Sweet Little Nothing

by Farlow, LK

  “I like you,” she murmurs before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. I don’t know why I said that.”

  “It’s okay, Emmalyn, I like you, too.”

  “You can call me Emmy, you know?”

  “Okay, Emmy. Tell me something?”

  “What?”

  I loop an arm around her waist and draw her in close. “I don’t know. Anything.”

  She shudders against me, her pupils dilating. “I was scared of the dark when I was eight.”

  Not what I thought she was going to say. “What made you stop being afraid?”

  She swallows hard and looks me dead in the eye. “I learned there are far scarier things lurking in the light.”

  Her words have me reeling. They’re so unexpected and so packed full of painful truth, I can’t even begin to process them. Not here, anyway.

  At my lack of reply, she laughs awkwardly and raises her cup my way. “Refill?”

  “Sure are thirsty,” I murmur and she shrugs.

  Two drinks later, Emmalyn is well on her way to drunk and swaying her hips in time with the music pounding out of the speakers.

  “Stell!” Emmalyn shouts loud enough to pierce my eardrums.

  “Are you okay, babe?” Her roommate takes in Emmalyn, in all her drunken glory, worry creasing her brow.

  “Amazing!” Emmalyn twirls in a wide circle, knocking into more than one person. “I missed you!” She tries pulling Stella into a hug, but the now-angry blonde holds her at an arm’s length.

  “Have you been drinking?” She turns to me, her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Has she been drinking?”

  “It’s a party,” I say, as if that explains it all. Hopefully she doesn’t push, because I wouldn’t put it past her to castrate me for feeding her best friend drinks all night.

  “Oh my God! I love this song!” Emmalyn shrieks, waving her arms over her head.

  Stella sends a glacial glare my way. “What are you playing at?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “She. Doesn’t. Drink,” Stella grits through clenched teeth.

  “It’s fine. She’s fine.”

  “I swear, if you let anything—”

  Before she can finish her threat, my drunk little mouse stumbles between us, draping herself across my chest. “Dance with me? Please? Let’s dance, Sterling!”

  I raise my brows at Stella before clasping Emmalyn’s hand in mine.

  “Show me your moves.”

  Without even a glance back at her friend, she pulls me out onto the makeshift dance floor, moving with zero inhibitions.

  I keep a hand on her hip as she shimmies and rolls her body against mine. She may not cheer anymore, but her body definitely remembers.

  It’s a little amusing, watching her dance all on her own, until she starts grinding against my dick like a bitch in heat. Suddenly, my logical reason is being replaced with lust.

  I can feel my jeans growing tighter as she pops and locks and pretty much uses me as her personal pole.

  Fuuuuuck.

  I know I mixed her drinks with the intention of loosening her up, but I meant her lips, not her legs.

  “You feel so good,” she singsongs, grabbing my free hand and placing it on her belly. “So strong and big.”

  The temptation to sample what she’s offering is strong. Really fucking strong.

  But, I won’t.

  Drunk girls never amount to much in the sack, and the thought of taking physical advantage of her leaves me with a sick taste in the back of my throat.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I do!” She stomps her foot and then stumbles into me. “I-I don’t feel so good.”

  “Are you okay? What do you need?”

  Her eyes are wide with panic, and her cheeks are no longer glowing, but pale. “I-I don’t know. I feel dizzying.”

  “Dizzying, huh?”

  “Everything’s spinning. Make it stop.” A sliver of regret tugs at my heart as a lone tear rolls her down her cheek. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “My place.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You need someone to look after you, Emmalyn.”

  “And you’re-you are going to?” She hiccups. “Do that?”

  “I am.”

  She mumbles an unintelligible reply and leans farther into me. I loop an arm around her waist for support and walk us toward the exit. She comes without a fight and, by some miracle, we make it to my Jag without any trouble.

  Now we just need to make it back to my place without her defiling the leather of my car.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sterling

  “Give me your phone.”

  Emmalyn groans and rests her head against the passenger window.

  “Come on, hand it over.”

  “Hand what?” she mumbles, her breath fogging the glass.

  “Your phone.” I’m already over her drunken bullshit, which is unfortunate, since I only have myself to blame.

  “Your voice is kind of yummy.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Be that as it may, I still need your phone.”

  “Get it then.” She flops toward the door, just barely lifting her ass from the seat. “In my pocket.”

  Not exactly how I imagined the next time I’d grab her ass...

  I lean over the console and retrieve her phone from her back pocket, taking care not to let my hand linger. “Passcode? No, forget it. Give me your hand.”

  She plops back down and rolls her head my way, flinging her arm into my lap.

  “You’re a sloppy drunk, Emmalyn.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are, too. You went from tipsy to shitfaced in the blink of an eye.”

  “Whatever.”

  I press her thumb over the sensor on her screen, unlocking it. I pull up her text thread with her roommate and fire off a quick message.

  Me: It’s Sterling. Emmalyn’s shitfaced. I’m taking her home with me.

  Much to my surprise, she texts back instantly.

  Stella: Hurt her and die.

  Me: She’s in good hands.

  Stella: To be determined.

