My headlights illuminate the driveway as I ease over the small gravel patch leading to the keypad. I type in the code, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel as the gate moves out of my way, and I keep my eyes on the sides of the driveway as I zoom to the house. Regrettably, it is too dark to see anyone who could be crouching in the hills somewhere, but they will meet the end of my Glock if they try to come near Emily.
I feel bad, not having contacted her after what had happened between us. I … I miss her. I can’t stop thinking about her, not that she wasn’t already invading my thoughts before, but now I feel her hands on me, her lips on mine, and I want more of it. But honestly, she was a bitch after, having the audacity to tell me about her date that wasn’t quite a date. Whatever.
Still, I got excited when she texted me. I have been sneaking peeks at her social media for days, driving myself crazy in the process. I can’t go without helping her if she is unsafe, and … fuck. Perhaps I just want to see her.
I take in the surroundings after I turn off the engine. There is nothing out here. The McMansion rests in the middle of a crater, the twenty or so acres around it the perfect opportunity for a person with ill intentions. I can’t believe she would come out here alone—especially someone as small as her. Farm sitting? More like slapping a target on yourself when there is an award for your head.
I exit the car, still scanning my surroundings, the gun at my hip as I climb the steps. As if being a woman alone in the middle of nowhere isn’t bad enough, this place is full of windows with no blinds. I can see right through to the back of the house—a horror movie in the making.
I press the doorbell, and she appears momentarily, weaving her way through the lit room at the back, and moving quickly to the door.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, her head searching the space beyond me, her signature red lips begging me to kiss them. Her gaze settles on me again. “I told you that you didn’t have to. I think I’m just paranoid.”
She backs up, allowing me in, and when she shuts the door, an ominous feeling overtakes me. I can’t shrug it off as she brushes a hand through her hair and my eyes briefly skate over her body. She is wearing tiny little track shorts and a tank top that is tight around her breasts.
I smile at her. “What direction did the sounds come from?”
“Oh, um … out back, I think. I’m not positive, but pretty sure.”
She urges me along, and I follow until we reach the back wall of the house where I peer out the windows. It is hard to see out of a lit house when it is dark, but they—if someone is out there—are surely getting a great view of me.
I pull the gun from the holster, and set it on the old wooden table, taking a quick glance at the place. The floors have been refinished, and the cabinets are new. Fresh paint is on the walls. But everything else is old, the furnishings all antique.
“Why’d you bring that?” she asks, trepidation in her voice.
“Uh, for safety. You don’t go into a house someone tells you they’re hearing noises outside of without a gun. Especially not out here.”
“Good point,” she says, her eyes shifting to the window, raising to her tiptoes as she seems to search for the culprit.
“You’ll never see them, if there is someone. When’s the last time you heard it?”
“Oh, it’s been a while.” She smiles. “Like, since you texted.”
Suddenly, there is a large, metal crash of some sort in the distance. “Stay here,” I whisper, swiping the gun and moving to flick off the lights. I return to her side, her body trembling as I wrap an arm around her, her fingers moving rapidly over her phone as she turns her back to me.
Another clang.
“Are you calling the police? I am going to check it out.”
“No!” she says, setting her phone back down. “Don’t go out there. I feel so stupid. I don’t know why I didn’t think to text Devon or Alicia and ask. It’s just a farm hand.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to go out there and get my balls chopped off and it be your fault since you should have called the police in the first place.”
“No, no.” She plucks her phone and holds it up, Alicia answering her question as to whether anyone would be out here this late.
Yes, Bo should be there around this time to pick up some saddles. Sorry, forgot to tell you.
I exhale sharply before unloading the gun. “I really thought tonight was it. Brooks Jansen, strung up and gutted by a crazed lunatic staking out a farm.”
She laughs, her hair falling into her face as she leans over the counter. Instinctively, I reach up to tuck it behind her ear, and I look away when her eyes lift to mine, my heart beating faster than I would like to admit.
“I’m so sorry you drove all the way out here for nothing. I’ll show you out.”
Like hell, I am leaving. “Sorry, kid. You’re stuck with me tonight.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I still don’t want you out here alone like this. And do you even know the farm hand guy? Because the last time I checked, working somewhere never excluded someone from being a criminal.”
A smirk crosses her lips. “Okay. If you say so, Daddy.”
