9. Luke
9
LUKE
I swipe up my phone to refresh my text messages for the twentieth time tonight like a goddamn adolescent. Except, I wasn’t this needy and anxious in high school. I was the one ghosting girls. Not the one being ghosted. Emory Caldwell has broken something in me. I’m not sure what. All I know is I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since this afternoon. Not the first one. That was nice, but I was too scared to even enjoy it. The first one had to be done. I had to let her know I wasn’t playing around with her for the hell of it.
I know I was supposed to back off and leave her alone after I almost kissed her a couple of weeks ago, but try telling that to my dick after she came outside in her underwear and started crawling around in the mud. Yeah, he didn’t seem to understand that she’s my best friend’s sister and off-limits.
The worst part is I knew exactly what she was doing. I pretended to realize it later when we were arguing, but I knew then that she was testing me. She was mad that I was avoiding her, and I can’t say I blamed her for it. I was giving her whiplash, and the only thing more fucked up than going after your best friend’s sister is making a girl think there’s a chance when there isn’t. I’ve always been straightforward and honest with women. I don’t date. I rarely fuck someone more than once, and I’m upfront about that. But Emory. Fuck, I don’t even remember my own name half the time when I’m near her. I can’t be expected to remember my rules about dating and hooking up.
And then she took care of me. She ripped her own shirt to wrap around my bleeding arm. She stole supplies from her job. I’ve been feeling guilty about that. I didn’t realize it was quite as big of a deal as it was until Nate laid into her about it. But before that. Before Nate walked in. Before she second-guessed what we were doing. That kiss—the one she initiated after staring so far into my eyes, she could see my soul. That’s the kiss I can’t stop thinking about. Her soft lips, the smell of her shampoo, lilacs and rain, the way she ran her hand down my naked back. Fuck, I’m getting hard again.
This is how it’s been going for the past few hours. I check to see if Emory has texted me back, realize she hasn’t, think about the kiss, pop a boner, and repeat. I can’t even do anything about said boner because it hurts to move my arm up and down. I could use my left hand, but that seems like a lot of work.
I know I should get myself out of the house. Nate texted a while ago to see if I wanted to meet up with him. I was so excited when I heard my phone buzz, only to be crushed when I glanced down to see the wrong Caldwell lighting up my screen. I couldn’t even bring myself to answer the text. Great, now I’m ignoring my best friend because I’m waiting for a text from his little sister.
I stand up to go grab a beer. Screw the no alcohol thing. She should have responded to my text if she wanted me to abide by her stupid post-operative rules. As soon as I open the fridge, my phone buzzes. Not once—it keeps buzzing. It’s not a text. It’s a phone call. I slam the fridge door shut and run over to grab my phone from the coffee table, but I end up pushing it further away, and it falls to the floor. I dive down to get it from the floor and pick it up to see Emory Caldwell lighting up the screen. She’s calling me. Emory is calling me.
“Hello? Emory?” I try to sound casual and not out of breath.
“Hey, Luke? It’s Allie.”
Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Why is Allie calling me from Emory’s phone? Where is she? Did something happen?
Reign it in, dude. Stop being a fucking psycho.
“Hey, Allie. Everything okay?” I ask in my best attempt at a normal voice.
“Not really. Em and I were bar hopping, and she’s been…over-served. She needs to go home, but she won’t budge, and now she’s attached herself to some wannabe frat guy group. I’m worried about her. She doesn’t usually do this. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call. Nate would have made a huge deal about it, and Em would never forgive me if I called him.”
My hackles rise when Allie apologizes to me. From what I've gathered, she never apologizes, especially not to guys. She sounds really worried, which only makes me more anxious. Emory's drunk, hanging out with a bunch of guys she's never met. What if they spike her drink? No, Allie wouldn't let that happen. But Emory's being stubborn. My panic suddenly turns into blind rage. I swear to fuck if one of those guys touches her…
“I’m on my way. Where are you?” I ask Allie as I grab my jacket and step into my boots.
“I’ll text you the address. It’s like twenty minutes away. Thanks, Luke.”
I make it there in twelve minutes, and by some miracle, manage to not get pulled over for speeding…or that one red light I ran. This isn’t me. I’m not a reckless driver. Even when I’m riding my bike, I’m practically a boy scout. But I can’t get the thought of Emory out of my head. Sitting on some random guy’s lap while he plans how to get her alone or take her back to his place…
Fuck that .
I pull into the parking lot and storm into the bar. It’s only a little after eleven, so it’s still pretty crowded. It looks more like a club than a bar, with people grinding on the dance floor and lights flashing from the ceiling. I see Allie standing off to the side next to a table of rowdy guys. She’s tense, but her shoulders relax when she sees me.
“Oh, thank God. I’ve tried everything. Threats. Bribery. I even said we could stop to get chicken nuggets on the way home.”
