36. Emmy
I’d thought we were done, and I’d thought I was satisfied, but the minute he says you haven’t even begun to meet my needs, Em, in that deliciously growly voice, I feel as if I haven’t gotten laid in a decade.
There’s no way I’d turn him down even if it didn’t have that effect. He’s upset about Mac and looking for an outlet. He wants to be worn out, he wants to forget, and I’m happy to help him get there.
I climb on top and pin him down before I slide between his legs and begin to torture him with my mouth. It’s only when he’s perilously close to coming that I back off entirely, crawling over him, grinding against him until he begs for more.
I wrap my hand around his cock, pressing him to my entrance, preparing to tease him again, but he grabs my hips.
“I can’t stand it,” he says, thrusting into me, and we’ve barely begun before he’s flipped me on my back and taken charge.
If he was anyone else, I’d complain. But I like it with him. I like that he doesn’t let me get my way all the time, but he makes sure I get what I need.
The second orgasm hits me and he hisses between his teeth, pushing into me with his head thrown back.
And when he finally comes down to earth, when he falls to the side and pulls me to his chest, I allow myself to stay, briefly. There’s something so luxurious about being like this with him—bare and sweaty, the sheets destroyed. I wish it could last.
I wish I didn’t have to force myself to leave.
I tap his chest twice, a silent goodbye. One large arm wraps around my waist before I can go anywhere. “You aren’t attempting to just take off, are you?” he asks.
“I have no idea why guys always want to cuddle after.”
His hand tightens on my hip. “Just for the record, guys also don’t want to hear about other guys while they cuddle.”
I laugh as I reluctantly allow him to pull me to his side. I guess it’s tolerable. He’s warm and I’m exhausted, and I can feel myself relaxing. Too much.
“Should go,” I mumble against his skin.
His arm tightens. “Stay.”
So I do.
* * *
A noise cracks the air,and I sit upright in bed. The room is pitch black and I was sound asleep. Now, however, I’m wide awake and full of fury.
“What in the actual fuck?” I demand.
“What’s wrong?” Liam asks sleepily, blinking up at me in the near-darkness.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear the noise again. Cock-a-doodle-doo.
“Who lives in a city and owns a rooster?” I snarl. “And why’s it up in the middle of the night?”
Liam laughs. “That’s Frank. He belongs to the Willoughbys. And it’s not the middle of the night. If Frank’s making noise, it’s four forty-five.”
“If Frank’s done this before, I don’t know why you haven’t snapped his neck. I swear to God if he doesn’t stop, I’ll go do it myself.”
Liam laughs, pulling me back down to him. “Is it weird that it turns me on listening to you talk about killing someone’s pet?”
“You’ve got a problem, but admitting it is half the battle,” I reply.
“What’s the other half?” he asks.
I let my hand slide down his perfect torso. He’s already rock-hard. I move down the bed. “Let me see if I can figure it out,” I reply. I tease him until I’m too worked up not to be on the receiving end, and then I crawl over him and slide his cock inside me. I slowly swirl my hips, getting closer and closer to where I need to be. His fingers go to my clit and he hisses a warning between his teeth. “Em, fuck, slow down,” he begs, his voice all gravel and need and desperation, and it’s the sound of it that finally sends me over the edge.
He lets go the moment I cry out, and I allow myself to collapse on top of him and let his hand smooth over my spine. I’d like to stay like this forever—with him inside me, with his hand on my back, with his lips pressed to my ear—but I can’t afford to fall asleep again.
“I have to go,” I sigh. “I don’t want my mom to know I didn’t sleep there.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
I climb from the bed. “Yes, I am. So I’ve had twenty-eight years to know how badly this will go if she realizes I didn’t come home.”
He bites his lower lip, watching as I search the floor for my clothes. “You’re the last person I’d expect to care about her mother’s opinion.”
I wish it were true. I wish I could stop trying to change her mind about me.
He takes me back to my car, pulling his truck into the space alongside it. “I’ll see you later, I guess,” I tell him, grabbing my purse and reaching for the door.
“Em,” he says, and then his hand wraps around my neck as he pulls me toward him. “We’re not just fuck buddies, so stop treating me like one.”
He kisses me, hard and soft at once, thorough yet not enough, silencing any objections before I can voice them.
“I’ll pick you up at seven tonight,” he adds.
“What?”
He raises a brow. A brow that says we’re not just fuck buddies and we’re going on a goddamn date, and don’t you dare even pretend to argue with me because we both know you want to go.
“Whatever,” I say as I climb from the car.
But I’m smiling.
* * *
I spendmost of the day in meetings with the company that will be managing the bookstore, run home to feed Snowflake and check on my mom—who miraculously doesn’t mention the fact that I slept elsewhere—then return to meet him outside the store. He wanted to pick me up, but I’d like to avoid my mother’s input, if at all possible.
I know he spent most of the day helping Mac’s family get him home, and I’m bad in situations like this—ones that require sensitivity and softness. I’m the worst possible person for him to be taking on a date tonight.
