I smile. Maybe phase three won’t take as long as I thought.
How about Captain’s Chowder House at noon? It’s a restaurant with good food, if a little greasy, and it’s definitely not fancy. Hardly even date-worthy at all.
Okay, see you then.
I make sure to arrive early so I can get a booth in the corner. I’d rather not be distracted by people behind me. I decide not to order for Emma. I’m happy to buy her lunch, but I’ll let her pay for her own if she wants. I don’t want to come on too strong.
She walks in, and I get to look at her for a brief moment before she sees me. Her hair is pulled up like it was at the market, and she’s wearing a blue shirt and long, striped skirt. I adjust my pants before she looks my direction. The sight of her gets my heart rate going and my dick is extremely interested in what’s happening. I take a deep breath, smiling when her face turns in my direction.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
She looks tentative, clutching a small handbag in both hands, but she comes over and sits down.
“Hey,” I say. “It’s good to see you.”
“Thanks,” she says, “but I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”
The tone of her voice sets me on edge even more than her words. I try to act casual. “Why not?”
She looks away. “I’m not ready for this. For dating, or anything like that.”
“That’s fine,” I say, keeping my tone light.
“It is?”
“Sure,” I say. “This is definitely not a date.”
Emma’s brow furrows. “Then what is it?”
“Lunch, I guess,” I say. “If I was a date, I would have picked you up at your place, for dinner rather than lunch, and I wouldn’t have brought you here. Come on, give me a little credit, Ems.”
I realize after I speak that I used her nickname, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
Her shoulders relax, and she no longer looks like she’s about to run away. “Okay.”
We get up and order at the counter. I decide not to offer to pay. If she doesn’t want a date, I won’t act like we’re on one. We go back to our seats and wait for our food.
“So,” she says, “since you aren’t dating me, does that mean you’re dating someone else?”
I love that she asked me that so quickly. “Nope, definitely not dating anyone.”
“And you haven’t been married?” she asks.
I fight the urge to smile. I want her to be curious about these things. It means she’s at least a little bit interested. “Nope.”
“I guess I’m the only idiot who got caught up in that mess.”
“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” I say. “You married the wrong guy, but look at you now.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Yeah, look at me. Divorced before I’m thirty.”
“Could be worse,” I say, meeting her eyes. “You could still be married.”
“I suppose,” she says. “But I am not making that mistake again.”
I know exactly what she means, and I do not like hearing it, but I pretend to be a little dense. “Well, I’m sure you won’t marry the wrong guy a second time.”
“No, I’m not getting married again,” she says. “Not to anyone. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Or the lawyer bills, at least.”
I wonder if she’s serious, or saying that to gauge my reaction. I decide to keep playing it cool, despite the sudden tightness in my chest. “Sure, I can see that.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Did you ever get close with someone?”
“No,” I say. “I was overseas too often to maintain a relationship.”
She pauses. “It is so weird to be talking to you about this.”
“It is a little, isn’t it?”
Her hand is on the table and I have to stop myself from reaching out and touching her.
Our food arrives, and the tension eases as we eat. The food isn’t bad. I don’t usually eat stuff like this—a little salty, a lot greasy—but it tastes pretty good. We chat a bit, and I avoid asking anything too serious.
Just keeping it light. A couple of friends grabbing a bite to eat. Nothing more.
I want more. A lot more. But I keep myself in check.
I eat about half my fries, and drop one back in the basket. “These remind me of that time we drove up to Seattle and ate down by the waterfront.”
Emma laughs. “The time the seagull pooped on your sweatshirt?”
“That’s exactly the time,” I say. “Fucking seagulls.”
“Rats with wings,” she says.
I’m a little worried about bringing up the past, but she seems okay. “Or that time we went hiking and couldn’t find our way back to the parking lot?”
She laughs again. “Oh my god, that was so stressful. We kept following those stupid seagulls because we were sure they’d head toward water. We were lost for hours.”
“I tried pretty hard to pretend I wasn’t nervous,” I say.
“You were worried?” she asks.
“Hell yeah, I was worried,” I say. “I thought for sure we’d end up spending the night out there.”
“You seemed so calm,” she says.
“Well, you weren’t calm, so one of us had to fake it,” I say, giving her a wink.
“That was some impressive acting then,” she says. “You had me fooled.”
“That summer was a lot of fun,” I say. “The summer before senior year.”
“Yeah, it was,” she says.
A little smile graces her lips. I want to kiss her so bad I can almost taste her.
A change crosses her face, and I know why. I’d bet a million dollars she’s thinking about the following summer. The first summer I was gone. I need to change the subject. Fast.
“So have you been to the new movie theater in town?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t,” she says.
“Can you believe they finally built one out here? All those years we had to drive half an hour to see a movie. Kids these days don’t know how good they have it.”
“They never do,” she says.
I sure didn’t.
We finish up our meal and I try to judge what my next move should be. She doesn’t want a date. I’m not quite sure how to get past that particular declaration. I can ask her out again, but I get the feeling I’ll have to keep it in the friend realm if I’m going to get her to agree.
