The woman seated on back steps off, removes her helmet, and shakes out her hair. My jaw drops and I shake my head, which feels equivalent to a few well-placed punches against my throbbing temples.
Emerson.
She hands the guy her helmet and stands talking to him, her hands moving animatedly. She leans in to give him a hug and a jolt of nervous energy surges through me, like taking a shot of pure grain alcohol. My envy is unfamiliar and unexpected.
Unmanageable.
The guy better take his hands off her.
Suddenly, she glances at the open garage door and then up at my window. I step back.
This is my house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to hide in the shadows. I edge forward. She’s still staring up and I know she saw me.
So, this is the boyfriend.
She crosses her arms over her chest and continues to face me. The boyfriend looks up. I’d been so consumed by looking at her, I hadn’t even noticed the guy—dreadlocks like some stoner from a James Franco flick, army boots, ripped jeans. A lean guy. Maybe twenties, but who can tell with all that wild hair.
Very upstanding citizen.
I choke out a laugh. And to think I’d almost asked Emerson out on a date this morning. I thought she’d have better taste, but what can a person expect from an ex-stripper?
What do girls see in guys like him? Maybe she likes the gritty, living-on-the-edge type.
It’s the middle of the afternoon. What are they doing here in the first place?
I race down the stairs and out the front door. “Hey, Emerson. Did you forget something?”
She gives me a haughty look, her chin lifting high. I know I sound like I’m pissed off, but I’m in no mood to be friendly. Especially with them showing up here for no reason.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I could ask the same of you.” I look at the guy. Up close, he’s not as scruffy as I thought. The hair is very deceiving.
He leans forward, not getting off his bike but extending the hand not holding his helmet. “Toby.”
I shake his hand and my grip is too firm. “Dylan.”
Toby is looking at me. Since I’m staring back, hostility riding on my shoulders, he finally looks away. He turns to Emerson. “Call me at the shop later.”
“I will. Thanks.” Emerson heads to the house. The guy starts his bike and leaves with me standing in the driveway, wondering what the hell just happened.
She waits at the front door, arms folded with a look that says I’ve interrupted something. Was she going to bring this guy inside my house for a hook-up? It’s the only thing that makes sense. They saw I was home, so he left.
I imagine them doing things together in my house and rage rolls over me.
“Surprised to find me here? I came home early,” I say, my voice low, menacing. “You know, you had a good thing going with us. I mean, we really overpaid you.”
“What are you talking about?” She sounds alarmed, her voice increasing in volume and pitch.
“Great pay. Keys to our house. You act like this place belongs to you.”
She takes a step toward me. “You asshole. I don’t know what your problem is or what you think you’re accusing me of, but you’d better think before you say—”
“You’re fired.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” I nod and then wince. My head might explode like a shaken cola can if I move it again.
“You can’t fire me. Jordy won’t let you.”
“He should’ve known better than to hire an ex-stripper.”
Her right arm swings up. She puts power behind it, and I see her palm coming for me like a slow-action scene in a movie. My head pops back when her hand connects, the swollen parts of my face throbbing.
She’s shaking with anger. “You...you...I had no idea you were such a jerk.” She swings to slap me again, but this time I’m ready and grab her wrist.
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” I haul her forward and stare down at her.
We’re nose to nose when she says the unexpected. “I thought you were different. I thought you...” Her voice is husky and breaks at the end. She gives a long blink. “Never mind what I thought.”
For a second, I hesitate. Her voice and her expression send an uneasy burn to my chest.
She pulls her arm from my hold and backs up on the porch. “I’m calling somebody to come get me. Do you mind?”
“Good,” I say, but I don’t move. She should’ve thought of this before the boyfriend dropped her off.
She pulls her cell from her purse and punches in a number. “Jordy? Yeah. Can you do me a favor? Can you pick me up at your house and take me home?” She turns her back on me.
Still, I don’t leave. I’d love to know how she’s going to explain this to him.
She lowers her voice. “I had a flat tire at school and this guy dropped me here. I didn’t want him to know my address.”
What the hell does she mean? That guy is not her boyfriend?
Not only do I feel like I’ve been run over today, I’ve just fallen down the manhole. I scrub both hands over my face as my pulse jabs blood to my temples. “Emerson. Hang up.”
She continues talking to Jordy. “And your asshole roommate just fired me.”
“No. No, Emerson. Hang up the phone.” I stride quickly to her and take the phone out of her hand so I can talk to Jordy. “Misunderstanding. I’ll take her home. She was kidding about the firing thing.” I press END and hand her the phone.
She glares at me. “I wouldn’t get into a car with you if you were the last man on earth.”
“I messed up.”
“No. Messing up is when you forget to take out the trash on the right day. Or when you call your date by the wrong name. It’s not when you insult someone who has never been anything but nice to you.”
She examines her phone as if she’s going to call someone else. The beginnings of tears cling to her bottom lashes.
“Stop,” I mutter. Panic and remorse wash over me. My breathing labors as I try to fix my mess. “I’m sorry. I feel like shit but that’s no excuse. Please let me take you home.”
“You sure you want to let an ex-stripper in your car?” Her gaze condemns me.
Ouch. I did call her that.
“I deserve whatever you want to say to me.” I close my eyes and rub my forehead. “I’m begging you to consider me temporarily insane earlier. Please, Emerson. Come on.”
“Whatever. Yeah. Take me home,” she orders.
She’s still pissed and isn’t going to back down from her righteous anger. She swings her hips as she walks and I can’t help but watch the way she moves.
Emerson’s a walking advertisement for sex. Or at least she is in my book. Long luscious legs, full tits. Sexy, tousled hair. But she’s also a contradiction. She doesn’t flirt with me or the other guys in the house. She doesn’t dress provocatively. She doesn’t act like she’s promiscuous.
Until that one night when I swear she was coming on to me. The way that girl can dance... Good Lord Almighty. One minute we’re dancing and the next minute I lose my mind and I’m kissing her. Drowning in her taste and scent.
I’ve lived a marathon of trying to forget that night. I’m all for a mind-blowing one-night stand, but where would our relationship go from there? She’s not exactly the kind of girl you bring home to parents like mine. My mother would quiz Emerson about everything she’s ever done and take her straight to Father Alvarez for confession.