“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” I ask haltingly as we head toward Santa Cruz.
He puts on his blinker to turn off the highway. “It’s bad enough that I’m forcing you to go on a date. I’m not going to make you listen to what it’s like to transport a body from overseas. And to be honest, I kind of compartmentalized everything just to get through it, and it’s best if I can keep it compartmentalized for now. But do you mind if we make a detour?”
“What kind of detour?”
“It’s time for you to meet my family,” he replies, turning off the road.
“What?” My heart thunders in my ears. “Please tell me this is a joke, Liam.”
He laughs. “It’s not, but I promise it’s not a big deal. My niece just got home, and I want to say hi to her and my sister. That’s it.”
“Who are you going to say I am?”
He rolls his eyes. “Em, it’s flattering how disturbed you are by the idea someone might know we’re dating.”
“We’re not dating,” I insist, as he pulls into the driveway of a small split-level home. “We’ve never been on a single date.”
“Yes, we have. You just didn’t acknowledge it. Eventually you will, and in the meantime, I’ll just say you’re a friend.”
I don’t like that much either, but it looks like I’m not going to get much of a choice since he’s already out of the truck and coming around to my side to help me down. “If this is a date, it’s off to a roaring start,” I mutter, and he laughs.
He leads me inside the home without knocking.
“Hello?” he calls, and seconds later, I see the woman from the other night along with a blonde bombshell—all curves, almond eyes, and full, pouty lips—who is in no way the “little niece” I was expecting. If Brigitte Bardot, Pamela Anderson, and Kate Upton had a baby, it might come out half as blonde and seductive as this girl.
“This is little Lazy Daisy,” says Liam, ruffling her hair as if she’s five.
“You know I fucking hate that nickname,” the girl says with a cheerful eye roll as she turns to me. “It’s just Daisy. I am extremely lazy, but I’m trying not to advertise it.”
I’m introduced to Bridget’s best friend Jackie and handed a sweating Coke I definitely won’t drink, and then Bridget announces they were just about to watch her wedding video.
“Mom,” Daisy groans. “No one, and I repeat, no one, wants to watch your wedding video.”
“Sure they do,” Bridget says, turning to me. “You want to see this guy as an obnoxious twenty-something?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Liam says.
“Yes,” I correct. “She does, actually.”
That’s all the persuading Bridget needs.
She loads the video. Her wedding begins on the TV and my gaze goes straight to Liam, one of the groomsmen.
He’s lankier and has player written all over him—cocky, overconfident, ready to feed any girl he meets a line and get her quickly undressed. Liam a decade ago is the kind of guy who tries to get in your pants and then tries to get back out of them as fast as humanly possible. Liam now is the kind of guy who wants what he wants…but refuses to hurt anyone in the process.
I wouldn’t trust the Liam of a decade ago, but I trust the one beside me more than I’ve trusted anyone in a very long time. The realization makes my breath come a little too fast. It’s definitely going to end badly but I know I’m not willing to stop it yet either.
Liam starts to laugh as the camera turns to a kid with pitch-black hair, cut off at her ears. Daisy throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off, Liam.”
“That’s you?” I ask, only recognizing her as she turns to glare at the camera.
“It was a phase,” Daisy says.
“A long phase,” Liam suggests.
There’s some bickering over whether or not to watch the vows and it’s forwarded to the sight of young Daisy, glaring once more as she stands against the wall with her arms folded.
“There she is,” says a man’s voice. “Goth Wedding Barbie.” The camera turns toward a guy I saw with Liam a few weeks ago, looking much younger and happier than he does now.
“Mmmm. Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers,” says Jackie.
“You missed your shot, my friend,” Bridget replies. “Harrison’s already seeing someone.”
Daisy’s head whips toward Liam. “Already? Who?”
Liam shrugs. “Some girl in LA. None of us have met her, but it must be serious.”
And at that, Daisy—the lovely, non-Goth version currently across from me—looks absolutely crestfallen before she covers it up. I wonder if Liam even has a clue that his beloved little Lazy Daisy is head over heels for one of his best friends? If he does, I doubt he’s taking it seriously, but if I had a niece who looked like her, I’d be taking it very seriously indeed.
This girl could have anyone she wanted…including her uncle’s friend.
We don’t stay long. Liam and Daisy make plans to get dinner together and then we get back in his truck and ride down to this casual place in Capitola, where an outdoor deck looks over the ocean and the crowded street below.
“I used to come down here with my dad,” I say with a faint smile. “We’d jump in the water then bundle up and get donuts and hot chocolate. It was cold as hell, but I wanted to be just like him, so I pretended to love all the things he loved.”
“Money laundering?”
I laugh. “Wow, I can’t believe you went there. No. I did not pretend to enjoy money laundering, though it does seem like the kind of thing I’d enjoy now. But jumping in the ocean in the middle of winter without a wetsuit wasn’t great. Nor was watching Dr. Who, which I thought was terrifying.”
