Emerson hesitates and pulls back to unfasten the chain. “I’ve got a few minutes. Then I have to do something.” Her voice is hard.
The apartment is small, but not cluttered. There’s a sofa and a trunk serving as a coffee table. A floor lamp sits in the corner of the room with a large plant underneath it.
She backs up to stand at the threshold to what I assume is the kitchen, as if she doesn’t want to stand too close to me. “What?”
“Why didn’t you call me to come get you?” It’s not what I meant to say.
She shrugs.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets. She’s not going to make this easy. “I called you earlier when I needed help. You could’ve called me.”
“What does that have to do with anything? So, I didn’t call you.”
“We’re friends. You should call me before you get some random guy to—”
She huffs and her eyes spray dragon fire my direction. “Friends. I don’t think so. You are my—you were—my employer. And you just fired your ex-stripper employee. Remember? You must’ve called me this morning because you were embarrassed to call one of your friends. Because I would know all about jail, being an ex-strip—”
I cut her off. “Hold up—”
The front door opens wide and a girl stands in the threshold looking from me to Emerson.
Emerson closes her eyes for a second. “Gabby. You’re home early.”
“Hi,” she says, grinning coyly at the both of us. “I thought the TV was on when I heard all the noise.”
Emerson sighs. “Gabby, this is Dylan. Dylan, my little sister, Gabby.”
“Hi,” I say, studying the similarities between the two girls. Both have dark hair, high cheekbones, and those electric blue eyes. There’s no denying they are related.
But where Emerson gives off a you’ll-have-to-work-for-it vibe, her sister does the opposite. She’s looking at me like she’s undressed me and she likes what she sees.
Gabby licks her lips. I practically hear her purr. “Hi, Dylan. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Emerson narrows her eyes. “Dylan and I are in the middle of a conversation.”
“Don’t mind me,” Gabby says and sets a book on the coffee table.
Emerson throws me an exasperated look. “Are we done?”
“No,” I answer.
Emerson turns and walks down the hallway. “Follow me.”
There are two bedrooms at the end and Emerson turns into the one on the right. She extends a hand to wave me into the room. It’s only large enough for a bed. She closes the door and I’m standing a foot away in the small space that runs the perimeter of the room.
“I forgive you. Okay? Go home.” She looks at me in exasperation.
“Emerson? Emerson? Can you come in here?” Her little sister yells from the living room.
Emerson throws her hands up. “See? Not a good time. I’ll be right back.”
She leaves the room and I take a moment to look around. There’s a shelf on one wall with framed photographs. I pick up the closest one. It’s a younger Emerson in a long beaded dress and a Homecoming Queen sash. She’s holding long-stemmed roses with an extremely large crown perched on her head
I’m blown away. I’ll be damned.
The second frame holds a photo of Emerson and two other girls in cheerleading outfits. The third, a very young Emerson with a man who must be her father. She’s wearing a ballerina costume and is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
All the photos are of Emerson and her friends and family. It’s what I might expect in a single girl’s room. Just not a single ex-stripper’s bedroom.
The enormity of my prejudices slams me. It’s not like I expected a silver pole in the middle of the room. But I don’t expect ex-strippers to be ex-homecoming queens.
“What are you doing?” Emerson’s voice startles me and I drop the frame on the floor. Luckily, the carpet saves it from breaking. I retrieve it and carefully return it to the shelf.
“Waiting.”
“As I was saying, you’re off the hook. You can sleep easy tonight. Do you mind? I have to babysit tonight.”
“Babysit? Your sister?”
She gives me a look like I’m a moron. “Someone a little younger.”
I want to ask her a million questions about the photos, about her life, about her. There’s no way she’s going to answer any of them. “I can give you a lift to pick up your car.”
“I can’t leave right now.” She exhales heavily. “Dylan. You’ve gotta go.”
“Okay,” I answer. “I’ll call and check with you later about your car.”
“Don’t.”
“I’ll call,” I say as I leave her bedroom and walk through the apartment.
Gabby sits on the sofa watching me as I walk toward her. “You can call me,” she says.
“He’s not calling you either.” Emerson’s voice has an exhausted quality that makes me feel even more like a douchebag than I’ve already proven to be today.
I turn at the door. “Deadbolt the door.”
Emerson rolls her eyes. “Bye.”
Her sister leans forward on the sofa, showing me her tits in the low cut shirt she wears. “See you soon?”
“Nice to meet you,” I say in answer. The girl is on a mission to be noticed.
After I close the door, I pause to listen for the deadbolt hitting its chamber. When it does, I’m still unable to move. I look around the place once more, disgusted that two girls live alone in a place like this.
The guys who’d watched me earlier are gone and my car is still intact. It’s already dark outside since winter steals daylight. I get into my car and watch a woman carrying a little boy. They walk to Emerson’s apartment and knock. Then Emerson opens the door and lets them both in.
She wasn’t kidding about babysitting.
A minute later, the woman comes back out and Emerson stands framed in the doorway. She’s holding the little kid. Her hand rubs him gently on the back and he pats a chubby hand against her cheek.
