Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)

by Ginger Scott

  “Well, unless he’s planning on sitting me tomorrow, which fuck it if he is, I’m pretty sure our talk can wait until then,” I say, repositioning my heavy bag on my arm.

  Trent rolls his eyes, but then turns his attention back to Lindsey. Lindsey is his type. I should just give her to him, rid myself of this entire dumb fucking idea I had.

  “Hey, I’m Trent,” he says, shaking her hand.

  “Hey, I’m Trent,” I repeat, mocking him. He doesn’t turn to look at me when he reaches to the side and punches me in the right peck. “Ow…fuck nut!”

  “You must be Emma?” Trent asks. Fucker did that on purpose.

  I’d feel bad about the look on Lindsey’s face right now except I’m pretty sure the look on mine is worse. He called her Emma, which means somewhere along the way he noticed that name. He saw her license once, briefly, but I didn’t think he memorized it. And I get enough from the quick glance he shoots me to know that he’s trying to make this a teachable moment.

  Not in the mood, Trent. I’m so far in on a bad idea there’s really no way to get out now. Quit making it worse.

  “She’s…my roommate,” Lindsey says, her voice half of the volume it was before.

  “He knows that. He’s just a really shitty listener. This is Lindsey, Trent. And thanks for paying attention to me when I talk.” I lay it on super thick, and Lindsey eats it up. Trent’s eyes become slits, and I know I’ve only made him more curious. Just one more thing I’ll think about atoning for…or not. Might as well embrace this piece-of-shit guy I’ve become.

  “Right, my mistake,” Trent says. What he really means is “What are you up to, you asshole?” I put my arm around Lindsey and lead her out ahead of him. This conversation between them—it’s done.

  Trent heads to his car, and probably to Majerle’s, which is where I’d planned on going with Lindsey after the game, but now I just want to get her back to her apartment so I can go through with everything I chickened out on last night. She seems all right with it, too, her fingers hooked onto mine over her shoulder as we walk the six blocks to her apartment.

  My back is killing me from carrying my gear. I normally dump it in Trent’s car, or drop it off at home before we go out, but those weren’t options tonight. Maybe I’ll somehow work a back rub out of this.

  I feel a charge when we get to her front door, and I know why it’s there. It’s there because I anticipated this—the look on Emma’s face the second I walk in behind Lindsey. In a second, her eyes go from Lindsey’s to mine, and down to the sweatshirt folded over her purse.

  There’s that disappointment I was banking on. I grin, and she catches it before quickly looking away.

  Lindsey dumps her purse on the table as we walk in, and I take advantage of it, picking up the sweatshirt and twisting it in my hands to make it even smaller. Emma watches the entire time, her cheek caught between her teeth while she rethinks her decision to send her friend out in it in the first place.

  That’s right, Emma. This bothers you more than it bothers me.

  “How was the awards dinner?” Lindsey asks from behind Emma as she opens the fridge to pull out a beer for each of us.

  “It was good.”

  I don’t think Emma even registered her answer. She’s too busy staring at the sweatshirt—her eyes never blinking as she watches my hands work the fabric as I step closer to her.

  “Here,” I whisper, handing it to her. She takes the other side, and for a second we’re both holding on, like a tug of war. Her eyes flash to mine, and I notice she stops breathing. I should stop here, but something happens when she looks at me, and I step in a little closer, close enough that I know she can feel my breath. “Are we done now?”

  I let go of my grip, but I keep my eyes locked with hers. For a brief moment, she looks wounded, and I start to smile.

  “I met someone,” she says. She’s speaking to Lindsey, but as the left side of her mouth starts to rise, her eyes haze, and something stronger steps in place of the girl who was letting me walk all over her a second ago.

  You think I care that you met someone, Emma Burke? Go ahead—make me care.

  “Oh yeah?” Lindsey moves into my side, handing me a beer. I put my arm around her and let my hand cup her shoulder. Emma’s eyes move to it, so I loosen my grip and drag my fingers along her arm suggestively, just to see if Emma’s gaze follows. It does, and I take a very satisfied, long drink, not bothering to hide the smile on my lips behind the bottle.