“I’m glad you called me. Where is?—”
Just then, a completely drunk Emory stumbles out from among the group of guys. She sees me and rushes over. "Luuuuuuuke. You're here.” She throws herself at me, nearly climbing up my body. My arms instinctively go out to catch her, but she suddenly lets go, and her face falls with confusion.
“Wait, why are you here? Did you follow me? Because I may be into the whole stalker thing. But don’t tell anyone.” She tries to wink but ends up closing both eyes.
I chuckle to myself. I’ll be her stalker… but no. That’s not what I’m here for. “I won’t if you don’t tell anyone I stalked you,” I whisper so only she can hear. “Now let’s get you home, Little Wells.”
“Hey, Emory. Get back over here,” one of the guys yells. He’s wearing sweats and a backwards hat, like he’s too good to even bother. He lifts his lips in a half smirk and I contemplate punching it off his smug face.
“Coming!” Emory singsongs.
What. The. Fuck.
“Duty calls,” she slurs as she takes a step to head back to the guys.
Nope. Not happening.
I move my hand down her arm and thread my fingers with hers. It doesn’t take much to pull her back toward me.
“What are you?—”
“It’s time to go, Emory.”
She narrows her eyes. “If you want me to leave, you’re gonna have to carry me out of here.”
Then she starts giggling like this is all some kind of joke.
“That can be arranged.”
“Whatever,” she scoffs and attempts to head back to the table of guys again. “You’re all talk, Collins.”
Not so fast, Little Wells.
I look at Allie, my gaze conveying a request for her permission. I need to get Emory out of here, but Allie brought me into this situation, and I don’t want to feel like I’m overstepping. She nods, prompting me to spring into action.
“Guess you underestimated me,” I say as I grab Emory’s waist with my good arm and haul her over my shoulder. At first, she’s completely still, probably stunned because she didn’t think I would actually do it. But then something clicks in her brain, and she starts kicking and banging her fists against my back.
“Let me down. Luke, I swear to God. Let me down right now!”
Backwards Hat walks toward me like he’s about to put up a fight, but Allie shoots him a look that has him stopping dead in his tracks and holding his hands up in surrender.
“Allie. Are you seriously letting him do this right now?” Emory screams as I push open the door, but Allie just shakes her head.
“You made your bed, babe.”
Emory huffs in frustration and continues her yelling and kicking until the three of us get to my truck. I place her down gently next to the passenger side, opening the door to let Allie climb into the back. She straightens out her crumpled dress and attempts to fix her hair.
“Get in the truck, Emory.”
“No.”
“Emory,” I warn.
“No. You can’t storm into a bar and carry me out like a fucking caveman and then expect me to obey your orders.”
“Emory. Just—get in the truck, and we can talk about it.”
“Make me.” Her hands are placed firmly on her hips now. Her eyeliner is slightly smudged, and one of the straps of her dress is falling off her shoulder. I’d be irritated as all hell if I didn’t love seeing that fire in her eyes again.
And God, do I want to make her.
Make her get in the car.
Make her bounce on my cock.
Make her come until she screams…
But I know that’s not what she needs right now. She needs to go home. She needs water and painkillers. She needs to go to bed, and in this moment, my desire to take care of her outweighs my desire to fuck the brat out of her.
“We’re back to that?” I say as calmly as I can muster. “Do you remember what happened two minutes ago when you gave me an ultimatum?”
The eye roll she gives me can probably be seen from the moon.
I try again, using an even softer tone this time. “Emory, get in the car, and I will take you to any drive-thru you want.”
Instantly, her anger melts, and she squeals and claps her hands.
And she says I give her whiplash?
She hops into the front seat, and I buckle her seatbelt for her. She eyes my hands as I do it, but doesn’t say anything.
Twenty minutes later, Emory is happily munching on chicken nuggets while Allie looks on in horror from the backseat.
“You could have had leftover za’atar chicken and farro salad when we got home,” she says in exasperation.
Emory scrunches up her face. “I don’t even know how to respond to that. That is not drunk food. And chicken nuggets are elite.”
Allie sighs and leans against the window. “No one even says that anymore,” she mutters, but I doubt Emory hears her. She is in her own little world and thoroughly blissed out.
By the time we pull into their driveway, Emory is fast asleep, quietly snoring, with chicken nugget crumbs scattered all over her dress, still grasping the greasy fast-food bag in her hands. I hop out to let Allie out of my side. I want to bring Emory into her house and make sure she gets settled in bed, but again, I don’t want to overstep. Allie needed help getting her out of the club, but she never mentioned tucking her into bed. Plus, I have no idea how much Allie knows about what happened between us.
“I guess I’ll wake her up,” Allie says, sliding out of the truck.
She goes to walk around just as her phone rings. She grabs it from her purse, looks down at it, and then back up at me.
“Shit, I have to take this. Could you make sure she gets into the house, okay? I’ll be right in.” She hands me her keys.
“Of course.” Thank fuck for random late-night phone calls.
