Miller
Emma:The guys here are stupid. Dance with me!
Me:Umm?
Emma:Come on. You’re not just a pretty face.
Emma:I know you know more than one word. Let’s dance!
Emma:*GIF of Leonardo DiCaprio Breakdancing*
Me:Are you drunk?
Emma:Well. I’m not sober, and all the guys here are lame.
Me:Where are you? Don’t tell me you’re at that strip club off 526 because you promised you wouldn’t bring up *that* movie night again.
Emma:OMG! I’d almost forgotten about your bitching dance moves!
Emma:I’m going to need a refresher. Just to see if your skills have improved.
Me:Not likely, babe. Where are you?
Emma:At the bar with the girls and the idiot guys, of course.
Me:I need more than that, Emma.
Me:Are you downtown?
Emma:Gotta go, tequila calls. Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport.
Emma:*GIF of cacti doing tequila shots*
Me:Where are you?
Me:Emma?
Leave it to her to remind me of that night we watched Magic Mike, and I made the mistake of saying the dancing didn’t look hard.
I groaned, running my hand over my face as I veered into the parking lot of B’s Bar. My brothers and I were here once a week, and I knew Emma and her friends did the same. The food was as upscale as a bar could get, the tables were always stocked with roasted peanuts, and the beer list filled with local IPAs from the East Coast.
Perhaps I was wrong, and they’d braved one of the haunts downtown. She’d yet to return my text messages, so if she wasn’t here, I’d cut my losses, have a beer, and text her tomorrow. That’s what friends were for, right? At least according to the old Dionne Warwick song, and we’d been that since high school.
Friends worked best for us—I’d be dating someone, or she would. We’d have lunch here and there, spend a few Saturdays at the beach together, and fall into bed on the off chance we were both single. It was the uncomplicated nature of our friends-with-benefits relationship that had me leaving my uneventful Friday night. I nodded to the door guy, then pushed past the sweaty bodies that were so eager to get inside.
She texted me as a friend—someone to show up at the bar, laugh with her, do a shot or two, and make sure she got home safely. There were no wayward emotions about commitment or awkward thoughts about bringing her home to meet my mom. Hell, some weeks she saw Mom more than I did. I’d like to say my evening consisted of something more than leftover Italian food and my forty-seventh rewatch of Die Hard—but it didn’t.
Her text was the highlight of my day.
Wait—the highlight of my day was waking up with her in my bed, but seeing her twice was a close runner-up.
Bodies were tight against each other on the small dance floor, and when I didn’t see a head of golden curls in the crowd, I moved to the bar. It stretched along the wall toward the far left, with brightly colored stools bolted down and a mirror reflecting everyone who sat and laughed.
On the second pass over, I saw a glint of turquoise. Not blue. Emma had corrected me the first time I flicked the huge hoop earrings she insisted matched every outfit she owned. The memory made me smile, and I remembered joking about them being slightly smaller than her head and getting slapped in the shoulder for my trouble.
While I rubbed the sensitive spot that would, maybe, but probably not turn into a bruise, she told me about getting them on a road trip she and her grandmother took to Cherokee, North Carolina. She talked with bright eyes and sweeping arms about visiting a national park where they saw frozen waterfalls and bison.
Emma was one of those people who infected you with happiness and positive energy—that was why her enthusiastic aggression had the potential to leave marks on my otherwise unblemished arms. The more excited she got about a topic, the bigger gestures her hands would make.
Over the years, I’d learned that if she really got going, I’d need to slink farther down in my chair to keep from being black and blue by the end of the conversation. She’d never actually left a mark, but those delicate little hands had the potential to do some damage.
I snapped out of the wistful thoughts as I studied her. She was not enjoying her current conversation—her hands were clasped on her thighs, and her lips were pursed tightly. A random guy with an entire bottle of hair gel on his head and a salmon polo—complete with a popped collar like an eighties prep school idiot—had his hand resting on her upper arm.
I would never begrudge her hanging out with another guy. One of us—her, probably—would eventually start dating someone seriously, and our late-night yum-yum time would fade into the background, but it was not this guy.
And today was not that day.
Emma’s body was hunched in on itself as she tried to lean away from him, but the farther she moved, the closer he got. It made my blood boil to see her so uncomfortable. She was probably here with her friends, other flower name and city name—Lavender or Charlotte, maybe—but they were not anywhere near her.
