by Katie McCoy
“Kid?” I asked, my eyebrow raised. “She looked like an adult to me.”
Emerson laughed. “She’ll always be my little sister, therefore she’ll always be a kid to me.”
“I’m sure she loves that,” I said, teasing him.
“She totally does,” Emerson confirmed. “She’s like a little sister to everyone in the crew—and we all spoil her rotten. No one can say no to her. Except Dante. He’s immune to her charms.”
“What does Dante do for the bar?” I wanted to know.
“He’s one of the investors,” Emerson said. “He’s a busy guy, so he’s not as involved in the day-to-day work like Chase, Sawyer, and I are, but he’s just as important to the success of the bar as anyone.”
“Chase, Sawyer, Dante, you,” I counted off my fingers. “There are five of you, though, right?”
Emerson nodded. “Liam’s our fifth. He’s our financial mastermind, but has a demanding day job so we don’t see him as much as the others. The bar is a full-time job for me and Chase, while the other guys are juggling additional work.”
“Must be nice to have so many people backing Rascals,” I observed.
“It is,” Emerson said. “We have a really good team.”
“So, you guys met when you were in college?” I asked, thinking of the photo I had seen hanging on the wall at the bar.
“Yup.” Emerson bent over the table and this time I was the one who got to check out his butt. It was a great view. “I was rooming with Chase in the dorms for a while, and at some point during the semester, he found out about this top secret poker ring that some townie was operating near the college. It was supposed to be the best game in town, so of course we wanted in. That’s where we met the other guys. Dante was the one running the game and hustling all the rich kids out of their allowances,” he added with a grin.
“He’s . . . well, let’s just say he has a colorful background. He’s from the other side of the tracks, so to speak. He’s all grit and attitude. Scary as hell if you don’t know him. One night, some frat bros started causing trouble. One of them lost, big-time, and they started throwing their weight around, threatening to bust the place, demanding their money back. We all ended up brawling, and someone called the cops. We all wound up spending the night in jail together. You could say we’ve been tight ever since.”
“That’s some bonding experience,” I laughed.
“The start of a beautiful friendship,” Emerson agreed.
We finished our game—with me losing embarrassingly—and headed back to our table to try the appetizers that had been delivered. All the food was delicious, but somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about the grilled cheese sandwich that Emerson had made me the previous week. For whatever reason, that’s what I was craving. Or maybe it was just Emerson himself.
After we cleared our tiny plates, Emerson glanced at his watch.
“Our reservation is in five minutes,” he said. “We should go.”
“Five minutes?” I grabbed my bag. “Is that enough time?”
He laughed. “We’re eating at another one of the places in the building,” he told me. “We’ll be fine.”
We headed upstairs, and when the doors opened, I found myself confronted with one of the most beautiful views of Chicago I’d ever seen. I had a perfect view of Millennium Park, with the Bean gleaming as the sun set on a gorgeous spring day.
“Wow,” I breathed. “It’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” Emerson said. “It really is.”
He was looking at me. The look in his eyes was so intense that I was extremely tempted to run back downstairs and see if the hotel that shared the building had any available rooms. Right now.
But I somehow managed to keep my hormones in check, and we followed the hostess to our table, which was right along the edge of the restaurant’s terrace. We’d be able to enjoy the view from our table.
“I’ve heard the food here is amazing,” Emerson told me.
I could only stare at the menu in agreement, my mouth watering. Somehow, I managed to choose from the multitude of delicious options, and soon Emerson and I were left alone with wine and the sun setting over Chicago.
“This is wonderful,” I said.
“Aren’t you glad I convinced you to go out with me?” Emerson teased.
My face got warm as I remembered exactly how he had convinced me to go out with him. Apparently, his brain went to the same place, since his grin widened at the expression on my face.
I played coy, taking a sip of my wine instead. Even though I was having a great time with Emerson, that didn’t change the fact that this date was going to have to be a one-time thing. Because I really didn’t have time to date right now, not with all the long hours and weekend shifts I was pulling. But I tried not to think about that. Instead, I did my best to try to enjoy the already enjoyable evening.
“So how did the five of you decide to open a bar?” I asked, still curious about the story behind Rascals.
Emerson smiled. “I’ve always loved the idea, having a place of our own—something that we made, that we were in charge of, that we could take control over. None of us felt like we had a lot of control in our lives, so we thought that owning a business together would provide that feeling. Let us make our mark.”
“But a bar?” I wanted to know more.
Emerson laughed. “We were twenty-somethings who liked to drink. And maybe I watched a few Cheers reruns growing up.”
I laughed.
“Any regrets?”
“Not one,” Emerson told me with a proud expression. “The hard work just confirms that it’s all worthwhile. It’s something that we made together. Something that we can call our own.”
“That’s really important to you,” I observed.
“Yeah,” Emerson said seriously. “It really is.”
“I get that,” I responded quietly. “That need to have something you can take ownership of.”
“Is that what you’re searching for with your job?” he wanted to know.
I thought about it for a moment. “I guess so,” I confirmed. “It also has a lot to do with proving myself.”
“To who?” Emerson asked. “Your parents?”
