"If you're going to be here, help." Emma points to the overflowing bookshelf in the corner.

"All right."

"DVDs only."

"Sure." I move to the shelf. Stack a dozen Disney movies on the dining table.

Then a collection of frothy romantic comedies.

It doesn't seem like Emma.

She's a lot of things.

But light and easy aren't among them.

She moves into the bedroom as I arrange the movies in her bright red suitcase.

I've never been all that neat—certainly not as neat as her brother—but since I got clean, I've learned to appreciate the merits of putting things in their place.

Like the line between me and Emma.

It's a fat thing that screams you're here to look out for her. Don't get invested.

Usually, that's easy.

Usually, I avoid connection as much as possible.

But there's something about her.

She moves into the main room with a dozen dresses folded over her arm.

Her dark eyes flit around the room.

Fix on me.

"You really want to help?" she asks.

"Yeah." I need to feel useful. Like I have a purpose. Or my head fills with thoughts of bourbon and numbness and I forget the point of this sobriety thing.

She motions to the kitchen. "Pack the coffee."

"Your brother has a ton."

"Dark roast." Her nose scrunches in distaste. "If I wanted burnt coffee, I'd go to Starbucks."

"I have good shit."

"So do I." Again, she motions to the kitchen.

I move into it. Find the coffee on a high shelf, behind a mug labeled Please Wait, Sarcasm is Loading.

I chuckle.

"What?" She turns to me. Watches me pull the mug and two bags of beans from the shelf. "Oh."

"Suits you."

"And your mug says Babysit Harder?"

"I was thinking Carpe Diem."

Her laugh cuts through the tension. "You're… you're kidding right."

I arch a brow.

"It's just so…"

"Obvious?"

"Yeah." Her lips curl into a smile. "Does it really?"

"Don't have a sassy mug."

"Maybe you need one."

"Maybe." I meet her at the dining table. Stack her coffee and her mug neatly.

Her fingers brush mine as she grabs the mug. "Thanks."

"Sure."

She looks up at me. Her eyes fill with something, some hint of apology, then she blinks and the vulnerability is gone. She's all fire again. "Can you wrap this in the dish towel?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." She sets the mug on the table. Turns. Moves into her bedroom.

I wrap the mug. Nestle it in the skirt of a short red dress. It's pure Emma. Stylish. Sexy. Bold.

For a moment, my eyelids flutter closed. I see her in that dress. See her pulling it up her thighs, parting her legs, motioning come here.

Then I blink and she's there. Crouching over the suitcase. Arranging another pile of clothes. Jeans. T-shirt. Sleek black panties.

Fuck.

My cock stirs.

It's been a long time since a woman has worn something to impress me.

No. The women I fuck aren't trying to impress me. It's empty sex. I'm a warm body, nothing more. There's no connection there. No intimacy. Nothing but two people exchanging orgasms.

This—

This is the most intimate thing I've done outside of rehab in a long fucking time.

Emma looks to me and raises a brow. "Do you need more coffee or something?"

"Always." I need a drink.

That's out of the question.

Which means I need to sort out my shit.

After we finish this.

Emma can't know I'm reacting to her.

I can't do shit about the thoughts flitting through my head.

"You have more of that?" I motion to the jeans she's folding.

"Yeah. Everything in the second drawer."

I nod. Rise. Move into her bedroom.

It's a small place with a big bed. Crimson comforter. White sheets. Desk covered in lyrics.

But the rest of the room is empty.

The plain white walls show signs of a former life. There are poster mounts and hooks stuck in the corners, but whatever they were holding is gone.

Like she tore her room apart.

I want to know what the fuck it means.

I want to know more about her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

There are a million girls I can date. I'm not getting attached to the one who's off limits.

I pull out the second drawer. Bring it into the main room.

Emma isn't crouching over the suitcase anymore.

She's at the door.

And there's a tall guy with her.

He's got dark hair, thick glasses, and an air of intellectual superiority.

"Are you really leaving?" he asks.

"Yeah." Emma turns to me. Studies my expression.

She's asking for something.

I'm not sure what it is.

Only that this guy shouldn't be here.

He follows her gaze. "Am I finally meeting the great Brendon?"

"No, um…" She stumbles over her words.

"I'm Hunter." I hold my position. Stare him down. There's something about his posture. Something I don't like.

"Vinnie." He offers his hand.

I stay put.

He nods no problem and turns to Emma. "What happened?" His voice is sweet. Sincere. Like he's dying for her to pour her heart out.

"Noise complaint." Emma takes a step backward. Folds her arms over her chest.

"Not everyone appreciates emo music as much as you do," he says.

Her laugh is impossibly fake.

"I liked it. It was special. Like you," he says.

Is he a shitty player or just an asshole?

I can't tell.

She's curling into herself. Getting smaller. Slower. Stiller.

"Thanks. We, um, we have to get packing." Her voice is quiet. Low. Free of her usual confidence.

"You have my number." His lips curl into a half-smile. "I'll call you. Make sure you settle in okay."

"That's okay." She takes another step backward. "We have it covered."

He looks to me. "You and Hunter?"

"Yeah." She clears her throat. "We're actually really busy, so—"

"You're Emma's neighbor?" I jump in.

He nods. "I thought we met." He tilts his head to one side, trying to place me. "You look familiar."

No, I've never seen this asshole before.

But I know this type of guy.

He's a coward.

All it takes is a threat from a bigger guy and he'll back off.

