Chapter 12
KNOX
It takes a lot of convincing and some forceful manhandling to get Emery down the narrow path to the two-story garage behind Emma and Henry’s place. It used to be another one of my dad’s rental properties, but I’ve slowly turned it into my own space.
“I can’t believe I left my pepper spray in my purse,” Emery mumbles under her breath. Quietly enough to be talking to herself, but loud enough for me to loosen my grip.
“I’m not going to kidnap you, Bambi,” I sigh, shaking off the unhelpful thought of her tied up on my bed. “If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t let you see where we’re going. And I’d definitely use a gag.” She gasps, fueling the goofy grin on my face.
When we get to the side door, I drop her hand and wrestle a set of keys from my pocket. I can feel her inquisitive stare, but that just makes me want to go slower. But I’m already skating on thin ice, so finally I turn the key and open the door.
Fluorescent light fills the space, casting a white glow over my freshly shined-up Mustang, which takes up half of the garage. I spent my entire senior year of high school and the summer afterward rebuilding this car with my dad. It was the nicest and, dare I say, prettiest thing I owned.
“If you’re done drooling over your car, can you tell me what I’m doing here?” Emery snaps from behind me.
“Always so impatient,” I say, shaking my head. “Follow me, grumpy.”
“Grumpy?” she scoffs.
“That doesn’t count as a pet name, baby,” I say, calling back to her earlier use of the word. I’m not going to lie—I liked it when she called me baby.
I hear a few grunts and groans from behind me, but I walk toward the door on the other side of the garage, knowing she’ll follow. She was always good at following rules, whether she liked to admit it or not. No number of snide comments or scowling could cover up the soft-hearted girl underneath.
We walk through the door to find a clean space with a few work benches and a couple of neatly stacked storage bins pushed up against the wall.
“This is your new workspace,” I smile, turning toward her and stretching my arms wide.
Emery squints her eyes and tilts her head. “What?”
“After seeing what a wreck your current space is, I remembered I have this room that I’m not using that would be perfect.
It’s nice and clean and big enough to work on the pieces you restore.
You can even use it as storage and maybe set up a staging studio there to help sell things,” I explain, waving my arms around like a madman.
If she was anyone else, I’d expect screams of joy and maybe even a happy dance that ends with her jumping into my arms, but I know better. I expect what actually happens—the scowl shadowing her lips and her brows creasing into a jumbled mess.
“No,” she says.
I throw my hands on my hips and stare at her. “No? That’s all I get?”
She copies my stance and puts her own hands on her hips before taking a confident step forward. “I don’t need your charity, Knox. I never have and I never will.”
“What about your truck then?” I ask, regretting the question as soon as it passes my lips. She reacts accordingly, and the small vein that’s tucked beside her left eye pulses in anger.
“That’s different and you know it. We’re both getting something out of that deal.”
I pinch my lips together and dig my nails into my leather belt.
“It’s not charity, Emery,” I seethe, trying hard not to attack fire with fire.
She needs an extinguisher, not a match. “Think of it as an extension of our deal. My girlfriend would come over a lot, and this gives you an excuse to visit without spending actual time with me.” God forbid.
“What are you talking about?” she says, blowing out a steady stream of hot air. Way to change the subject, Knox. I should’ve been a salesman.
“Welcome to my place, Bambi,” I say. Her brows stay firmly pressed together, so I explain more. “I turned the loft of this garage into an apartment. It’s cheaper, and I have a place to store my car and tools.”
“Oh,” she says, looking up at the ceiling like she’s magically gained X-ray vision and can see through the floor. “You really live up there?”
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding toward the staircase in the corner. “It has everything I need—a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and a really great workroom that needs some love and attention,” I smile widely, sweeping my arms toward the space like I’m revealing some big prize.
She keeps her face neutral and unimpressed. “Still no.”
“But—” Before I can sell her on it anymore, she spins toward the staircase and is already halfway up the steps before I know what she’s doing. “Hey! What are you doing?”
“You storm into my home all the time. It’s only fair,” Emery calls out, taking two steps at a time.
“That was only twice and it’s a store. I hate to break it to you, Bambi, but you’re going to have people doing that all the time,” I explain, not even sure she can hear me.