  “Yeah,” Emma says, her voice weak again. I almost feel like I’m putting her in a trance, her eyes are tracing every single stroke of my fingers along her friend’s arm. “He’s a grad student,” she continues, telling her roommate about some boy who thought she was cute and asked her out on a date. I couldn’t care less. She says something about how he saved her, came to her rescue and got the projector working. She’s gushing over some guy who knew how to click a goddamned mouse, and she’s calling him her savior. The more she talks, the more I feel every scar on my body all at once—the burn marks, the stab wounds, the broken bones that never healed quite right—abuse I took so Emma Burke didn’t have to experience anything sad.

  Something in me snaps.

  I know it’s crossing the line when I do it, and I know that it’s going to start something that won’t end in spooning tonight. That’s why I came here, though…isn’t it? Emma keeps talking, but her eyes are constantly checking my hands. Every pass of my fingers over Lindsey’s shoulder and down her bicep moves closer to her breast, until finally, I let my thumb drag slowly along the curve of her tit, taking extra time when I feel the hard peak underneath her thin bra and shirt—and Lindsey, bless her fucking little heart, actually hums in pleasure.

  “I’m seeing him tomorrow, so I’ll let you know…you know…if it’s something…” Emma cuts her story short, suddenly a lot less sure of herself. She sucks in her bottom lip as she flits her eyes to me quickly before looking down and then back up to her friend, who is now absolutely dying for me to touch her more.

  That’s right, Emma. Nobody cares that you met a boy and he’s your fucking hero.

  “Yeah, that’s awesome. I’m so excited for you,” Lindsey says, nothing about her focused on Emma. Lindsey is my puppet right now, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t hear anything past the part where Emma said she met someone. Everything after that was about my hand on her breast, and how fast my dick will be inside her next.

  “Anyhow, I think I’ll turn in,” Emma says, faking a yawn. “That speech, it’s always hard, ya know…” I roll my eyes at her sad performance, then run my hand down Lindsey’s arm to find her fingers waiting to tug my hand and body to her bed.

  “Yeah, us too,” Lindsey says at the feel of my grip. I follow her down the hall as we leave Emma alone in the kitchen behind us. I don’t care that she’s alone. I don’t care that she knows where I’m going, and I don’t care that she’s met some guy who wants to buy her coffee.

  I don’t care about Emma Burke.

  I step into Lindsey’s room, and she pauses at the doorway, hanging out of it to look down the hallway to her friend. That’s guilt she’s feeling. She needs to let that go.

  “She’s okay,” I say, coming up behind her, breathing into her, reminding her. My fingers find her stomach, and I tug her shirt from her jeans and let my hand find her bare skin.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says, part of her giving into me, but part of her still out there in the hallway. I can tell. I kiss her neck, moving my hand through her hair, wrapping it around my fingers. She sighs, letting her weight fall into me. I turn her to face me and lift her into my arms, my hands grabbing her ass as I walk us backward. We just need to get to her bed. She’ll forget everything there.

  I’ll forget everything there.

  “Goodnight.”

  Lindsey’s door is still open; Emma pauses on the other side of the hall and speaks, her profile outlined by the faint light spilling from her room, which means she can see jus
t as much of us. I knew the door was open; I wanted her to see. I timed that kiss just right. I hoped she’d walk by, but another piece of me wants to take that last kiss back.

  Lindsey’s mouth tightens up and eventually falls away from mine.

  “Goodnight,” she says back to her friend, her forehead sliding along my shoulder until her face is tucked against my chest.

  Fuck, I’m an asshole.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lindsey is apologizing to me. The irony.

  “It’s fine…really,” I say, looking over her form as Emma’s door closes behind her. Emma never looks back again. She’s seen enough. Maybe I have, too.

  “Something’s with her, tonight. I think it was the speech. I…I probably should have talked to her more, or maybe gone with her. Gah…I’m so sorry, I just feel bad now. You probably think I’m nuts.” Lindsey looks up at me with her mouth caught between an apology and a frown—waiting for me to tell her it’s okay. I pull her in against me for a hug, mostly because I can’t handle looking in her eyes anymore. I don’t like the reflection in them.

