Chapter 15 – Emerson #2
I press my lips to his to shut him up. I don’t want to think about how hard it was stepping foot in this town or how I expected everyone to point fingers as I walked by and remember me as “that girl.”
I just want to feel now.
And I know I take him by surprise. It’s in the hesitancy of his lips at first. It’s in the tightening of his finger wrapped in my hair.
But it only takes a split second for him to react, to part his lips and give me the taste of beer on his tongue.
For him to consume my mind and shift it away from the hundreds of thoughts I don’t want to be thinking.
He’s heat and warmth and soft fingers on the underside of my jaw. A hand demanding more on the small of my back.
His kiss is thunder and lightning, a tornado and a tsunami, all in one fiery package that makes me forget about the here and the now, makes me want more when more with Grant scares the shit out of me.
The noise of the bar slowly seeps into my conscience as the kiss ends and we move apart.
Grant’s eyes are hazy, but his lips are turned up in a cocky but adorable grin that makes that sweet ache our kiss ignited burn bright.
He shakes his head, and it mimics how I feel: Holy shit, I just kissed Grant Malone.
Our eyes hold for a beat as the bar carries on around us before I suddenly feel shy under his unwavering gaze.
I look down to my empty drink and stare at the scars on the wood tabletop as I try to process the sensations running through me.
Desire, surprise, and euphoria mix and meld as heat creeps into my cheeks as he studies me.
The realization hits that I have no idea what to do now.
Cue the nerves and unexpected panic.
Typically, I’d make the next move. We’d decide whose place to go back to and have some unapologetic fun.
But this is Grant.
Didn’t I already know this—the emotion, the sensation, the fallout—would be different before I kissed him?
“Hey, Em?” Grant’s voice calls through the haze of my overthinking.
“I’m going to save you from the panic that’s written all over your face.
” He scoots closer and lowers his voice.
“I had a great time tonight. I’d love to do it again sometime—soon, but I think it’s best if I go home now.
I’ve had a long and crappy shift, but you were the highlight of the day. ”
He leans in, and I suck in my breath, thinking he’s going to kiss me again.
The ache in the delta of my thighs only deepens with the scent of him near, but he bypasses my lips and goes straight for my ear.
“While I appreciate a forward girl as much as the next guy, you need to understand that you’re not in charge here.
I know you want to be so you can control the pace and set the standard—make sure you maneuver me into the next move so you can stay one step ahead and on the run—but that’s not how I operate.
I’m flattered you wanted to kiss me because, hell, if I haven’t been staring at your lips all night long wanting to do the same, but next time, I make the first move.
A man only has so many firsts in life, and I’m sure kissing you is going to be a damn good one that I plan on taking. ”
Without another word, he scoots out of the booth and stands to full height.
I stare at him, fully expecting those flecks of gold in his eyes to be amused, but they are anything but.
They are dead serious with a mix of temper and concern that I don’t quite get.
He smirks before looking over to the waitress and holding a finger up with a nod.
“Question is, Emmy, are you still stubborn? How bad do you want that next kiss? How long are you going to hold out just to make a statement while denying your body what we both know it wants?”
“You bast—”
“Next round’s on its way. Have a drink on me, will ya? At least when you put your lips on it, you’ll know it’s from me.”
And with another flash of that cocky grin of his, Grant turns and strides out of the bar without ever looking back.
“Arrogant son of a bitch,” I mutter, angry at more things than I care to count. That he rejected me. That he maneuvered me. That he just put me in my place. That he called me out.
That he’s leaving and all I can think of is how I want more.
“Thank you,” I murmur as the waitress slides a fresh drink in front of me.
What exactly just happened? My head spins at the turn of events and my logic tells me I should be pissed off at him.
But I’m not.
Because as much as it pains me to admit, he was right. I am panicking. I am trying to figure out why everything seems so damn different when it comes to Grant. I don’t do different. I run the opposite way from different.
Yet here I sit. I haven’t run away. I didn’t even protest. I just let everything that happened happen, and I know damn well I’d do it again . . . because that kiss of his felt like none I’ve ever experienced before.
And I hate that I love it.
And I detest that I want more of them.
The bar buzzes on around me as I focus on being angry with him. It’s so much easier to be pissed off than to accept the fact that he scares me. And the good kind of scare.
So I look at the drink he left me in consolation.
I fixate on that cocky smirk of his that makes me want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.
And I tell myself I need to stand my ground.
I need to be the strong girl I’ve tried to be instead of allowing myself to fall prey to the way he makes me feel.
He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to drink this. I won’t just out of pure spite.
No one handles me.
No one tells me what I can and can’t do.
And no one walks away from me unless it’s on my terms.
Lost in thought, I pick up the glass and take a sip. “Shit.” I just fell right into that one. I stare at the dark red liquid for a long moment before shaking my head and tilting the glass all the way up until it’s empty.