When she makes it to the top, I finally catch up to her. She pauses in the doorway and does a sweep of the place, starting with the kitchen and ending in the spacious living room.
“This is not what I expected,” she says.
“And what were you expecting, Bambi?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
“Something not so…Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.”
“Wow,” I whistle, stepping into the open concept apartment. “Let me guess—you were expecting Playboy posters and empty pizza boxes. I hate to break it to you, but I’m not the frat boy you paint me out to be in your head. I even have a headboard,” I say proudly, shooting her a discreet wink.
Most people are surprised when they find out how neat I am.
I look around my place, and the counters are crystal clear with mostly bare walls save for a few family photos.
I even have throw pillows that I do the karate chop thing to.
I rarely let women come back to my place, but the few that have had the same look of shock painted across Emery’s face.
“I think you’d have a panic attack if you ever set foot in my place,” she sighs, walking over to the bookshelf that Henry gifted me.
“That’s why it’s more believable that we usually stay at my place,” I smirk, watching her fingers ghost over the books collecting dust on the shelves.
She keeps her gaze pointed at the shelf, attempting to ignore my comment. “Do you actually read these?”
“Yes and no,” I say, inching closer to her. An excited hum vibrates inside me when she tenses before trying to relax herself again. I can tell there’s a battle going on in her mind and I’m honored to be the star of it. “Some of these are my brother’s books. He’s an author.”
“Oh,” she says, her breathing starting to slow down. Emery turns away from the shelf, but I don’t back up. I don’t want to.
Those devastating green eyes flick up, and I can see the way her mind races with what she wants to do next. But my girl doesn’t back down easily, and I know she’ll stand her ground to pretend I’m not affecting her.
And she does just that. “That’s cool. I’ll have to ask him for a signed copy. Maybe after our very amicable but public break-up.
“Why wait?” I ask, lowering my voice. “I’m sure a dedication to his future sister-in-law would be more special.”
The vein pops out to say hi again. I suppress a laugh, enjoying the heat bouncing back and forth between us. “Not. Funny,” she says, reaching out to poke my chest with each word.
I grin, not moving an inch. “I think it’s hilarious, actually.”
Her nostrils flare and she closes her eyes before taking a few quick breaths.
I let my gaze fall to the cleavage that’s been tempting me all night.
I think I’d let her suffocate me between those things.
Either that or her thighs, which have also been on full display in those tight black denim shorts.
Maybe if she doesn’t step away, I can—my thought is interrupted by her eyes snapping open and sidestepping me to the other side of the bookshelf. A tinge of disappointment washes over me, but it’s probably for the best. Everything about this relationship is fake, and it needs to stay that way.
I adjust my jeans and take in a few of my own deep breaths before turning to face her. She walks over to one of the windows and stares out at the sea of trees separating my home from Henry’s place.
“I don’t want to admit it, but your idea actually makes sense,” she sighs, keeping her body turned away from mine.
“Are we talking about the workroom again?” I ask, gliding across the wood floors and standing next to her.
Emery pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, causing me some mild discomfort again, but I ignore it because I’m eager to hear about how right I am.
“Yes. The only issue is my main mode of transportation is still out of commission—” I open my mouth to say something, but she cuts me off, “and before you offer to be my personal chauffeur, I’d like to point out that that’s not realistic.”
“Can I talk now?” I ask, adding a sprinkle of attitude. She responds with a pointed glare that makes me want to show her what’s through the door to her left. But what I have in mind isn’t an option right now, so I take that as my cue to continue. “I can have your truck done by the end of the week.”
“Really?” she says, her face lighting up with a hopeful smile. That causes a whole other emotion that I’m not sure how to describe—some may say it has me feeling all the warm and fuzzies, but I’d rather stick my tongue in a mousetrap than say that out loud.
“Yes, Bambi,” I say, letting the wall prop me up. “Plus, even if I did offer to be your chauffeur, you couldn’t afford me.”
“Is that so?” she asks with a playful smile on her lips. I love it when she smiles. I can almost see the sixteen-year-old Emery I fell for the first time.
“Yes,” I answer, contemplating how far I want to go. “I only take payment in compliments, and I know that makes you physically ill.”