  “You know what? I’m gonna go ahead and go,” I say, my lips tight now, too. I’m not looking at Lindsey though. I’m looking beyond her. I realize it a little late, and she catches me. When my eyes drift back down to hers, there’s a hint of suspicion in them. “Why don’t you and your roommate have a night—do that girl-talk thing, huh?”

  Her misgivings about my motivation seem to melt, and her hands squeeze my arms in thanks. The puppy-dog grin she looks up at me with seals it. I hug her again, but my eyes stay on the shut door across the hallway.

  Lindsey follows me through their kitchen and living room, where I grab my gear and pull it back up on my shoulder, leaving this apartment one more time without satisfaction.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says as I back out of her door.

  I hold up a few fingers and start my steps toward the elevator bank, but remember that tomorrow’s Sunday, and Harley told me to keep my evening open in case he could line something up. I could really use the stars to align for a fight—financially and emotionally—I take a few quick paces back to her door, catching it before she closes it completely.

  “You know what? Actually, I’ve got some family things tomorrow, and I’m not sure how late I’m going to be. I’ll just text you when I get home?” She looks down, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she wants to believe the line of bullshit I’m giving her. Part of me wants her to call me on it, and part of me also thinks maybe that’s what I need—a good fight to distract me, to let me feel something other than angry and alone.

  “Sure,” she says. It’s a pained response, but for now, I’ll take it. I’m tired; I’m also not in the mood for a breakup. And a breakup would mean no more Emma…and I’m not so sure I’m ready for that either.

  “Great,” I smile, leaning in to kiss her lips lightly, just to leave her feeling something better than how I’m sure my blow-off just did. I really do have family shit to deal with tomorrow; I really only stretched the truth some.

  The doorman is starting to recognize me, and he smiles and waves as I pass by this time. It’s the hockey gear, and my Tech sweatshirt and hat. It works on girls and doormen, it seems.

  As long as everything felt like it took at Lindsey and Emma’s, I end up walking through my apartment door forty-five minutes behind Trent. He didn’t go to the bar, and I have a strange feeling that he was waiting for me—probably sitting here stewing in his own self-righteousness and whatever-the-fuck he thinks he has all figured out. He’s sitting on the couch, his feet up, beer in his hand, and the TV on a replay of some NASCAR race. He hates racing, so I know he’s just posturing.

  I walk behind the sofa with my gear, hell bent on not stopping or taking his bait.

  “You’re in over your head, Harper. What are you doing?” he asks, and mother fuck! I stop. I stop because he knows more than I thought he did. And since he has the bad shit all figured out, maybe he can help me wrap my head around what the hell is wrong with me—and why I’m still so angry.

  I reach over the sofa and take the half-empty beer from his hand, claiming it for my own. I drop my gear behind the sofa and walk the rest of the way around the couch, sitting on the corner of the coffee table across from him.

  My eyes are on his chin for the longest time. It’s like when you’re a kid and you know you’re wrong, and you’re about to get your ass chewed, but you just don’t want to give in to the adult and take your licks. I don’t want to have to face his goddamned honest face, so I keep my eyes on his chin and take a long sip from the beer I commandeered, draining it almost completely.

  “I don’t know, Trent. She was there. It was her, and I don’t know, but I can’t fucking stop,” I say.

  “Drew…who the hell is Emma?” He says her name, and my chest flips inside out, my heart running through an irregular rhythm of several fast beats followed by nothing at all.

  “I’ve told you,” I lie.

  “No, Drew. Not the drunken version you tell when you think you’re being honest. I mean the real story,” he says. I give in and look up the inch it takes to meet his eyes, and I hold his gaze while I wait for my heart to begin working again. I don’t talk about Emma. It started as a promise I made to myself that night, and then it grew into a rule I made to protect myself. I’m not so sure what would happen if I broke it now.