  By the time I close out of the thread, Emmalyn is fast asleep. Temptation sits on my chest, my fingers itching to snoop.

  It’s not like she’ll ever know...

  I tap out of the thread with Stella and scroll through all of her messages.

  Stella

  Sterling

  Mommy Dearest

  Gabe

  Zach

  Five. She has a grand total of five text threads. It’s... fuck. It’s pathetic, really. However, that doesn’t stop me from reading through them all.

  The texts between Emmalyn and her friends hold little to no useful information, but her thread with her mother is enlightening, to say the least.

  I always knew Sarah Pearson was a piece of work, but the way she speaks to her daughter leaves a hell of a bad taste in my mouth. And there’s literally been one contact with Emmy since she got here. One.

  My dad’s been known to be an epic asshole; so much so, that my mother divorced him—twice. But even he would never speak to me the way Emmalyn’s mom does her. She’s cold and dismissive.

  It makes me wonder, more than ever, what really went down between her and Rob.

  After tossing her phone into the cupholder, I lean back across the center console to buckle her seat belt. She stirs slightly when it clicks into place, mumbles under her breath, and turns away from me.

  I punch the start button and drive us back to my place, hoping she’s not down for the night. I’d like to ask her a few questions while she’s more likely to speak truth—assuming she can sober up enough to hold a coherent conversation, that is.

  By the time I make it home, Emmalyn is starting to wake.

  “What? Where... Sterling?”

  “Let’s get you inside.�
�� I cut the engine. “Stay put and I’ll help you.”

  I pocket my keys and her phone before moving to the passenger side. She tries to open the door on her own, but can’t quite seem to swing it out far enough to stop it from closing on her.

  “I said to stay put,” I scold her, using my body to keep the door in place.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I’ll make you some coffee.”

  She perks up a little at the mention and allows me to haul her from her seat.

  “You steady?” I ask, reluctantly liking the feel of her body tucked into mine.

  At her nod, I step away, but she stumbles instantly. “Ugh!”

  “Not so much then.” I guide her arm around my shoulders and wrap mine around her waist. “Come on.”

  We make it inside without a hitch, and I deposit her on the couch. “Coffee coming up, little mouse. Don’t puke on my couch.”

  “Ha-ha.” She scrunches her nose and flops back onto the overstuffed cushion.

  I can hear her grumbles and groans all the way in the kitchen, even over the gurgle of the coffee machine. When she said she didn’t drink, I didn’t anticipate just how much alcohol would disagree with her.

  Then again, I should have expected it. Emmalyn’s contrary by nature.

  After the drip is done, I pour an oversized mug for Emmalyn. “Drink up.”

  It takes her a second to sit up, but the second she manages it, she’s reaching my way with grabby hands. “Gimme.”

  Passing it to her, I chuckle and take a seat beside her.

  “So good.”

  “Did you have fun tonight?” I ask, testing the waters.

  She sips her drink, tilting her head to the right and then to the left. “I... maybe? Did you?”

  “The best time ever.” I reach my arms over my head, stretching, before spreading them out across the back of the couch.

  “Tell me something, Sterling,” she says, throwing my earlier words back at me.

  “I think you’re beautiful.”

  She snorts out a laugh.

  “You don’t believe me?” I lean into her space ever so slightly. We’re getting off track from what I had planned, but I’m willing to let this play out.

  “I know you’re lying,” she mumbles the words into her mug. “There’s not a soul on earth who’d want me if they knew...”

  My eyes snap to her. “Look at me.”

  She shakes her head, so I reach over and grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. Tears are gathered along her lashes and her cheeks and nose are pink, both from alcohol and the gathering emotions.

  “If they knew what? Tell me, Emmalyn.”

  She shakes her head again. “You’ll hate me. Everyone will hate me.”

  Holy shit. Is getting her to open up, to confess, really going to be this easy?

  “I swear I won’t. Tell me.”

  “I’m damaged, Sterling. Used and useless. Tainted.”

  “What does that mean, Emmalyn?”

  “He hurt me.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper that scrapes against my fucking soul. “He took and took and took until there was nothing left to take.”

  “What did he take?”

  “Everything,” she cries, anguish blanketing the entire room. “He took everything.”

  My skin prickles, both hot and cold, and my gut clenches as the first real thread of doubt weaves its way around my heart. Her words, her pain, her brutal honesty, wash over me, bringing with them a whole slew of emotions I can’t even begin to process.

  “Are you saying...” My throat flexes as I swallow. “Are you saying he raped you, Emmy?”

  She answers me with a heart-wrenching wail instead of words.

  “Fuck, baby, come here.” I take the coffee mug out of her hands and reach for her. My hand brushes hers, and as if time itself has slowed, I watch in horror as she recoils and scrambles away from me on the couch.

  She raises her arms to cover her head and face, all the while sobbing and pleading. “No! No, don’t hurt me! Please... please don’t hurt me. Stop!”

  I’m shaking, my entire body, head to toe, both in anger and sorrow with realization of what Rob did to her and what he tried to put me up to.

  She’s curled up in a ball, trembling and crying, instinctually making herself as small as possible.