That pissed me off. They should be together. She was too vulnerable out here alone—drinking—with her inhibitions lowered and primed to be taken advantage of by whatever creeper sauntered to the bar. My heart slammed against my ribcage at the sexist realization, and I huffed out a breath—Mom would be proud.
She was more than capable of taking care of herself.Still, after one drunken night of her confessing the real reason that she was let go from her last job, a ball of protective fury named Emma Freaking James lay dormant in my chest—ready to be awakened if the need arose. It flared to life as I watched him touch her, and I cracked my knuckles, darting between two guys vying for the bartender’s attention.
“Hey, ba—” I cleared my throat, raising my voice with my hand in the air before swiftly being cut off by a firebolt of energy topped with dark hair.
“There you are,” her friend with the short locks said, pushing between Emma and the jagoff. I shook my head and laughed, watching as she shouldered him out of the way just as a bartender leaned over. Emma did the same, and the chick behind the bar nodded before turning to the various bottles behind her.
Good.
Not that I wouldn’t have loved to put the salmon shirt guy in his place with a well-placed throat punch, but the protectiveness I felt settled back quietly where it belonged, knowing she wasn’t alone. I leaned an elbow against the bar, crossing one leg over the other and watching the bartender put two small glasses of red liquid in front of them. Emma turned her body farther away from the idiot—who still stood glaring at her friend’s back—as they clinked the small glasses together and downed the shots.
“Emma?” I called, cupping my hand around my mouth as I pushed off the bar and approached her. She followed the sound of her name with pinched eyebrows before smiling—and not just any smile. This was an Emma James personalized facial expression that started in her toes and radiated outward, blinding everyone in its path. It was sunlight and lightning, all bottled up with glitter and exploding outward from every pore in her body.
It was one of those smiles that took away every negative thought in your head and made your body flood with serotonin—and this one was for me. My cock immediately took notice—like it did every time I was in her presence, and I covertly adjusted my stance, willing it to behave. She drew her lip between her teeth and let her eyes trail over my body.
Fuck, it was hot, being the focal point of her affection. I had to repress the urge to grab her, drag her into a dark hallway, and wrap her legs around my waist.
She popped out of the barstool like a sexy little jack-in-the-box and bounced over before throwing her arms around me. I smiled and breathed her in, thankful to see the idiot who touched her finally stand and disappear into the crowd. Now that he’d left, and I wasn’t worried some half-assed little boy pretending to be a man would goad me into a fight, I closed my eyes and bent my head to bury my face in her neck.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Light Beer,” her friend with the dark hair said, peering around Emma’s body. I felt her shoulder shake with silent laughter as I trailed my fingers down her spine, knowing how ticklish she was, before pinching her hip. She squeaked and batted my hand away before threading her fingers in my hair and pulling—hard.
“Lavender?” I asked, lifting a hand in greeting.
“Rose,” she corrected, shaking her head then reaching for several additional shots on the bar that weren’t there a second ago. She handed one to me, then Emma, before grasping the third that was left and raising the small glass in a silent toast. Emma pulled away, but I kept one hand possessively on her waist as we clinked them together.
The liquor warmed my throat as I removed my hand from Emma long enough to put the empty glasses back on the bar.
“Great to see you, as always, Rose. Are your partners in crime somewhere around here, too?” She huffed and nodded, standing on her tiptoes and searching the bar before pointing toward the edge of the dance floor. I followed her line of sight until I saw them bouncing up and down in time to the beat of the music. Rose stuck two fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistled, causing the girls to stop dancing, wave, and begin pushing through the crowd.
“You want another drink?” Emma whispered, fisting my shirt to drag me closer to her. I shivered as her hot breath caressed my cheek, irritated my cock thought this public place was the right time to stand up and beg for attention.
“Nope. You indulge, babe. I’m just here to make sure you get home safely.”
“But what if I want a repeat performance of your sexy striptease?” she asked, giggling as my eyes darted to Rose, who thankfully was talking to her other friends and not paying attention to us.
“You are horrible with secrets,” I said, pushing my finger against her lips.
“Am not. I am the best secret keeper ever, but I’ve had a weird, fuckwazzocks of a day and need the distraction.”