My lip pulls under my teeth, my cock stiffening a bit. Emily has this charm that is so magnetizing. I can’t understand how that Elliott guy she dated for two years could have been so stupid. Or Deacon.
A red glow pulls my attention away from her, the farm hand’s car making its way to the gate.
Emily yawns, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. “Guess I’m gonna crash. Long day. You can pick a bedroom other than mine, or you can sleep on the couch.”
“Oh, so I can’t sleep with you?”
She smiles modestly, pink blooming on her skin. “I mean...”
My heart dips at her hesitation. “You do realize we slept in the same bed already, right? And I’m pretty sure we got to second base before that, so I think we can handle sharing the same mattress.”
“We also only had one bed. There are six here. And contrary to what I thought, there aren’t any murderers hanging around.”
My tongue runs over my teeth. We are definitely not having sex tonight. Not that we should. We should absolutely not have sex.
“Any beer or anything here?”
“Full pack in the fridge. And wine.”
I move to it, pull out two of the Sam Adams and one dry white. “Show me to our room.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Your parents always said yes to you, didn’t they?” I shrug as she steps in front of me and leads the way upstairs.
The room we enter is large, the refinished boards creaking under our weight, the hodgepodge quilt the only thing lit by the moonlight streaming in. Emily feels for the light switch, her hands moving in vain. I step behind her, my chest brushing her back, the bulge of my jeans sliding across her ass as I reach around her to flip it.
“Thanks,” she says, hopping onto the bed, her languid pose like that of a Playboy cover model.
I shouldn’t be here, I think briefly, but fuck … what was I supposed to do? I cross the room and place the bottles on the nightstand. Maybe I should have picked another room.
I pull the cork from the wine and pass it to her before popping the cap from my beer. I sit on the edge of the bed and kick off my shoes.
“You’re sweaty,” she says. My eyes fall to my shirt, noting the wet spots. “It’s fucking hot in here.” I tug it off and drop it on the floor, her throat clearing as I do.
“Farm hand creepers. Shoddy AC. Pretty embarrassing night.” She turns her body to me. “Tell me … what’s your most embarrassing moment?”
I set down the beer bottle and scratch my chin. “Hmm … that’s tough. Probably when my parents left me at a store in France by accident, and I didn’t know any French, so I couldn’t explain where I lived.”
“That’s it?”
I shrug. “Okay, other than the only two girlfriends I have ever had screwing other guys, one of which is about to pop. What about you?”
She falls back onto the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her arms tucking behind her head. “I wasn’t popular in school.”
“You? I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. I was a loser. Nobody talked to me. No one. Every day was my most embarrassing moment.”
Her eyes don’t move from the ceiling, and I shift on my side. “Well, the joke is on them now, right?” Her eyes grow watery, so I change course. “Favorite band?”
“I love Fleetwood Mac—Stevie Nicks. I think she’s brilliant. “Landslide” is my favorite song ever. My parents used to listen to them a lot—still listen to them a lot, I mean.”
“Really? I love that song. And it can mean so many things.”
“I agree. And if we’re talking about someone relevant, I guess I’d have to go with Britney Spears.”
I laugh. “She’s kind of the default answer for women your age.”
“She’s a bad bitch. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks. I like that.”
“I’m guilty of that.” I shrug. “I think most people are.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, another question. If you could teleport anywhere right now, where would you go?”
She sits up, our eyes connecting before she turns her head away. “I wouldn’t.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because I don’t know what she means by it. “Okay. Ten years from now. Where are you?”
Her knees draw up to her chest, her head craning around to me. “Happy, I hope. I have this vision that loops through my head every time I feel alone. A couple of kids running to the car because we’re late to soccer or baseball or gymnastics. Going to sleep next to someone who looks at me like I’m the only woman he’s ever seen.”
She lies back again, my words lost. As she described it, I saw it play out before me, the man she spoke of in her vision having my face.
We sit in silence, neither of us apparently knowing how to speak again. I spit out the first question I can think of—a stupid one, but one that has been nagging at me. “So, how was your date?”
Her icy eyes cut to mine, as she says, “Don’t ask me about that.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.” She lies back, turning away from me.
I shake my head, wondering how I could have asked such a stupid question. “I’ll leave you alone then,” I say as I hop out of the bed. I bend down to pick up my shirt and grab my shoes, then walk to another bedroom down the hall, “Landslide” flowing from her room as I fall asleep.