Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
ASPEN
I spin the phone on my kitchen table, looking out the window absently as the sun dips, casting golden shadows across the view.
My eyes stray from the mountains, drawn once again to the hulking man in my garage.
Emmett’s back at it—tinkering with who knows what under the hood of the jeep, a light he dug out of a box in the garage shining next to him.
He looks settled.
But he can’t be, not when he’s been so clear about his intentions.
Still, his actions and his words aren’t aligning.
Not that I’m paying attention, but I’ve noticed his routine. Sneak into the house, start the coffee, do three laps around the neighborhood, deposit my coffee on my bedside table, tiptoe into the shower.
The man in question lifts his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It’s the scene from every woman’s competency kink fantasy. Then his attention swings to the house and his scowl turns to a half-smirk.
Caught staring . . . again.
I stand too quickly, almost tripping over my own feet.
My head and heart are all mixed up over the hot guy living in my loft. My dignity has gone missing and I still don’t know what the hell to do about the other day. Or more accurately, my attraction to him. No matter how many times I go over it, I can’t see acting on it ending well.
But not acting on it feels like an impossible task.
There’s only one way through this. Tequila.
Okay, well, maybe that’s not the only way. The other involves climbing that man like a tree and finally getting a look at what I’m absolutely certain is an unfairly gorgeous cock.
Therein lies the danger, because if there’s one thing likely to ruin my remaining common sense, it’s a man built like Emmett Slate looking at me the way he does.
So yeah.
Tequila feels safer.
Pacing the living room, I swipe open the group chat with the girls.
I bite my thumb, debating if I’m really about to call in the big guns over my indecisive libido. Then I type out the two words we reserve for only the most serious life crises.
Aspen
Code tequila.
Briar
Oh shit, we haven’t had one of those since Denver brought home fainting goats without asking.
Harlowe
Reminder, murder is a felony in all 50 states.
Briar
The goats can stay. The husband . . . jury is still out.
Sloane
Is everything okay?
Aspen
Unlike Briar, I’ve got no immediate plans to subtract from the population.
Briar
I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.
Briar
That’s called plausible deniability.
Harlowe
Like you could live without Denver.
Tessa
Ladies! Stay on track. Denver and Briar’s bizarre foreplay can wait.
Sloane
Tell us what you need.
Aspen
Margaritas. My house.
Harlowe
I’ll bring the tequila.
I’ve picked up and set down my book a dozen times in the last thirty minutes when a single knock is followed by a flurry of activity. The girls spill into my kitchen, kicking off shoes and dropping purses at their feet.
“The tequila has arrived.” Briar makes the sign of the cross as her gaze lands on Emmett, bent over the Jeep. “Father, son, and holy hell that man is built. I can see why you need this. There is soft-core porn that started with less sexual tension.”
Sometime since I banished myself from the window, Emmett lost his shirt. Now, clad in only a pair of blue jeans that look like they were made for him, with grease smudged across his glistening skin, it’s a good thing I force myself away from temptation and even better that I called in backup.
Sloane, looking moderately more sympathetic than Briar, makes her way deeper into the kitchen, setting a bag of limes on the counter. “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess he’s the reason for the code tequila?”
“Something like that.” I grab Briar’s arm and tug her away from the window. Harlowe and Sloane waste no time making themselves at home in the kitchen.
“A little self respect, Briar. There’s drool right there.” Harlowe touches the corner of her mouth, laughing as I pull the cord on the blinds, letting them drop with a clatter.
No way in hell I’m recapping the events that led us here, thank you very much.
Scooching between the girls as they work, I lift myself onto the counter and toss a lime in the air.
Harlowe catches it midair. “Have you come up for air since the last time we saw you? I heard you’re putting in sixty-plus hours a week lately.”
“You know how it gets.” I do the mental math on the last week’s hours. It’s big—so big I’m forced to stifle a yawn just from thinking about it. “Hospital staffing is a team effort in rural areas. Besides, I love my job. ”
“You gotta love yourself too, boo,” Sloane says from the cupboard where she’s grabbing glasses before getting started on making drinks.
“If anyone gets it, it’s us.” Harlowe slices into the lime.
I chew at my lip because the thing is . . . they’re not wrong.
The hospital absolutely takes advantage of my inability to say no. But I love the chaos, the purpose, the feeling of being useful. And it’s not exactly like I’ve exactly got a bustling social calendar waiting for me at home.
At least . . . I didn’t before Emmett.
Lately, I’ve been a little more eager to get back here.