I open the passenger side door and unbuckle Emory’s seatbelt before I gently cradle her and pull her out of the car, holding her in my arms. The gash on my arm hurts like hell from the pressure, but I don’t care. I would hold her like this all night if it wouldn’t freak her out when she woke up.
“Hey, Luke.” Allie calls back to me as she clasps a hand over her phone. “Thanks for taking her to the drive-thru.”
I nod and turn towards the steps, Emory still sleeping peacefully in my arms. I can’t help thinking that it’s a weird thing to thank me for. She could have thanked me for anything—coming to their rescue or getting Emory out of the club. For making sure they both got home safely. Why would she thank me for getting Emory fast food? Especially when she was so horrified the whole time she was eating it. I shake the thought from my head and continue up the steps, putting all of Emory’s weight on one arm so I can unlock the door.
I walk down the hallway and push open the first door I see. There’s a desk with a stack of books and some colored pens in the corner. In the middle of the room, there’s a queen-sized bed with white sheets and a light purple duvet. This has to be her bedroom. It smells like her—flowery and clean. I set her down on the bed. Shit. What now? Do I wake her? Help her get changed?
Before I can decide what to do, Emory’s eyes flutter open and I’m met with two sparkling green orbs. Her eyes are usually a mix of green and brown, sometimes more olive, but I’ve never seen them this green. Maybe they’re always this green when she wakes up.
“Hey, Little Wells,” I say, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Hi. What—um. Where am I?”
“You’re at home. You fell asleep in the car.”
“Oh”
“Do you want to change? I’ll give you some privacy. I’m gonna go get some water and painkillers.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I move to get off the bed.
“Wait,” she grabs onto my bicep, and I turn around to look at her.
Her eyes are so intense right now, nearly burning a hole in my face. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go. Can you just—lie with me for a minute first?”
I shouldn’t. I really fucking should not get into this bed with this girl. Not only is she as off-limits as they come, but she’s drunk—really drunk. Yeah, I kissed her earlier, but it can end there. It doesn’t have to go any further. She was putting herself at risk, and I got her home safe. End of story. Nate never has to know about any of it.
“Emory, you’re drunk.”
“And I’m cold,” she hiccups. “You look so warm.”
Jesus, this girl is killing me.
“Please,” she whines. “Just for a second. One little teensy second,” she says, squinting her eyes and closing her thumb and index finger together.
I blow out a breath and kick my boots off.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself as I take my jacket off and climb onto the bed. I lie down behind her, making sure to keep my hands to myself. She’s not having it, though. She reaches behind and grabs my wrist, placing my arm over her waist and shimmying herself so she’s up against me.
“You can’t warm me up from far away,” she explains.
We stay like that for a few minutes, until I get drowsy from listening to her breathing and watching the rise and fall of her chest. Suddenly, she turns around so that she’s facing me.
“I like this one the best,” she says.
“What?”
“The one in the middle. I think that’s the real Luke,” she squints and points at me, raising her finger to tap my nose. “Yep, that one is real,” she confirms.
I shift us so she’s resting her head on my shoulder. “How many of me are you seeing right now?”
“Just the three,” she says casually, closing her eyes.
I chuckle and rub my fingers up and down her arm. “I think you’ll feel better once you get some sleep.”
“Will you stay here all night?”
“Emory, you said ‘one second.’”
“I lied,” she whispers.
“Go to sleep, Em.” I say into the shell of her ear.
I’ll leave as soon as she does. I have to.
She shivers at my breath and pulls the blanket up higher. And then she’s fast asleep again. I haven’t slept in the same bed as a girl since high school. I don’t do sleepovers. It’s one of my hard and fast rules. So why does this feel so right?
As close as I was to falling asleep a few minutes ago, I’m now wide awake. That’s what Emory does to me. She’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. She makes it beat faster just by looking at me. I attempt to gently move her so I can get up, but she stirs and sighs in her sleep. I try again, but I can’t physically get myself to stand up. It’s at that exact moment that I realize I’m not going to give this up.
I have to pursue this. Pursue her. I tried to stay away. I really did. But we keep finding our way to each other.
I hear a flick, and light floods through the crack in the door, which I had left slightly ajar. Allie peeks her head in, concern threading her eyebrows.
“I got her,” I say. “Go get some sleep.”
“No funny business, Luke. I swear if I find out you did anything to her while she was passed out, I'll find the dullest knife I can and make you watch while I cut it off. Slowly.”
I don't even need to ask what she's referring to. Yet, somehow, her words give me more comfort than fear. Allie may be intimidating, but she's got her friend's back, and I respect her for that.
“I hear you, Allie. Loud and clear. She asked me to stay. We're just going to sleep. I promise.”
She nods and walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open.
It takes a while, but my eyelids grow heavy, and I finally fall asleep, holding the one girl I shouldn't want anything with.
I don’t do relationships.
But fuck if Emory Caldwell doesn’t make me want to break all the rules.