Those years of drunken stupidity bought me a fair amount of wisdom.

"No." I step forward. Offer my hand. "Just got out."

His brow furrows with confusion as he shakes.

"Yeah." I move into his space. He's the same height as I am, but he's wiry. "I was in the joint for assault. It was a bullshit collar, but you know what cops are like."

"You were in jail?" His eyes go wide.

"They say a year goes by fast, but it doesn't," I say.

"Right." Disbelief spreads over his expression. He looks to Emma for a clue.

She nods, going along with my story.

She wants to scare this guy off.

Fuck, I don't like the implications.

But I can think about that when he's gone.

"Nice to finally meet you." I shove him playfully. Well, faux playfully. It's too hard.

He feels it. Cringes. Shrugs it off.

"Heard a lot about you."

"Yeah… You too."

"Always good to hear someone's taking care of my girl," I say.

His gaze goes back to Emma. He stares like she ripped his heart out. Like she's a bitch for lying. "Of course," he recovers. "I've always wanted to meet Emma's boyfriend."

She clears her throat. "Yeah. Vinnie has been a really close friend. I should have told you more about him, but I know you get jealous."

I shrug, playing my role. "Fuck, can you blame me?" I turn back to Emma. Blow her a kiss. "You know guys don't give a shit a woman's taken. And one as gorgeous as mine—"

She presses her lips into a smile. "You don't mean that, baby."

"I do." I shoot her fuck me eyes. "I'll show you how much when we get home."

"You're living together?" he asks.

"Fuck yeah. Paradise after a year in the joint. We got a lot of time to make up for too," I say.

"Right." He smiles to hide his confusion, but he doesn't sell it.

I turn back to Vinnie. Smile through my teeth. So he knows I'm not going to let him touch Emma. "Thanks for treating my girl right, Vinnie. What goes around comes around."

"Yeah. Sure." His eyes meet Emma's. They ask for something. For something she isn't giving.

She clears her throat. "We, um, we have to meet Brendon at… uh… the karate dojo. So we better finish this. I'd hate for you to miss your martial arts practice."

I nod. She's overselling it.

But it's working well enough.

Vinnie nods goodbye and backs away.

I close and lock the door.

But, still, Emma stays on edge.

She turns to the table. Moves a pair of jeans from her dresser drawer to her suitcase with shaky hands.

"Em—"

"Don't call me that."

"What the hell happened with that guy?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"It wasn't a big deal."

Bullshit it wasn't.

But pushing isn't going to help.

Her dark eyes are streaked with fear.

Her entire body is shaking.

She had to deal with one asshole already.

I'm not adding to that.

No matter how desperate I am to know what happened.

To make Vinnie pay for whatever he did to scare her like this.

"All right," I say.

She stares into my eyes, assessing my intentions. She must not buy me dropping it, because she continues. "It really wasn't a big deal. Just awkwardness."

"I get it."

"We hooked up and it wasn't very fun and he didn't take the hint that I wasn't interested."

"It happens."

"It is what happened."

I nod. "All right."

"It is."

It's clearly not.

I want to know.

But I want to soothe her more.

I want to promise her everything is going to be okay.

I can't remember the last time I felt like that.

I'm not sure I've ever felt like that.

We make small talk as we finish packing. It's awkward. Tense. Filled with all the shit we're not saying.

She knows I don't believe her.

She knows I'm dropping it.

She doesn't trust my reasons.

When we get home, she practically runs to her room. Locks herself in it.

I give her some time to cool down, then I carry her red suitcase up the stairs. Knock on the door.

"Yeah?" The defensiveness drops from her voice. She isn't hard edges and locked walls. She's a scared, vulnerable girl who needs understanding.

I want to be the kind of guy who can offer that.

I want to be the person she needs.

"Your suitcase." There's something I need to say. Some way I make this better.

But I don't know what the fuck it is.

I settle for what I can handle. "You hungry? I'll order something."

"No. I'll cook." The handle turns. She pulls the door open. Steps into the hallway. "Thanks." Her fingers wrap around the handle. Her eyes stay on the floor. "But later."

I nod.

"I, um… I'm going to take a walk first."

"You want company?"

"You're actually asking?"

"Yeah."

"No. I want to be alone. If that's allowed."

"Don't see a rule against it."

"There are rules?"

"Not exactly." Brendon didn't have to spell it out. I get that Emma is off limits. That a guy like me needs to stay the fuck away from a girl like her.

"Who made these rules?"

"There's a code."

"Guy code?" She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn't in it.

"Something like that."

"What are the rules of guy code?"

I've been out of the loop a while, but I'm pretty sure don't touch your friend's kid sister is at the top of the list. "You okay?"

"No. I'm not okay with a bullshit set of rules about how men can tell other men not to touch certain women. Are you?"

No. "Wasn't planning on touching you."

"Whatever."

"Your brother is just looking out for you."

"I though nobody made the rules."

"You know what I mean."

She shrugs I guess, but there's no give in her expression. She's still sure it's bullshit. She's just done discussing it. "Guess I'll see you for dinner."

"Until then."

She shuts the door.

A moment later, a thrashing rock song fills her room. It's loud, but not eardrum bursting.

Not enough for a noise compliant.

That's not why she's leaving her apartment.

I want the truth.

Not for the sake of it.

To help her.

Soothe her.

Connect with her.

I have to earn her trust.

To let her in.

How the fuck do I do that?