“Fuckwazzocks?”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped, backhanding my arm. I shook my head, grasping her hands and lowering them to her side. “My bad, Em. So, tell me. By distraction, you mean…”
My voice trailed off, and my eyebrows rose while I waited on edge for what she’d say.
“If you won’t dance for me, perhaps you’ll let me see your dick again. He’s so pretty.”
I scoffed, pulling her away from the bar and to the edge of the dance floor. Some Avril Lavigne song was blaring through the speakers, slow enough for me to bring her close and furrow my brows.
“Please do not refer to my manhood as pretty. That makes it sound small.”
“Sweet?” she asked, tapping her finger on her chin.
“He is not sweet or pretty. He’s monumental. He wants you to pause and consider his sheer magnificence.”
“Nope.” She pursed her lips, popping the last syllable as she giggled.
I rolled my eyes and threaded my fingers through the back of her hair, tilting her head so I could lean closer to her ear. She shook those honey locks, the scent of peaches slapping me in the face as she smiled.
“I’m so sorry, Miller. But your dick is quite beautiful. It’s the kind of dick you very much want to have snuggled up inside you.”
“Em.”
“And it’s impossible not to lick.”
“Emma.”
“And kiss the tip.”
“My cock is not beautiful,” I said, exasperated, as the song changed to something more upbeat, and she bounced from foot to foot. Her fingers interlaced with mine as we moved to the bass.
“It is. Just accept it. There are far worse fates for a dick.”
“I suppose. He’s still well above average,” I whined, nodding at Rose, who mimed that she was asking to cash out at the bar.
“Agreed, Mil.”
“You ready to get out of here?” I asked, tugging her hand so she’d follow me off the dance floor and back toward the bar. Her eyes strayed over my shoulder, and I turned my head, wondering what had captured her attention. Nothing stood out, so I focused back on her and the adorable grin she wore. Her eyes were glassy, and a light sheen of sweat made her face glow in the harsh lights above us.
She was in that blissful state of being buzzed without the uncomfortable side effects of being drunk. I wanted to get her home, then crash. The fatigue of the day was pressing against my temples and causing the knot in my right shoulder to twinge with overexertion.
“Emma?”
“Hmm,” she said, humming under her breath and still swaying to the music. She was so beautiful like this—all relaxed and loose without the stresses of the day wearing her down and stealing her gorgeous glow.
“Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“Duh, big guy. I can always count on you. You’re the only one who’s a hundred percent honest with me.”
Well, that took a left turn and piqued my interest.
I raised an eyebrow, and she smiled as I passed my credit card to the bartender to settle the bill.
“You only want sex.”
That makes me sound like a sleazeball.
“And that’s fine because we work best as friends, and you’re the best I’ve ever had.”
Really, Em?
“I just wish I could find someone who was the total package, you know?” She laid her head on the bar and sighed as I scratched my jaw before scribbling my name on the receipt.
“Nice to know you’re only using me for my body,” I said, smiling so she wouldn’t see how much that comment stung.
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. The perfect guy for me is out there somewhere, and I’ve decided to let something else take the reins.”
“Emma, baby,” I purred, watching her eyes dilate and her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip. “I could be anything you need. All you have to do is ask.”
She rolled her eyes and sat up, popping me on the shoulder before smiling. “I know, but I’d never ask you to be someone you aren’t. You gave your mom a hard time last week when she asked you to wear khakis to her birthday party. I’ll not have you resenting me before the first formal event for the Academy even finishes.”
I shrugged, clasping her hand and pulling her away from the sticky countertop.
“See? You agree. I’ll find someone one of these days. The supercomputer will rescue me from my singleness.”
I tugged her close, running my nose along the smooth arch of her neck. “Whatever you say, pretty girl. Now, could you tell me more about me being the best you’ve ever had?”
I tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned closer to kiss her pulse point.
“You would only hear that. Naughty, naughty.” She giggled, wagging her finger at me before squeezing my hand. “I’m not begrudging you for using your dick as a compass. At least you know what you want.”
Now I’m confused as fuck.
Her large green eyes were so open and inviting, all I could do was lean into her orbit and breathe her in, glad to be rid of the douche who had his paws all over her. We’d never be anything more than this—and that was fine.
This is enough.