She grabs his hand and kisses it.
I don’t know who this Emerson is, but I’m enthralled. I have this extreme desire to run up those stairs and make her listen to my apology one more time.
It’s what I want most right now—to have one minute more of watching her with this kid in her arms, to make things right with her, and to find out what makes her tick.
Don’t
Emerson
Running clears my head like nothing else. The early morning sun warms my skin as I step up my pace to match the beat of my favorite tunes. I pass a woman walking her dog and lift my hand in a semi-wave. I visually check my silicone pepper-spray bracelet.
I woke with the need to work out some of my issues. Issues that overwhelm me sometimes because I can’t seem to catch a break. The flat tire isn’t a big deal, but the way Dylan treated me is. I know I’m not really fired, but I need to find another job.
And that truly pisses me off because the housekeeping job worked for me. It’s tough to find a job where you can set your own hours around classes and make that kind of money.
After my three miles are in, I slow to a cool-down pace as I approach home.
There’s a red sports car parked near the stairwell to my apartment and I don’t have to look closer to know it’s Dylan.
People in my complex don’t drive cars like his.
The door swings open and he steps out. He shuts the door and stands with his hands in his pockets, never taking his gaze off me. “Good morning,” he says in a loud voice.
I drink in his appearance. He’s wearing a suit, so I assume he’s going into the office today. He must be feeling better. His eye isn’t quite as swollen, but it’s darker in color. He wears a smile that pretends nothing happened yesterday. It makes me want to blacken his other eye.
I look away and jog past him to the stairs. “I don’t have time to talk.”
“Tell me where your car is.”
“I’ll take c
are of it.” I’m breathing heavily from my run and adrenaline still pumps through my veins.
“I’m here to take you to it. Or if it’s not ready, then I’ll take you to campus or wherever you need to go this morning.”
There are swift footsteps behind me. “No need.”
“I’m going to hang around until you let me help.” There’s a smile in his voice that’s arrogant and cajoling.
I grind my teeth in irritation and run up the first flight of stairs. “There are laws against stalking.”
“Are you going to call the cops on me?”
“Maybe.” I huff while walking swiftly toward my door with my key out.
His hand is on my shoulder and I turn toward him. A woman from the complex across the parking lot stands outside her apartment smoking a cigarette while watching us. If I cause a scene, the woman might call the cops. Police cars make a regular appearance here.
“I told you last night that I forgive you.” The words stick in my throat and I give him a closed-mouth smile.
“You didn’t mean it.”
My key slides easily into the regular lock and then into the deadbolt. “Sure I did.”
“Liar,” he says. “Let me help you out this morning and I’ll believe you.”
A shower is a necessity after my run, not a luxury. And as much as it pains me to take anything—anything at all—from him, I do need a ride. “Wait in your car. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
There’s no way he’s coming in. I don’t like the way he looked at stuff in my bedroom last night and I also don’t like the way Gabby looked at him. That is not going to happen again. Gabby is off limits and so is my past.
He nods. “Okay. Take your time. I’ll be in the car.”
There’s a small part of me that wants to make him wait for an hour, and then there’s the sensible part of me that says to grab this carriage before it turns into a pumpkin.
After showering and partially drying my hair, I put on a little bit of mascara and lipstick and grab my phone. I’m tempted to put on some hoochy-mama outfit to further solidify his stripper vision of me, maybe a tube top and sparkly mini-skirt. Since I don’t own either of those items, I don jeans and a nice top.
I looked up Folks’ Automotive online last night, so I know it isn’t far. As a precaution, I punch in the number to make sure Toby was able to get my tire fixed and I’ll be able to pay for the service.
A man answers the phone on the second ring. “Folks’ Auto.”
“Hi. Could I speak to Toby? Is he working today?”
“He’s here but can’t take a call right now.”
“Oh.” I peer through the curtains to see if Dylan’s still in the parking lot. “He was going to fix a tire for me and I needed to check on it.”
“Your name Emerson?” The man coughs and sputters into the phone loudly. I hold it away from my ear.
“Yes.” I grab my purse, walk outside, and lock the door behind me.
“Toby said you would call. He brought your tire to the shop and he’s already taken it back to the car. He wants to talk with you about your repair when you get here.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I end the call and make my way to Dylan’s showpiece of a car. Jeez. Every neighbor I have must be gawking at it by now. Mrs. Chainsmoker across the way is still on her front landing.
The clicking sound of his door locks makes me smile. My apartment location obviously has him freaked out. Of course, I do carry Mace with me, but that’s mostly for when I come in at night.
He leans over and pushes the passenger door open. “Hey, gorgeous.”
His warm words send an unwanted thrill straight to my belly. I narrow my eyes at my body’s reaction and get into the car. “I said I forgave you. No need to suck up. You can’t help it that you’re thoughtless and shallow.”
His grin disappears. “You think I’m shallow?”
“If the insult fits...” I say and press my lips together. “I just need a ride to Folks’ Auto off Cavanaugh and then maybe you could take me to campus. That’s where I left my car.”