I shook my head. “My dad isn’t in the picture—he never really was. And my mom would be proud of me no matter what. I guess it’s more about proving it to myself.”
“What are you trying to prove?” Emerson’s gaze was intense, his voice quiet.
“That I’m good enough.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I took a breath, feeling strangely vulnerable. “We didn’t have a lot when I was a kid,” I confessed. “After my dad left, my mom struggled to make ends meet—did everything she could to make sure I was clothed and fed. I owe everything to her. And I want to be in a position to pay her back.”
“Has she asked you to?” Emerson interjected, his voice flat. Disapproving.
“No!” I said quickly. “No, she would never ask that of me. I want to pay her back. I want to show her that I appreciate everything she did for me.”
“I’m sure she knows,” Emerson said, his tone softening.
I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said. “But I’m still going to try. That’s why I need to get this associate’s position.”
“Do you like your job?” Emerson asked. “It seems like a lot of stress.”
“It is,” I told him. “It’s hard and challenging, but I like that about it. I like that I’m constantly being pushed to be better—to do better. And if I make it to associate, and one day, partner . . . that’s the kind of life I’ve always wanted. Something stable, solid. Paying my own way, really building a future for myself that nobody can take away.”
He smiled. “That’s how I feel about the bar. It’s not easy—not at all—but I don’t want easy. Easy is boring.”
“Exactly,” I said, feeling as if something had changed between us. Something had shifted, and the air crackled with tension.
Tension that was broken the moment the food was
brought to our table.
“Thank you,” Emerson told the waiter. “Would it be possible to see the chef tonight?” he asked.
“Of course.” The waiter nodded and disappeared.
I gave Emerson a confused look, but either he didn’t see it or chose not to react to it, because he turned his attention to his food. Not that I could blame him, it looked and smelled amazing. For the next few moments, both of us were silent, savoring the incredible fare. As we were finishing up our last bites, a beautiful woman in a chef’s jacket came over to our table.
“How is everything?” she asked. “I’m Phoebe Sullivan, the head chef here at Lucy’s.”
“It’s all delicious,” Emerson said, getting up to shake her hand. “Thank you so much for coming out to talk to us.”
“My pleasure,” she said. “I love talking to people who have enjoyed my cooking.”
“We did,” I interjected, wondering what the hell Emerson was doing chatting up this beautiful woman on our date. Should I have been jealous? I felt jealous. I felt really jealous, and I hated it.
“I own a bar a few blocks from here,” Emerson told her. “And we’ve been actively looking for new talent to put in the kitchen. Everyone has been raving about you since you took over Lucy’s, and I can see why.”
I relaxed. This was for work. He wasn’t flirting. Or maybe he was, but he was flirting for work. For the bar.
“I imagine you’re pretty happy here,” Emerson continued, taking a card out of his wallet. “But if you’d ever like to talk about other opportunities, I’d love to sit down and talk with you about what you could bring to Rascals.”
Phoebe Sullivan looked at Emerson’s card. “Rascals?” she asked. “That’s the new place opening in a few weeks, right?”
Emerson nodded. “Our opening night is in a few days. Come check it out—drinks on us.”
“Maybe,” Phoebe said with a smile. “Thank you again for stopping by.”
She headed back to the kitchen and Emerson sat back down.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I know she’s a long shot, but I wanted to reach out to her anyways.”
“Is that why we came here?” I asked. “To talk to the cute chef?”
Emerson paused and looked at me. “Are you jealous?” he asked.
“No,” I told him, but his smile had already grown.
“Have I told you how hot you are when you’re jealous?” he wanted to know.
“I’m not jealous!” I insisted, but he just grinned wider.
“Check please,” he called.
He parked the car a few blocks from my building, giving us a chance to enjoy the spring air. Chicago at this time of year was my favorite. I could do without the extreme cold and the humid heat, but during the spring? It was absolute heaven.
At some point during our walk, Emerson’s fingers had tangled in mine, and we walked hand in hand towards my apartment. Neither of us had made any mention of how the date would end, but it was clear from the tension crackling in the air between us that we were both eager to get inside. To be alone.
But we were just a block away from the bar and my place when it became apparent that Emerson couldn’t wait any longer. Without a word, he tugged me into an alley, and within seconds he had me pinned up against the wall, his mouth hot and eager on mine. I kissed him back, my fingers tangling in my hair as his hips pressed against mine.
He was hard, and the realization made me even hotter. I wanted him. I wanted all of him.
His mouth blazed a hot trail down my neck, his hands holding my arms next to my head, keeping me pinned against the bricks. It was so sexy—he was so sexy.
“Let’s go inside,” I murmured, pulling my lips from his.
“Soon.” He nipped at my bottom lip. “I’m not in any rush.”
I freed my hands from his and practically pulled him out of the alley and towards my building.
“You might not be in a rush,” I told him, fumbling for my keys. “But I am!”
We stumbled into my apartment, shedding clothes as we went. His jacket landed in a pile with his shoes and socks, my purse tossed across the room as I was picked up and placed on the back of my sofa.
