Chapter 6
Chapter Six
GIDEON
W hen I was twelve years old, I played baseball at my middle school. My family didn’t have much money, but my mom worked at the post office and fudged our address so I could go to school in the rich part of town. The baseball team was one of the best in the state, and I had a lot of natural talent.
The coach wanted me to play, but I didn’t have money for the equipment. So like any poor kid, I hustled. I stole cleats from the school’s lost and found, did my friends' homework in exchange for an old uniform, and collected soda cans when I needed money for away games.
We were so good during my last year of middle school that we made it all the way to a national championship.
I took the field at the bottom of the ninth with bases loaded, and our team was down by two.
I’ll never forget striding up to the plate and staring down the pitcher.
He’d hit the two batters before me, and my coach gave me the advice to crowd the plate and catch one too.
I remember every detail of gripping the bat while the pitcher released the ball, and the sound it made when I connected with it. I could feel my heart stop as I watched the ball sail into the air and then go over the fence.
My grand slam earned our team a national championship, and for the rest of my life, I compared all of my achievements against it.
The high, the feeling of hard work paying off and knowing that I did something great.
All other moments have had to compete with that night, but right now, I couldn’t tell you the name of that team.
Kissing Emerson is better than a grand slam. It’s better than graduating law school, or retiring my mom, or winning an Iron Man. Kissing Emerson tops everything I’ve ever accomplished or will ever attempt to do.
Her soft lips part, and I’m so, so gentle as I slide my tongue along her bottom lip. My grip is firm as I hold her against me, and then I realize I’m not holding her at all. I’m pinning her against the wall, and her legs have parted to make space for me.
“Gideon,” she whispers before tasting my tongue and making the sweetest moan.
“I want all your firsts.” My mouth moves down her neck and then back up. “Let me have them, Emerson.”
“Everything okay in there?” the sales clerk says on the other side of the curtain, and Emerson goes stiff.
“Just a second,” Emerson calls out before she lowers her voice. “You have to get out of here before someone walks in.”
“So what?” It’s reckless for me to act like this, and it’s completely out of character. I’m always the one that is careful and calculated. I keep people at arm's length so I don’t lose control.
She tries to push at my chest, but I don’t budge. “Gideon, if my mother or future mother-in-law find you in here, they’ll tell you to get out. I’ll be the one that will have to control the fallout.”
Her words sober me, and I’m thankful something is getting through my lust-filled brain. “You’re right.” It’s an admission I don’t want to make, but I could fuck up her future. Fuck it up , my mind taunts, and I let out a frustrated grunt. “I want to see you again.”
“That’s a very bad idea.” Her words don’t match her actions because she’s gripping my shirt and pulling me down for another kiss.
“Tonight,” I say in a rush between kisses. “I want to see you tonight.”
“Tomorrow,” she counters and pushes against my chest. “Now go.”
It takes all my strength to force my foot to take a step back, then another. When there’s finally space between us, I see how flushed her cheeks are and how the silk robe has come open, revealing her soft curves. I ache to have her in my arms again, but she’s right: I’m out of time.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her with a glare, and she touches her bottom lip like she can still feel my kiss on her.
“I’ll find a way to come to your office.”
“If you don’t, I’m coming to you.” I grab the curtain to pull it open, but before I do, I rush back to Emerson and pull her into my arms. This time when I kiss her, it’s not a goodbye but enough to hold me over until I can do it again.
Once I let go of her, she stumbles back, and then I’m storming out of the changing room. It feels like I just chugged a bottle of tequila and electrocuted myself at the same time, and it takes me a second to find my feet.
“Don’t worry, you’re not the first groom to sneak in here,” the sales clerk says. “It’s our little secret.”
“Thank you.” I straighten my suit and glance back at the changing room, regretting that I can’t go back in there. “Before I go, could I make a suggestion?”
“Always.” She seems excited by this idea and follows me to the back of the store.
When I snuck in earlier there were racks and racks of dresses in the back, but there was one in particular that caught my eye.
I must be doing this to punish myself, because choosing her wedding dress for another man is not my brightest idea.
But something about the dress made me think of Emerson, and I know that if she were mine, it’s what I would want her wearing.
“This one,” I say, pointing to the dress.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, this dress wouldn’t be possible. It’s on loan from another boutique for fashion week, and it’s not for sale.”
“How many?”
The sales clerk blinks at me. “How many?”
“I’m already buying one dress from you today. How many more will it take to make this one happen?”
Her sly grin tells me that it’s going to be a lot more, but I don’t care. I give her my card and tell her to run it for whatever she wants and take her commission off the top. Dollar signs are dancing around her head as she hands me back my card and carries the dress to Emerson’s dressing room.
I’d love to watch her try it on, but if I did, I don’t think I’d be strong enough to walk away.
And that’s exactly what I have to do.