Which is fine. Spending time with her is the goal. I figure I can play along with the non-date-dates thing for a while. She needs a chance to get to know me again. Time is the only way to make that happen.
I grab our mostly empty baskets and clear the table, dumping everything in the trash. Emma heads for the door. Damn it, I don’t want this to end, but I can’t think of a good excuse to keep her with me today. I need to work up to driving somewhere with her. I hold the door as we leave the restaurant and walk her to her car.
“That was fun, yeah?” I ask.
She stands next to her car door, but I notice she’s not getting her keys. “Yeah, it was fun.”
So far so good. “I was thinking.” I pause and step closer before I quite realize what I’m doing. “Since you haven’t been to the new movie theater—”
“No, Hunter.” She backs up a step.
Shit. “Hey, it’s fine,” I say. “I get it. No dating. But friends can go to a movie, right?”
“A movie sounds a lot like a date.”
“I’m just trying to avoid going to the movies alone and looking like a loser,” I say.
She still looks skeptical.
“What if it’s a matinee on Saturday, we arrive separately, and pay our own way?” I ask.
She presses her lips together, and a sweet little groove forms between her eyebrows. God, she’s adorable, even when she’s stressed.
“I’ll even let you pick the movie,” I say.
She lets out a breath and looks away. “I guess that would be okay.”
“Awesome. We
ll, I suppose you need to get back to work.”
I don’t think I can resist her closeness anymore. For half a second I consider holding out my hand, but instead I move in for a hug. I don’t try to sneak into her personal space. I raise my arms and lift my eyebrows, looking her right in the eyes.
Can I? Will you let me touch you?
She makes a cute little noise in her throat, and one side of her mouth turns up. I move closer; she raises her arms. I expect her to go for the over-under hug—each of us with one arm high, the other low—but she puts both arms around my neck and lets me put mine around her waist.
I strain to hold myself in check as she very slowly presses against me. Oh holy fuck, she feels so good. Her scent is light and floral, making my head swim. Her body is firm, and I risk slipping my hands from her narrow waist up to her back. I close my eyes, knowing I have only seconds. I squash every instinct that demands I hold her tighter, turn my face into her hair, press my lips against her neck.
I feel her sharp intake of breath and she pulls away. I drop my arms immediately, despite how my body screams for more. I swallow hard, trying to get my bearings. God, that was so good. I’m itching to grab her and hold her again. I struggle to train my face to stillness and pretend that didn’t just rock my world.
“It’s good to see you, Emma,” I manage to say, although my voice is a bit strained.
“Yeah,” she says. It’s almost a whisper. Her eyes move across my face, her brow furrowing again.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have touched her yet.
I give her an easy smile and step back, trying to stay calm, but my heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. Patience, Hunter. Be patient.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” I say. I think I sound pretty normal, although I desperately hope she does not look down. I can’t adjust myself while she’s watching, and I’m hard as a fucking rock.
“Right, Saturday,” she says. She reaches for her keys, but hesitates.
Damn it, Emma, you better get in your car right this second. My self-control is strained so far I’m about to snap. Every bit of me wants to grab her and kiss her until she melts. Fuck phase three. Her body reacted just like mine. I felt it. I could convince her to come home with me, right now. Show her how crazy she’s making me. Plunge my hard cock into her and remind her how good we were together. How good we could be again.
She opens her car door, and reality smacks me upside the head. I hold up my hand as she backs out of her parking spot, as if I didn’t just imagine fucking the shit out of her in my bed.
I let out a heavy breath and get in my truck. I’m definitely going to have to jack off when I get home. My cock is pissed off at this point.
Patience is going to be harder than I thought.
10
Emma
Damn you, Hunter.
I am not falling for you again. I’m not falling for anyone. I am done with dating. Done with men. End of story.
But as I drive away from him, I’m practically clenching my thighs. His arms around me felt like the best thing in the entire world. All the wine and coffee and chocolate and cozy blankets ever made, all rolled into one set of muscular arms and a strong chest. His hands touched my waist, slid around my back. He was so familiar. So safe.
No. He is not safe. Not by a long shot.
I shouldn’t have agreed to go to a movie with him. What was I thinking? I wasn’t, that’s the problem. That’s not true. I was. I was thinking about those eyes, that body, those hands all over me. About that mouth and what it would feel like on my skin. About the hardness of his cock, which I could totally see through his pants.
I blow out a long breath and try to ignore the throbbing between my legs. It’s so unfair that he can do that to me. He backed off like he wasn’t even fazed by that hug. He just waved goodbye, like we’re nothing more than friends.
But isn’t that what I want?
This is ridiculous.
I go home and force myself to focus on work. Gabriel and I are taking tomorrow to move my stuff out of my apartment, so I need to get ahead on my latest editing project. I work until well after ten, then call it a night when Gabe gets home.
Lying in bed, I can’t think of anything but Hunter. He still smelled the same. Sort of rugged, but clean. I don’t think he wears cologne, it’s just the scent of his body mixed with the Right Guard deodorant he still wears. I used to borrow his t-shirts just to keep that smell nearby. I never told him, but I slept with one on my pillow most of the time we were dating.