Emerson kissed me, hard, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. I responded in kind, my hands tight in his hair as his own fingers began dancing up my leg, pushing my dress up. As he did, I tugged at his shirt, wanting to see him, wanting to touch him.
He pulled away, giving me just enough time to whip the shirt off of him. Then I got a look at him. At his bare chest. And I was speechless.
“Oh my God,” I managed. “You’re gorgeous.”
“I was about to say the same thing,” he told me, lowering his head to kiss me again.
Within minutes my dress was unbuttoned, and my bra had joined the rest of our clothes on the floor. Then his mouth was on my breast. Oh God. It felt good. It felt so good. He had already proven himself to be more than skilled with his mouth, and he showed me again, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking until I nearly came from that alone.
It wasn’t enough. Thankfully, he seemed to feel the same way. He moved downward, dropping kisses along my shoulders, across my chest, and down my stomach. Then, Emerson dropped to his knees, shoving my skirt up, revealing the tiny lace thong that I was wearing.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, his voice husky and deep.
I was slick for him. Emerson dragged his thumb along the edge of my thong, pulling it aside. I spread my legs, giving him full access as he kissed the inside of my knee, the inside of my thigh, and then against me in one delicious stroke.
“Oh! Oh my God,” I moaned as he licked me.
He felt good. So damn good.
But then he stopped. I sat up, feeling taut with anticipation. Glancing down revealed that Emerson was staring at my crotch.
“Were you afraid I’d lose my way?” he asked, a playful smile on his face.
It was then I remembered the arrow that had been waxed on me down there. I
laughed. “You never know with some guys.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge.”
I couldn’t even respond, because within a second, his mouth was back on me, his tongue sweeping inside of me. Pleasure swept over me, overwhelming the sense of embarrassment I’d felt. Now all I could focus on was the pleasure. The sensations he was giving to me.
I needed something to hold onto, so I buried my fingers in Emerson’s hair. I held him tight against me as he tasted me, my fingers clenching as he stroked me with his tongue. He teased my clit, thrusting inside of me until I was moaning nonstop. Then he added a finger, slowly sliding it inside of me. Emerson fucked me with his finger, adding another as my hips began rolling and my breathing became nothing but panting. I was close.
He kissed me again. There. He tasted me as he used his fingers to draw pleasure out of me, and when my release came, I screamed, my hips thrusting forward as my body clenched around his fingers.
Oh. My. God.
As I came back down to earth, I heard bells. Echoing in my head. I thought it was just the result of the amazing orgasm, but after a moment, I realized that it was my phone. And that was my ringtone for work.
“Do you need to get that?” Emerson asked.
“No way,” I said breathlessly.
But Emerson stood and retrieved my purse for me. “I know it could be important,” he said, and he was right. I gave him an apologetic look as I answered.
“Where are you?” Lucinda demanded. “We’re all supposed to be at the office.”
“What happened?” I tried to clear my head, tried to focus on the call instead of all the delicious sensations that were still vibrating through my body.
“Laney’s ex just drained their shared bank account. We’ve got to file for a temporary restraining order and it’s all hands on deck. Now.” Then she hung up on me.
“Dammit,” I muttered, staring at my phone.
“Problems?” Emerson asked.
He was shi
rtless, and there was still a visible—and impressive—bulge in his pants, but he didn’t seem annoyed or frustrated. He seemed actually concerned.
I nodded, feeling frustrated myself.
“They need me to come into the office.”
I braced myself for the fight. For the argument that I had always gotten from my ex when I needed to work—when my work life had interfered with my personal one. But the fight didn’t come.
Instead, Emerson got his shirt off the floor and put it on. He gathered the rest of his clothes efficiently.
“I’m so sorry,” I told him, “I wish that I could stay. And finish what we keep getting started.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he told me, leaning in to kiss me.
I could taste myself on his lips, and it made me want to stay even more.
“We’ll pick up again soon,” he promised, and then he was gone.
12
Alex
It was a long night in the office. Usually I could lose myself in work, but I had been unable to get Emerson out of my head. He was a major distraction from the case files strewn over the desk in front of me, but for the first time, I wasn’t feeling guilty about it. I wanted to see him. I wanted to finish what we had started.
Was there any way I could have both? Work and a guy like him? It seemed impossible, but then again, I’d never met a guy who seemed to understand why I worked as hard as I did. Emerson got it. He completely understood the drive I had, because he had it too. I wasn’t exactly sure where it had come from, because he obviously came from a way more comfortable background, but I still found his ambition sexy as hell.
We pulled an all-nighter getting the lawsuit ready to file, and when we were finally released from work the following morning, I headed home and fell straight into bed. When I woke up, I felt like I’d slept for days, but it was still early, only afternoon. I thought about texting Emerson, but then I heard the construction happening downstairs and realized that I could just as easily see him. So I headed downstairs, where it looked like everything was getting its final touches before the grand opening tomorrow night.
But Emerson was nowhere in sight. Instead, I found a guy I didn’t recognize screwing some cool iron shelving in place. He was tall and built, and looked like the kind of guy who built things with his bare hands. Dark hair and blue eyes, which he fixed on me when I entered.