  “There was a girl,” I say, letting my eyes wander over to the TV, which he’s conveniently muted. There’s a pile-up of cars in the race, one is on fire, and I can’t help but find some kind of sick humor in the many ways that scene mirrors my own life. “I got screwed over by the law…” I start, my eyes moving back to his, the recognition in his expression already there. He knows the story. And now he’s filling in the details.

  “Harp…” He shakes his head, literally biting his tongue, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, as if this is somehow stressful for him. I’m about to tell him to drop the empathy act when there’s a soft knock at our door.

  It’s probably one of the guys, wondering why we’re not celebrating at Majerle’s. I use it as an excuse to get out of our conversation, and as Trent moves to the door, I walk into our kitchen to get each of us another beer. When I come out, she’s standing in the doorway, and Trent is rubbing his chin.

  “Over your head,” he says under his breath as he trades spots with me near the door. He takes one of the beers from my hand and pauses to make sure my eyes meet his, get the warning in them, before he moves back to his spot on the couch.

  “What are you doing here?” I don’t even waste time with being nice. I’m so pissed she’s at my door. It means she knows where I live, and she doesn’t get to know things about me. That’s not how this works.

  “Why are you doing this, Andrew?”

  I hear Trent scoff behind me, and it pisses me off that he’s hearing any of this. I slide my beer on the small shelf nearby and grab my jacket from the hook on the back of the door, motioning for her to get the hell out of my way. She takes a step back as I move outside with her and hand her my jacket. She looks at it like I just handed her a slab of meat.

  “It’s forty degrees out here, and your teeth are chattering. Just put the damn thing on,” I say, walking down the path toward the road. Our street is filled with cars nestled up next to meters, and graffiti mars the sidewalks. It’s a far cry from the tree-lined cobblestone walkway that leads to Emma’s front door. I live in the real world.

  Emma joins me near the roadway, but she’s still holding my jacket in her hands. I nod at her hands to put it on, and she scowls.

  “Seriously, don’t make this a thing. It’s a twenty-dollar winter coat from Target. Just wear it for five minutes for fuck sake.”

  She takes in a sharp breath before shoving one arm into a sleeve. “I don’t even know who the hell you are anymore,” she mumbles.

  “Isn’t that the point? We pretend we don’t know each other?” I move in close, and she ta
kes a step back. She wants to keep distance between us, which only makes me want to shatter her comfort more. I advance again, this time a little aggressively as my chest rumbles with light laughter. She doesn’t move this time, instead her shoulders sagging as she lets out a slow breath.

  “Is that the point? Why is that the point, Andrew? What are you doing? Do you want me to pretend I don’t know you? I mean…I thought that’s what you wanted. I thought you really liked Lindsey. But then you keep doing things and saying things and you’re so—”

  “So what, Emma?” I challenge her, waiting for her to say it. Her toes are matched with mine, and I feel her shoe against the tips of my own. My lip curls, unable to stop from grinning when I tap my foot against hers softly. Her eyes wince, just a little, but enough that I see it. She’s drowning in the fog of my breath, and I exhale once hard just to erase her. She backs down, her eyes falling to both of our feet as she takes a step back.

  “Go on, Emma,” I say, moving toward her again. “What am I? Am I mean? Am I…angry? Am I the kind of guy who returns a girl’s license to her so she doesn’t have to worry? Does that make me your hero?”

  She nods, but then shakes her head, bringing her hands up to the side of her face. Her eyes are threatening tears, and I know I have her on the brink.

  “Or am I the guy who tells a lie for you, and then sits back while your life is perfect and mine is a fucking nightmare, and you can’t even bother the common decency of saying thanks?”

  Her body grows rigid at that last one, and her face finds mine, her eyes wide and red, the water pooling in them, ready to fall to the ground in front of her. My hands out to my sides, I shake my head at a loss. I tried to make sense of it so many nights I lay awake at Lake Crest. I even tried to understand why she didn’t care after I moved to Iowa. I think about it every time my feet touch the ice, every time a fist lands on my face, and when I look at the scars I got for her.

  “Come on, Emma. Tell me…what am I?”

  Her breath falters, and the tears finally release down her cheeks as her bottom lip quivers with her cry and her gaze falls to the ground.