“Absolutely not.” Briar shoves a jalapeno margarita into my hand. “We are not becoming women who apologize for being badasses.”
“Or for having careers,” Harlowe adds, grabbing the pitcher from Briar.
Sloane closes the cupboard a little softer than necessary, her expression turning thoughtful as she lines up glasses on the counter. “I’m not saying don’t work hard or chase your biggest dreams.”
My shoulders tense.
“Life is short, and after watching Harlowe go through everything with Canyon . . . and the fire.” She glances toward Harlowe before looking back at me. “I’m asking if you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
“Meaning?”
Sloane lifts one shoulder. “Meaning, are you doing it because you love it, not because the hospital keeps taking and you’re afraid of what happens if you stop giving.
” Her gaze drifts out the window before coming back to me.
“Staying busy can feel safer than standing still long enough to deal with things.”
A heated wave of prickles crawls up my neck instantly.
“I hate how emotionally perceptive you people are.”
“That’s because we’ve all been through some shit.” Briar grabs my hand and tugs me off the counter. “Trauma makes people either insightful or deeply weird. Lucky for you, we’re both.”
I let them pull me toward the couch, Sloane’s words are harder to ignore than I want them to be.
At work, I’m always needed. So I throw myself into saving other people, which keeps me from feeling useless. And when my mind is going a thousand miles a minute with every new patient or call, there’s not exactly time to dwell on other things.
“Okay.” Briar points at me before I can spiral any further. “That’s enough of the heavy existential bullshit for one night.”
Sloane settles onto one end of the couch while Harlowe drags over a massive knit blanket from the chair in the corner.
“Agreed,” Harlowe says. “Now, tell us why your new tenant required emergency tequila intervention.”
I tip my glass back. The drink is cool, and just sharp enough to make my skin buzz.
“Oh, no. Did he turn out to be a total weirdo?” Briar sips her drink. “It would be tragic if a man looked like that and turned out to be unfuckable.”
Sloane tosses a pillow at her. “Is that all you ever think about?”
“Rude.” Briar catches it, tucking it against her side. “I’m ovulating. Let me be horny.”
Their banter is distraction enough to have a laugh slipping out of me.
“So, you know how the shower in the loft is broken?”
Sloane’s brows crinkle. “Didn’t you call the plumber like a week ago?”
“Yeah, about that . . . his wife just had a baby and the part he needs is on backorder. Plus, it didn’t seem like a big deal to share with Emmett.”
Briar points her stir stick at me. “I knew it! He’s a fucking weirdo. Did you catch him collecting the hair from your brush? Or using your toothbrush?”
“Oh. My. God. No!” I snort out a laugh. “You’re fucking unhinged.”
Genuine disappointment tugs on her lips. “I’m begging you to give me something juicy. I’m bored. Fainting goats can only keep me entertained for so long.”
“Give me the pillow, Aspen. She deserves another.” Sloane leans forward like she’s going to grab it.
“I’ll take my whack and thank you.” Briar cackles entirely undeterred. “You saw him in the garage. Don’t even lie and tell me you’re not dying to know what’s got Aspen’s panties in a twist.”
I nibble my lip. “Oh, I saw him all right.” I bring the glass to my lips, sucking an ice cube into my mouth. “In all his glory.”
My friend stare back at me, wide-eyed and with mouths agape.
I rush through my long shift and the coffee delivery, antsy to get to the part I need help unraveling. Their smiles turn to frowns when I mention the run-in with Jeremiah, but I hold up a hand, stopping the wave of angry questions.
“When I got here, Emmett was already in the shower and I planted my ass, about to pass out, when there was a crash.” My eyes find the door, checking to be sure he didn’t sneak in.
“My head went to the worst-case scenario, and I rushed in there, thinking he was going to be passed out with his head split open.” My head falls into my hands, hiding my face.
“Not a drop of blood . . . he was more than fine, actually.”
“Jesus Christ, Aspen.” Briar presses a hand to her chest. “And here I thought this story was about to take a turn.”
“Don’t be so eager, cause we’re talking about what’s going on with you next.”
That shuts her up.
“He wasn’t just taking a shower. He was . . . ” For some unknown reason, I gesture to my crotch, drawing everyone’s eyes there. “Taking care of himself.” Lowering my voice as if he might hear me from the garage, I add, “And he said my name.”
I leave out the part about the vibrator because I’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
“Because he saw you?” Harlowe asks.
I take a big gulp and shake my head. “Like he was thinking of me.”