“And thoughtless,” he adds in a grumble and reverses out of the parking spot.
“You pretty boys can’t all be perfect,” I say. I hold back the smirk because I know the nickname ‘pretty boy’ is one I’ve heard from Collin and Jordy at their house. Dylan has a look that turns girls’ heads and makes guys underestimate him. And it’s more than his All-American good looks and lean, muscled build. It’s the way he carries himself with confidence. He acts like he owns the world.
Must be nice to have everything come so easy.
Dylan asks for directions from me and I look them up on my phone. Other than that, he stays quiet the rest of the drive. He’s not a pouter. But maybe my jabs hurt a little. I derive an ugly sense of satisfaction. His stripper comments from yesterday will echo in my head for a while, and I’m still angry.
We pull into Folks’ Auto, a fairly large business with a line of bays for cars. I get out and Dylan follows me to the front office door. I ignore him.
I inhale the smells of grease and oil. The counter is unmanned but there’s a little bell to ring for service. My hand is inches from it when Toby walks in from the garage area.
“Hey,” he says with an easy smile. “Your tire is fixed and back on your car. I think you need a spare though. Interested in buying one today?”
“She doesn’t have a spare?” Dylan edges in close beside me at the counter and I move over.
“No, and she needs one. I don’t feel good knowing she’s driving without it.” Toby’s gaze swings from Dylan back to me.
I pull out my wallet and credit card. “I’ll buy a tire for a spare. Thanks so much for taking care of everything. I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?”
Toby points to a poster on the wall which displays tire brands. “You can get one like yours in the mid-price range.”
“That’s great.” I cringe at the cost. There goes my plan for buying a microwave. Oh well. Gabby and I need to eat healthier.
Dylan pushes his credit card forward. “I’ll get it.”
“Oh no you won’t.” I push my card closer to Toby and try to calm my temper. I glare at Dylan and then return my attention to Toby. “Don’t even think about taking his card.”
Toby looks once from Dylan to me and takes my card. “You’re the boss.” He rings up the sale and hands me the credit card slip with a pen. “Don’t be mad at a man for trying to pay for his girlfriend’s repairs.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say through gritted teeth.
At the same time, Dylan answers, “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Toby’s grin widens. “In that case, can I get your number?” He grabs a blank slip of paper.
“Yeah. You can.” The words pop out of my mouth. I immediately want to take it back because normally I don’t hand out my number to anyone.
I give Toby my number and he jots it down. “Great. I’ll call you. One more thing.”
“What?” I place my wallet in my bag. Dylan turns away from the counter as if he’s bored.
“Your tire. Do you remember running over anything?” He pockets the paper with my number and sits on the stool behind the counter.
“No. Why?”
“I fix lots of flats. People run over screws and all kinds of things. But yours looks like something sharp sliced straight through it. Like a blade of some kind.”
A flashback to the note on my windshield comes to me in that moment. My belly clenches hard. “Thanks for letting me know,” I say. Dylan turns to listen again.
Toby rubs his hand over his mouth for a second as if hesitating about what to say next. “I’m not trying to scare you. It’s possible that you ran over something. But really...it looks like someone cut your tire.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” I shake my head at his concern. “There’re a lot of crazies in the world.”
I school my expression to look unconcerned, so Dylan will q
uit staring at me, tension tightening the skin around his eyes.
Toby nods and walks toward the garage entrance. “I’ll grab that new tire. If you’ll pop your trunk, I’ll be out in a second.”
Dylan is already heading to the shop’s front door and holds it open. “You have enemies?”
“What?” I bristle at the implication. It’s back to the lifestyle he thinks I have—one that invites Jerry Springer type controversy. “No. I’m sure he’s wrong.”
“You should be careful.”
I roll my eyes at him and walk through the door he’s holding. “I always am.”
Dylan puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk to the car and I stiffen. Toby is already there with the tire at the back of the car. Dylan is giving him a bland stare and Toby stares right back. And although I’m not tied to either one of them in a romantic way, I can’t help thinking they both look like they’re going to throw down in the parking lot and stake a claim.
“Thanks, Toby.” I give him an overly warm smile.
“Anytime,” he says. Dylan hits a button on his key fob and the trunk door lifts. Once the tire is stored, Toby gives me a nod and heads back into the garage.
“I hope you aren’t thinking of going out with that guy.” Dylan opens my door for me.
“That’s none of your business.” I settle in as he walks around to the driver’s side.
He sits behind the wheel, not starting the car, and grunts. “Maybe so. What about the possibility that Toby slashed your tire?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “What? You’re crazy. Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous.”
“I hear of crazier things all the time. You’re a hot girl. He wants to meet you and thinks you’re out of his league. He slashes your tire and then rescues you.”
“Sounds like you have practice with this pickup method.” I fold my arms over my chest.
Dylan laughs. “Honey, if I wanted a date with you I wouldn’t have to slash your tires.”
His comment drives a thorn under my thin skin. Before yesterday, it was true. He could’ve snapped his fingers and I would be ready at the door with my purse on my shoulder.
Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) Page 3