“It’s a fun game. I don’t play it often because it takes a long time,” she says. Now, I know full well that she means the board game, but my smirk tells her that I enjoy the double entendre of our dialogue.
Blushing, she turns back to the game. Rhett asks me something and I answer him, while Jackie weighs in on the conversation. But my attention turns back to Emma after she rolls and lands on the space everyone always wants to buy.
“You gonna buy it?” I ask her.
She cocks her head to one side and all eyes are on her. I wait, curious that she didn’t jump on the opportunity right when she landed there.
“I’ll pass,” she says as she hands the dice to Quinlan, whose mouth hangs open at Emma’s declaration.
“What!?” everyone yells. There’s applauding, laughter, and confusion on the faces around the table. I laugh.
“It’s so overpriced. I’ve never won from buying it before,” she explains.
There’s more dialogue between players and she definitely gets some shit from the guys who scoff at her decision, but I’m impressed that she holds her own with their banter.
I’m about to tell her that when someone comes into the room yelling her name.
She turns.
“Will cut his hand on some glass and I think you might need to take him to get stitches,” the girl says.
Emma’s up and out the door before I can ask what happened. I follow her as do the rest of our game players. When we reach the kitchen, I can see the remnants of a wineglass on the floor, a dish towel is wrapped around Will’s hand which Emma is examining.
“I can drive your car,” she says as she attempts to look under the dishtowel.
Will pulls his hand back. “No, it’s OK. Really.”
“Will, that cut is deep, man. You should go get it checked,” a guy by the oven says.
Then it hits me, my inner good person finally speaks up before my mind can catch up to the conversation.
“I can take you,” I say. “My car is right next door.”
“Really?” Emma asks, her voice rising an octave in clear surprise.
I look at her worry-laced face. “Yes. You should really get that looked at,” I say to Will as I notice the blood seeping through the towel. Will’s eyes follow mine and widen when he sees the blood. His face goes white and I reach him right before he passes out.
Great. I just rescued the date of the woman I want to get to know. I’m a motherfucking prince on a white horse for the wrong person.
“I got him,” I mutter as I help Will sit down. He comes to right away, looking around in confusion.
“I hate blood,” he murmurs.
“Don’t we all. Hey, guys? Can you help me get Will to my car?” I call out to Rhett and Max.
They bend down and we all hoist Will back up and help him outside, followed by about ten spectators.
“Seriously, I’m fine,” Will tries to reassure us.
“Buddy, you fainted and you’re bleeding through that towel. So, I’d say, you need stitches,” I state as I open my car door. Emma gets in on the other side to help Will, who bats her hand away.
“Fine. I got this,” he says to everyone as he uses his good hand to put on a seat belt.
“Keep your hand elevated,” I command.
He props it up and gives me a look. What. A. Douchebag.
“I’ll be back later,” I say to my crew as I jump into the driver’s seat and take off toward the nearest ER.
Emma sits in the back, trying to console Will. I turn on the music and ignore their conversation as best I can in a small space. What does she see in this guy? He’s clearly not anything like her. I’m no people person, but I know a mismatched couple when I see one.
I pull up to the ER and Will opens the door as Emma gets out and rushes around to meet him.
“I’ll park and meet you inside,” I state and head off before she can protest.
I find parking and walk back in to find them sitting in the waiting room. Before I can say anything, someone calls Will and he gets up and looks down at us.
“You two can just wait here. I’m sure it won’t take long,” he grumbles as he heads to the door and disappears out of sight.
“Well, uh, thanks for driving us,” Emma stammers, as she wrings her hands nervously.
I can’t help it. I place my hand over hers, noticing how small hers are for the first time. She freezes and looks up at me.
“He’ll be alright,” I reassure her.
She blushes and again I want to caress her cheek to feel the heat, but I keep my hand on hers. She doesn’t pull away, which I’d like to think is progress.
“I know,” she whispers.
“I’ll wait with you,” I tell her as I grip her hands before letting go.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “But…the party.”
I shrug. “I don’t need to be there. It’s my mom’s house, not mine. And she’ll be back there soon.”
She cocks her head to one side as though trying to figure me out. I want to tell her that no one yet has done that, so good fucking luck to her.
“Are you sure? It could be a while.”
“I’m sure,” I declare as I make myself comfortable in the uncomfortable hospital seat.
She reaches in the pocket of the sweatshirt and frowns. “Shit,” she curses under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“I left my phone in the bag with my clothes at your mom’s house.”
“It’ll be fine. You can get it when we get back.”
“Do you have Quinlan’s number? Can you text her that everything is OK? I feel bad that I had to leave in such a hurry.”
I pat her leg, which was a super stupid move on my part because her perfectly toned thigh is warm and smooth under my palm and it takes every ounce of my self-control to keep my dick in check. I pull it away slowly, trying to seem super casual.
“I’ll text her. It’s fine.”
She nods and begins tapping her leg nervously.
“Don’t like hospitals?” I ask as I type out a text.
“Does anyone?”
I laugh. “Valid point.”
“I just feel bad for Will. I mean, I practically begged him to come out to the after-party and now he’s here at the ER. I’m like the world’s worst date.”
“Well, he seemed to be having fun up until he cut himself.”
“I guess.”
“Were you having fun?” I ask.
She nods. “Actually, I was.”
“You say that like you are surprised.”
She smiles and I feel like I just won the Indy 500 because it’s the first time I’ve caused her to smile and it was worth the wait. Her whole face lights up as she grins and blushes. “I was a little surprised. I mean, it’s not like I hang out at movie stars’ homes all the time.”
“Aren’t you studying film?”
She nods. “But that doesn’t mean I know a bunch of movie stars.”
“You say a bunch. So, does that mean you know some?”
Now her blush intensifies, and I feel like I’m on to something. There’s more to her than meets the eye.