spikes.
This isn’t how I expected to find Emmett. I thought he’d be standing under a stream of hot water, massaging soap into his glorious body.
Instead, he’s massaging his dick.
Up and down, his fist moves from the base to the tip of a long, thick shaft, the other hand braced above his head, palm splayed out against a white tiled wall.
I should back away and leave, but I know he can’t see me, his head bowed between his shoulders, muscles rippling in his back.
Another stroke of his hand pulls a groan from his throat and then … a breathless cry of my name from his lips. He’s close, and I’m wet, thighs pinching as I brace a hand on the doorjamb in front of me.
Move, Billie.
Emmett switches hands, beating a fist against the tiles as his pleasure picks up. He’s fantasizing about me, and it’s the hottest fucking thing I have ever witnessed.
He’s the hottest man I have ever seen.
I toss my gaze toward the ceiling, fighting the urge to reach inside my panties.
“Billie?!”
When Emmett repeats my name, I know it’s not a lustful plea.
And when our eyes connect, water cascading down his horrified face, what remains of my soul rapidly leaves my body.