  “Shh,” I croon, holding my hands up in front of me. “It’s me, baby. I’m not going to hurt you. Fuck, Emmalyn. I’m all done hurting you.”

  Her cries soften and she looks my way from beneath tear-soaked lashes. “St-Sterling?” Her gaze is unfocused and her voice wobbly.

  “Yes, baby, it’s me.”

  She flings herself at me, burrowing into my side—and my fucking heart—as I wrap her quaking body in my arms.

  “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emmy

  Humiliation grips me and the burn in my cheeks dries my tears.

  Oh, God. I can’t believe I said all of that to him.

  I can’t even begin to imagine what Sterling thinks of me. He’s being so nice right now, comforting even, but who knows what’s going to happen when I pull away from this little pocket of safety I’ve found in his arms, of all places.

  He’s whispering all kinds of things to me, but I can’t make any of them out over the sound of my own thoughts.

  I legit just had a full-on meltdown in front of a man who has bullied me relentlessly for the past month. He says he’s a changed man, but how am I supposed to believe that? I certainly can’t think of anything that would’ve inspired a change in him.

  Maybe it was you... the stupid voice in my head whispers, but that’s ridiculous. The mere notion of Sterling changing his shirt for me, much less his entire personality, is absurd.

  At this point, all I can do is pray he doesn’t find a way to turn this back on me.

  “Emmalyn.” His voice is somehow deep and soft all at once as his fingers weave through my hair to press against my scalp. He massages gently, before gently lifting my head away from his chest. “Are you okay?”

  “Um.” I honestly don’t know how to reply. I’m still a little drunk and a lot embarrassed and kind of feel like maybe I’m dreaming.

  “Fuck! That was a stupid question.” He pulls me back against his chest. I get the strangest feeling that he needs the comfort just as much as I do.

  How bizarre.

  “I’m so sorry, Emmy.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Not directly, but I still feel like I failed you. We all failed you.”

  “It’s...” I can’t seem to get my thoughts to connect. “You didn’t...”

  “I’m going to make up for it.”

  “What?”

  “Just trust me, baby. I’m going to fix this. He was my best friend. I should have known something was off. My dad is the reason he got off scot-free. I’m. Going. To. Fix. This.”

  I honestly don’t know what to make of him right now. It’s like a switch has flipped. My bully is now my champion. What a weird night.

  “If you say so, Sterling.” I’m honestly too exhausted to argue with him over it.

  “I do.” He speaks those two words in such a way, they weave themselves around my heart like a vow.

  “Do you want me to go home?” I ask, pulling away from him.

  “I was hoping you’d stay. Here. Tonight.”

  I want so badly to say yes, but fear keeps me from doing so.

  “Please. I just... I’ll sleep on the couch if you want.” He once again directs my gaze to his. “It’s just that what you said fucked me up and I... I’d feel better knowing you were here. Knowing you were safe. But I’m not going to take your choice away. If you want to go home, I’ll take you.”

  It’s like his mouth has a direct line to my reasoning abilities, because suddenly, I find myself nodding. “Okay, Sterling, I’ll stay.”

  He places me on the cushion beside him, as if I weigh nothing, before standing.
“Let me get you something to sleep in.”

  The entire time he’s gone, I rethink my decision to stay. At this point, the only thing keeping me here is the fact that I have no way home and the utter sense of calm I felt with his arms wrapped around me.

  It’s a slippery slope I’m walking along, and like the foolish girl I am, I make no move to seek solid ground.

  “I hope this’ll do,” Sterling mumbles as he steps back into the living room, clutching a shirt in his outstretched hand.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” I take the garment from him. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “You can use mine. It’s the door at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks.” I slide off of the couch and slink past him, feeling oddly excited to see his space. I stumble over my feet a little before gaining surer footing.

  His room, much like him, exudes a sense of strong masculinity. The walls are a pale gray, save for the back one, which is a black shiplap. His massive bed is centered on the accent wall, with a warm walnut headboard, topped with a duvet fluffy enough to rival a cloud.

  The room smells like him, too. So much so, that my head swims as I try to breathe through my mouth, if only not to drown in his scent.

  I rush into the bathroom, and unsurprisingly, it’s every bit as high-end as the rest of his place. All smooth lines, brushed chrome, and marble, it’s a space fit for a king.

  The walk-in shower calls to me, with its multiple showerheads, but the thought of being naked in Sterling’s space sends a tendril of fear through me. Not because I think he’d hurt me, not anymore at least. It’s just...something about it makes me feel unsettled.

  I kick off my boots and peel off my socks before ditching both of my tops and jeans. I waffle on my bra, ultimately deciding to keep it on. It may not be comfortable to sleep in, but it’s an added layer of protection and modesty, both of which I’m willing to suffer a little for.

  The shirt fits well enough, with the hemline falling just past mid-thigh. The real issue though, is it smells like him. If I thought being in his room was bad, it has nothing on this. Every single thread is permeated with his all-male scent, as if it’s woven into the very fibers.

  I make quick work of folding my clothes then rejoin Sterling in the living room.