Chapter 2 - Emilia #2
“I still do,” he says quietly, his eyes locking with mine, and for a second, the air feels charged between us. But then reality seeps in, reminding me that we’re putting on a show here, that this is just a game.
Right?
But game or not, there’s no faking the way he’s holding me, and a guy can’t fake an erection. But doubt creeps in anyway—maybe he’s thinking about some bunny back in Boston.
Gabe breaks the silence, his voice playful. “So… are the Bucks your favorite team?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes me smile despite myself.
“Of course not,” I reply, rolling my eyes in mock exasperation. “Los Angeles is my favorite.”
He tilts his head, his grin widening. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not being entirely honest?”
I let out a small laugh, feeling the familiar warmth of his teasing. “Because if I told the truth, my brother would kill me,” I admit, shaking my head.
Gabe throws his head back in genuine laughter, the sound filling the space between us. “So the Bucks are your favorite. I’m definitely locking that away, Millie.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at my lips. “You planning to blackmail me, Gigi?”
“Keep calling me that, and I just might,” he says, his eyes gleaming.
It hits me—this effortless connection, this lightness between us. My God, when was the last time we talked like this? When was the last time it felt this easy, like we could be ourselves?
We continue to move together, the rhythm between us so natural, like our bodies were made to fit this way.
I glance up at Gabe, and his voice is soft when he asks, “Your practices been going well?”
“Now that you’re not at the rink to distract me, sure.” He chuckles lightly, but then something flickers across his face, a shift that wipes away the humor. “I mean… you’re such a hog out on the ice,” I add, wanting his playfulness back.
“I don’t want anything distracting you.” His words feel heavy, almost weighted with something more. His gaze flickers, not meeting mine entirely. “The Olympics are too important for that. You need all your focus.”
What he doesn’t know—what he’ll probably never realize—is that I was focused.
Especially when he was there, cheering me on from the sidelines.
His support gave me strength, kept me going.
But then things changed. As we grew older and he started pulling away, coming around less and less, it messed with my focus.
Why didn’t he want to be around me anymore?
The only explanation I had was that he had figured out how I felt about him, and he didn’t feel the same. What else could it have been?
He nods toward something behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Who’s that staring at us?”
I crane my neck and spot Braxton standing by the edge of the room, his eyes locked on us. “The one and only,” I murmur.
Gabe raises an eyebrow and wags them playfully, making me laugh despite myself. “He looks pissed.”
I shrug, the weight of Braxton’s stare rolling right off me.
Honestly, I don’t care if Braxton’s happy or pissed.
I don’t care much about Braxton at all. He was just a guy I was seeing, a guy who was supposed to take me to prom.
When he broke things off earlier today, it didn’t hurt me.
It embarrassed me, sure, but that’s all it was.
The song shifts to a faster tempo, and I begin to pull away from Gabe, ready to step out of his embrace.
But then his hands slide down my back, slow and deliberate, and a soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.
His touch sets my skin on fire, and for a second, everything stills.
His hands freeze in place, and I’m not sure he’s even breathing.
Okay, something is definitely happening here…
Someone taps me on the shoulder, breaking the moment. I turn to see Braxton standing there, his expression unreadable. “Can we talk?” he asks, his voice sharp.
Before I can answer, Gabe steps forward, placing himself between us.
“She’s with me, dude,” he says, his voice low and firm.
I reach out, placing my hand on his back, feeling the tension ripple through his muscles beneath my fingers.
He’s ready to defend me, and that small gesture sends a wave of warmth through my chest.
Braxton hesitates for a moment, like he’s weighing his options, but eventually, his shoulders sag and he walks away, defeated.
Probably a smart move, considering Gabe towers over him.
Gabe turns back to me, his hands settling on my shoulders, and the heat from his touch sends shivers down my spine.
My breath quickens as his eyes search mine.
“You didn’t want to talk to him, did you?” he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” I say, shaking my head, my heart racing.
His jaw clenches, his eyes darkening with a protective edge. “I still kind of wanted to give him a black eye… maybe two.”
I swallow hard, my throat tightening as he studies me, the intensity in his gaze almost too much to bear. “I’ll get us another drink,” he says, his voice softening as he lets his hands fall away and disappears into the crowd.
As he walks off, I head toward a nearby table, needing a moment to collect myself. But before I can get there, Braxton steps in front of me again, anger simmering in his eyes. “What the fuck, Emilia?” he snaps. “What are you doing with him?”
I meet his glare, my voice steady but firm. “He’s my date, Braxton.”
His lips curl into a sneer. “You trying to make me jealous or something?”
I shake my head, exasperated. “I’m with Gabe now, and whether you’re jealous or not doesn’t matter to me.”
But then Braxton’s gaze shifts over my shoulder, something catching his attention, and a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. I turn slowly, dread filling my chest, and my stomach drops when I see what he’s looking at.
Gabe, standing near the drink table, with Jenny Garrity pressed up against him, her tongue halfway down his throat.
The world tilts, and everything narrows into that one image. My heart constricts, my breath catching painfully in my chest.
Braxton snorts, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “What kind of game are you two playing, Emilia?”