Page 29 of Emmett
Emmett
“Em?” Logan says, wiggling a pen in my direction.
My attention snaps to him and I shake my head, bringing myself into reality and out of the memory of the feel of Nash’s mouth on mine. “Sorry. What?”
“Your signature?” He taps the pen against the clipboard in front of me, and I take both of them, scribbling my signature on the necessary lines before handing the pair back to him. “You okay, dude?”
“Oh, yeah,” I tell him. “Club stuff, school stuff; just a little distracted lately. Sorry.”
Not to mention the memory of the most confusing orgasm that I’ve ever had replaying in my head every time I close my eyes.
“Dad still got you on lockdown, too?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, “I’m fourteen and lost privileges.”
Pushing the pen beneath the edge of his backward ball cap, Logan gathers his papers and tells me, “Well if you can get away Friday night, we got some people stopping by. You should come.”
“Sounds good, I’ll let you know if I can make it.”
I might not actually go, but even if it was just for a few hours, it could be nice to get out and see the guys. Anything is better than sitting in that room rotting for another week – or more.
Clapping Logan on the shoulder, I head out of the lounge and into the main room of the club, which is coming together perfectly. Nash was worried that we would steal all of histotally originalconcepts, but this place is all Uncle Davis.
The floors are covered with a glossy black epoxy and the walls match in shades of black and grey, the focus of the room being the massive circular bar at the center. From above it, rows of blue and purple neon lighting streak across the ceiling and fall down the walls, framing them into segments. Davis says he has more plans for the ceilings, but he won’t tell me what they are.
In the VIP section, quilted leather couches sit around their corresponding tables, hidden behind frosted glass walls that offer nothing more than a sexy silhouette of anyone behind them. The bottom of each couch is lined with the same neon LEDs that line the ceiling. It’s more secluded here, the perfect place for a private party without sacrificing sound quality, and it’s close enough to the lounge that the bottle service will be easier for employees to manage.
It’s practically perfect.
•
While my family sits down to eat their dinner, I grab a plate to go and take it up to my room, setting it onto my desk as I walk into the room.
Dropping onto my bed, I lay backward, resting my head on my arm, and I let out a long breath through pursed lips. I should be happy; everything around me is improving. I’m doing better with my position at work and things are on track for the opening of the club in just a couple of weeks. I got caught up with my schoolwork and am back on schedule to finish my master’s in time. Things around me are better.
ButI’mnot better.
I’ve always been so sure of who I am, but now my mind races and I haveno ideawho that person is anymore. The way that Nash touched me – the way that Ilethim touch me – has me questioning everything about myself. Not just because I liked it, but because there’s a part of me that wants him to touch me like that again. And I don’t know what that means for me.
I love women; I’ve always loved women. Sure, I’ve been able to appreciate a good-looking guy like anyone else has, but I’ve never wondered what they felt like; tasted like. I’ve never fantasized about a man’s hands on my body or what his body might look like tucked beneath his crisp white suits.
I scrub my hands over my face with a groan and sit up, pulling open the bottom drawer of my nightstand and grabbing my stash jar disguised as a can of shaving cream. I unscrew the bottom to open it and pull out the small glass pipe and the bag of weed that I store inside of it, pulling a lighter from the upper drawer before heading for the window at the side of the room.
Carefully shoving the window open to avoid making noise, I crawl through the frame to perch myself just outside of it, and I situate the bowl of the pipe in the palm of my hand so I can carefully pack it.
I check over my shoulder, peeking into the room before I bring it to my mouth and flick the lighter over the bowl to let the flame catch the flower inside as I inhale deeply and pull the smoke into my lungs.
In my own place, this would be a lot easier; I’d be on the couch, for starters, with a window cracked to let the smoke and the smell out. Now, I feel like I’m fifteen again and having to sneak out so I won’t get grounded or something.Not that I ever actually got grounded for anything, but it still feels like a real possibility; I’m already on thin ice with my dad as is.
Closing my eyes, I take another hit, holding the smoke as long as I can stand before blowing it out into the breeze of the summer night air.
As I climb back into the window, a knock sounds at my door, followed by Rowan’s singsongy voice saying, “Can I come in?”
“One sec!” I shout, pulling the window shut behind me. I hurry over to the nightstand to put my supplies back into their hiding place and shove the drawer closed with my foot before taking the few steps necessary to get to the door and open it.
Ro steps into the room and looks around for a second until her eyes land on the plate of food, now cold and still waiting on my desk, and her lips pinch together.
“Yeah, he said you weren’t gonna eat.”