There’s a little bit of that scent lingering on my shirt. I don’t bother changing out of it. I fall asleep with thoughts of Hunter flooding my mind, his scent in my nose.
The next morning, Gabe and I get an early start. He rents a moving truck and we drive out to Cedar Falls, about forty minutes from Jetty Beach. I don’t have a lot of stuff—I’m still rebuilding after leaving Wyatt—but I do have a few pieces of furniture. We pull up to the apartment building and I drop off the letter giving my official move-out notice. Then we head around to the back of the complex. We’re lucky enough to find a decent parking spot, and I haul some moving boxes upstairs.
There’s a letter taped to the door. Great, I wonder what they found this time. Spiders? Rats? Does the building need new siding, or did the roof cave in? I grab the letter and bring it inside, but I toss it on the top of the mail basket. I’m leaving, so I don’t need to worry about whatever apartment drama is happening this time.
We pack what we can, and start hauling things to the truck. Around noon, I grab us some lunch; after we eat, we get back to work. I almost forgot how much moving sucks. I might not have a lot of stuff, but it takes us most of the day to get everything out. I don’t worry about cleaning too much. I figure my deposit is a sunk cost at this point, and decide to let it go.
I run back upstairs to make sure we didn’t miss anything. I grab my purse and the letter that was taped to the door. I’m about to leave it on the counter, when I decide to see what it says.
Emma,
I think we still have some unfinished business. I’m not sure how things went so wrong, but I’m sorry. I’d really like to see you. Give me a call.
Wyatt
A sick feeling uncurls in the pit of my stomach. I crumple the paper and toss it in the sink. There is no way I’m calling him.
I get out to the truck and slam the door closed.
“You okay?” Gabe asks.
“Not really,” I say. “There was a note from Wyatt on the door.”
Gabe clenches the steering wheel. “I thought he didn’t know where you live.”
“I guess he found out. I haven’t seen him in a few months, so I wasn’t sure.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Gabe says. “You’re out now. He can tape notes to that door all he wants.”
I laugh. Gabe has a good point. “I hope some big, dangerous biker dude moves in and Wyatt knocks on the door.”
“That would be awesome.” He glances at me again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I won’t let him get to me anymore.”
“Good.”
Hunter, on the other hand, that’s another story.
We get my stuff to Gabe’s place and unload most of it into the garage. It’s late by the time we’re finished, and we both go to bed, exhausted.
I don’t even hear Gabe leave the next day. I spend the morning working, but by mid-afternoon I know I’m done for. My ability to concentrate is completely gone. The note from Wyatt shook me up more than I want to admit. I wonder how long it will take before he realizes I don’t live there. Maybe he even drove by and saw the moving truck. I wouldn’t put it past him, especially considering he went to the trouble to try to contact me.
I need a drink. I feel a little guilty for the dent I’ve put in Gabe’s wine stash, but I make sure to choose something that doesn’t look expensive. I’ll find a way to make it up to him later. I pour a glass and go out to the back p
orch.
Fucking Wyatt.
And then it hits me.
I don’t really care that Wyatt left a note, or that he figured out where I was living. I’m obsessing over that stupid letter to keep my mind off what’s really bothering me: Hunter.
Why do I let these men have this kind of power over me? I’ve been so desperate to keep Hunter off my mind, I’ve resorted to thinking about Wyatt. How pathetic am I?
All the changes in my life come crashing down on me. My divorce. Leaving my apartment. Seeing Hunter. It’s all so much. I cover my face with my hands and let out a groan.
It’s been a while since I’ve gotten properly drunk, and I decide now is the time. Gabe has a well-stocked liquor cabinet, so I pull out a bottle of tequila. If I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right.
Several shots later (I’ve honestly lost track), I stumble over to the couch and try to get the TV to turn on. I can’t seem to find the on button, which is inexplicably hilarious. It’s slightly less funny when I realize I’m drunk off my ass and very alone. And it’s four in the afternoon.
I lean my head back against the cushions and close my eyes. The burning liquid gold didn’t do anything to take my mind off Hunter. Those hands. That mouth. I’ve never forgotten the way his body felt. We were practically kids the last time we were together, and it’s been so long, but I start getting wet just thinking about him. God, his arms felt good the other day. I was so tempted to kiss him. Right now, I can’t quite remember why I didn’t.
What am I so afraid of? We’re two adults. We aren’t a couple of stupid teenagers anymore. When he had his arms around me, all I could think about was how much I wanted more.
Maybe that no men thing was a little harsh. No men? Ever? No dating, no relationships—fine. But a woman has needs. And right now, my needs are burning me up inside.
He gave me his number. So why the fuck not? I’d bet money he wants me too. I’ll just make it clear that this isn’t an invitation to date me. I just want to get laid. And hell, we’ve even done it before. If we get it out of the way, maybe when we hang out at the movies this weekend there won’t be so much tension. This is the perfect solution.
Operation Get Her Back Page 6