Emma

 

Will was right—that slimy green drink was magical. Emma felt a million times better after slurping it down and taking a hot shower. She towel dried her hair and threw it into a messy bun, then went in search of something to wear. Will’s lacrosse hoodie caught her eye. It hung on the back of his door. Her heart twisted a bit as she walked over to it and pulled it down. Holding the soft cotton filled her with familiar longing.

For years Emma had yearned to be the girl who got to wear Will’s jersey. She knew it was ridiculous. She didn’t need to be branded with his number to feel confident in their relationship. But when she’d seen the other players’ girlfriends wearing them, she couldn’t stave off the sudden pang of jealousy. It was one of the first times she knew she truly wanted to be Will’s.

Emma ran her fingers over the hoodie. It wasn’t his lacrosse jersey, but it was pretty damn close. She slipped the large gray hoodie over her head. It was warm and soft, falling to her mid thighs. She let her towel drop beneath it, feeling a bit ridiculous at the thrill that rushed through her. Get a grip, Emma. It’s just a hoodie.

She pulled open Will’s top drawer and stared at rows of neatly folded boxers and socks. Her cheeks burned. This was not how she imagined seeing Will’s underwear for the first time. She grabbed a pair and slipped them on before she lost her nerve. She had to roll them at her narrow waist to get them to stay up, virtually making them disappear under the oversized hoodie. Great, she looked like she wasn’t wear anything at all under the bulky sweatshirt. But pawing through more of Will’s drawers for a better option didn’t appeal to her. This already felt like an invasion of his privacy. God, why couldn’t just one of Will’s five siblings have been a girl so she could be borrowing her clothes right now?

Emma grabbed a pair of warm wool socks and pulled them on. They went almost to her knees, stopping just short of the Band-Aid on her left leg. She averted her eyes from the innocent looking bandage. There was no sign of blood, but just looking at the Band-Aid made her remember the gory scene the broken martini glasses had caused last night. Emma shuddered. She’d be happy if she never saw a martini ever again. She couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to let Marcy convince her drinking and dancing could solve all her problems.

Grumbling, Emma mentally revised her blog post again.

A Haute Chic’s Holiday Survival Guide

1. Martinis are mercurial.
2. Dancing is a dangerous distraction.
3. Sometimes white knights deserve a second chance.

A once over in the mirror made Emma frown. Baggy hoodie, tall socks and shower hair—not her best look. But did it really matter? Will was just being a good friend; nothing more. And Emma had promised herself that she’d try to find a way to be his friend too. She at least owed him that after everything he’d done to help her last night. She took a deep breath and walked out of his room.

Emma followed the smell of bacon and coffee to the kitchen, her empty stomach rumbling. The sight of Will, washed golden in the warm morning sunlight, made her stop in her tracks. He was flipping pieces of bacon in a pan, holding a mug of coffee in his other hand. The scene was so domestic it hurt her heart. On one hand it was everything she ever wanted with Will. Cozy mornings together, cooking breakfast and talking over coffee. On the other, it was everything she’d had with her family, and lost.

Will

Will looked up and saw Emma staring at him. He was tempted to pinch himself, but a pop of hot bacon grease did the trick for him. If it hadn’t been for the sting of reality he might have thought he was dreaming. Because there was Emma, standing in his kitchen wearing his lacrosse hoodie—looking sexy as hell. She might as well have stepped right out of one Will’s fantasies.

He couldn’t find words. He just stood their gaping at her, while she smiled. Another pop of grease stung his arm and he hissed.

“Need some help?” Emma asked sidling up next to him at the stove.

“Oh, uh sure. Do you want some coffee?”

“I’d love some.”

Will turned away from the stove to pour her a mug of coffee. He took a deep breath trying to collect himself. He hadn’t expected Emma to be wearing that when she came out of his room. Never before had he thought of his large gray sweatshirt as sexy. But the way Emma was wearing it certainly was. And it threw him off his game.

When he returned to the stove with her coffee Emma was stirring the eggs. “One coffee, no cream, three sugars.”

Emma grinned taking the cup and nudging him playfully in the shoulder. “You remember how I like my coffee?”

“I remember everything about you,” he replied, nudging her back.

They stood side-by-side at the stove, Emma stirring the eggs, while Will flipped the bacon. He watched Emma out of the corner of his eye. Each time her soft lips touched her coffee mug, he wanted to kiss her. And each time her elbow grazed his, he wanted to take her in his arms and hoist her onto the counter so she could wrap her legs around him and never let go.

She turned and said something to him, but he didn’t hear her over the fantasies running through his head. Emma put her hand on his arm, startling him back to reality.

“Will?” She was staring at him with concern.

“Hmm?”

“Do you smell something burning?”

He did. Come to think of it, the kitchen seemed a bit smoky. His brain finally found focus. “Shit! The toast.” He’d forgotten about it completely. He’d put it in the toaster right before Emma walked into the kitchen.

Will whirled around to the back counter, ejecting four black pieces of bread from the toaster. They were smoking and burnt to a crisp. Emma came over to inspect them and when Will held up the plate of pathetic toast they both burst into laughter.

Sharon chose that moment to waltz into the kitchen. “Okay, I said you could use my kitchen, Will. But not at the expense of burning it down. What’s going on in here?”

Will held out the plate of charred bread to Sharon. “Toast?”

She shook her head, but an amused smile lit her face. “Alright you two, new plan. I cook, you eat. Okay?”

“I think that’s a good plan,” Emma replied trying to stifle her giggles.

“Emma, you remember Sharon,” Will said, surprisingly nervous at reintroducing the two most important women in his life to each other.

“Of course,” Emma said holding her hand out. “It’s good to see you, Sharon.”

Sharon looked surprised by Emma’s manners. Most Manhattaner’s didn’t shake hands with the help. “And you as well,” Sharon replied, giving Will a sly, but pleased, glance.

Will led Emma to the barstools on the other side of the cooktop kitchen island. He watched as she sipped her coffee, chatting easily with Sharon, who tried to rescue their breakfast. Will couldn’t help but smile as he watched Emma and Sharon converse. It unlocked something within him and the hollowness that normally plagued him dimmed a bit more. Suddenly, his house didn’t feel so empty.