“What’s terrifying about Dr. Who?”
“Don’t you remember those weeping angel statues? They were so creepy. And if you smash them, they gain power. So we crafted very elaborate plans for how we’d smash them and bury the pieces all over the world so they couldn’t come back together.”
He grins at me. “So your violence toward Frank the rooster has some precedent.”
“Frank is the only thing I hate more than those statues,” I tell him, taking a sip of my wine.
“What about Bradley Grimm?”
“Oh, right. Okay, it’s Bradley, then Frank, then those statues. But basically, I want all of them to die.”
He laughs as if I don’t mean a word of it when I’m pretty sure I do. I like the person he imagines I am: one who talks a good game but wouldn’t hurt a fly. I like it so much that I want to become her, but I’m no longer the pathetic little kid so desperate for love that she’d become someone else entirely in pursuit of it. It’s precisely the sort of weakness that makes you feel like an asshole when it’s over.
After dinner, we walk along the beach under the stars, carrying our shoes in our hands. “I know it wasn’t much of a date compared to what you’re used to, but we don’t have world-famous restaurants and carriage rides here.”
My steps falter. “I already told you I don’t date. You aren’t being held to some lofty standard.”
“But at some point, you’ve gone on dates in New York, and I’m guessing the guy didn’t drive a truck you could barely climb into. I’m also guessing he was a lot more like Damien Ellis than I am.”
I’m silent, weighing whether or not I should just let this go. I’d prefer to have him continue thinking I’m this glamorous NYC girl who’s wined and dined all over the city. I’m scared that if he knows I’m not that girl at all, he’ll like me less.
But if he isn’t going to like who I actually am, it’d be easier just to end this right now anyway.
“I only go on dates when I want something,” I reply.
His eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’ll go out with someone if I think it can get me ahead somehow, but I’ve never gone out with someone just…because. Because I wanted to.”
He looks unnerved. I guess I would too. I’m about to change the subject but he speaks before I can get to it. “Why? Why are you only dating people if they can get you ahead?”
“Because then, if it turns out to be a trick on his end, well…it was a trick on mine, too, so that’s fair.”
He pulls me to a stop under a beam of light from the nearest lamppost, his brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Why would it ever be a trick on anyone’s end?”
I love that Liam is worried on my behalf, that he wants to fight my battles, but he can’t fight battles that took place a decade ago, and I’m at my limit for rehashing the past. “Can we please just leave it alone? I don’t want to discuss this.”
The wind whips my hair across my face, and he reaches out and pushes a lock behind my ear. He’s frowning, but he doesn’t push for more. “Thank you for trusting me enough to give this a shot tonight.”
I dig a toe into the sand. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
He laughs. “Em, no one has ever made you do a goddamn thing you didn’t want to do. You had a choice. You trust me.”
I do, but I don’t want to say it aloud. I’ve been proven wrong before, after all. It feels as if there’s safety in refusing to admit it. “We’ll see.”
He sighs, running his free hand through his hair. “Why is it so hard for you to agree?”
“Because every guy who asks you out wants something. Even if he himself thinks he has good intentions, what he’s really after isn’t good intentioned at all.”
“And what is it you think I want? You’ve already slept with me, and you made it exceedingly clear that we didn’t have to go out to do it again.”
I hitch a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got an ulterior motive. Like you’re hoping I’ll abandon Lucas Hall or something.”
He laughs. “I don’t know you well, but I know you a hell of a lot better than that, Em.”
Yeah, I guess he does.
We spend the ride home talking about the plans for Mac’s funeral and what a bitch I was when I first met him. It’s sad sometimes and it’s funny sometimes, and the weird thing is how easily it all comes. That even as we approach Elliott Springs, it still feels like we have hours and hours more conversation we won’t be getting to.
He delivers me to my car and walks me to my door.
I wait for him to suggest that we drive to his house, but instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”
I stiffen, fighting this ache in the center of my chest. Liam said he wanted to know me, but I give him even a glimpse and suddenly we’re ending this like colleagues, nothing more. “Why are you seeing me off like I’m your teenage daughter?”
His smile is slight and sad. “I’m not. I can’t prove anything to you about my intentions. Maybe you’ll believe me about Lucas Hall once you’ve won it, and it seems pretty clear you will, so all I can do now is this: I can take you out on a date and not try to get anything for myself at its end, because that’s not what tonight was about. It would be the icing on the cake, but the cake is what I was after.”
“That’s wholly unnecessary. The part where we go to your house is the part I was after.”
He pushes the hair back from my face. “Princess, I don’t know if you’re lying to me or if you’re lying to yourself, but I assure you…that would only be the icing for you too.”
His lips press gently to mine and he ushers me into my car. I’m still upset about the way tonight ended, but he’s calling before I’ve even reached the bridge.
“What’s up?” I ask coolly.
“Don’t be like that,” he replies. “You know you want to talk to me while you brush your teeth.”
He’s right. I do.
I’m okay with the way our night ended after all, I guess.