Page 8

CHAPTER 8

EMILY

I have just one thought as I stand here, frozen, staring up at Dallas filling the doorway; what the ever-loving fuck is going on?

I have another thought too, but it’s more around how infuriatingly good he looks dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt that emphasizes his ridiculous body, hair flopping adorably over his forehead, scruff lining his jaw like he hasn’t bothered shaving in a few days… but we’re ignoring that thought; that thought can go and eat a bag of dicks.

I clear my throat, shaking my head in the hope I can shake some sense into myself.

This was supposed to be a girls’ night. Those were Fran’s exact words. A girls’ night. Takeout, wine, and gossip. Judging from the hulking man looming in front of me, and the sound of deep male voices coming from somewhere over his shoulder, this is far from a girls’ night. I grip the strap of my purse a little tighter.

“Aw, you bought me flowers?” Dallas coos, looking down at the sad bouquet I currently have in a chokehold. He leans in so close, I’m inundated by that scent I haven’t been able to forget, momentarily rendered frozen when I feel his breath skate against my cheek as he says, “That’s my job, baby.”

Swallowing the heavy lump that’s implanted itself to the back of my throat, I take an unsteady step back, desperate for some space before my hormones go rogue and I launch myself at him. As if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me—and of course he does because he’s a professional playboy—Dallas rubs his stubbled chin in some lame attempt to try to conceal his shit-eating smirk before finally moving aside and granting me entrance.

I consider turning around and hopping straight back into the elevator when I’m stopped by Fran rushing out into the hallway.

“Hey!” Her big blue eyes are wide as she grabs me by my upper arms and moves me off to the side. Glancing over her shoulder, she spears Dallas with a warning look. “Um, a little privacy?”

Dallas sniffs a laugh, holding his hands up in surrender before turning and walking away.

“What is he doing here?” I hiss, throwing a hand in the direction of the space he just occupied.

“I promise, I didn’t know!” Fran says quietly, drawing a cross over her chest. “Honest.”

Frankly, I’m not sure I believe her, but I decide to hear her out.

“They were supposed to have guys’ night at Logan’s after practice, but something happened,” she continues. “They were going to go to Dallas’s place instead, but fucking Robbie the stupid dumbass invited the guys here knowing full well I was planning a girls’ night. Dick …” She rolls her eyes with an exasperated huff, and I almost laugh at the way she talks about her boyfriend. Almost laugh. I’m too damn anxious to laugh right now.

Glancing at the open doorway, listening to the group as they continue talking and laughing, oblivious to my turmoil, I shake my head again. “Maybe I should just go. ”

“What?” Fran scoffs. “No.” She grabs my wrist then, wrapping her hand around it like a vice. “You’re staying. I’ve ordered an obscene amount of food. You can meet the girls. The guys will eat and then they can fuck right off to play Call of Duty , or with each other’s balls for all I care, and we can just hang out.”

I haven’t even agreed before Fran starts towing me through the doorway and into the foyer which overlooks a huge open-plan living area full of far too many people for my liking, who all turn to look directly at me.

“Let me take this,” Fran says sweetly, gently pulling my coat off my shoulders and hanging it in the closet.

I smooth down the front of the loose, chunky knit I’m wearing, suddenly hating it even more now. Nervously, I tuck my hair behind my ear as she leads me farther into the cavernous space.

“Everyone, this is Emily,” Fran announces, waving her hand at me like I’m some major prize on the Wheel of Fortune .

“Hey!” A beautiful blonde who looks like a glamorous five-foot-ten stick insect stands from the sectional, coming toward me. “I’m Vera.” She leans in and hugs me, which is kind of weird but seems genuine, so I try my hardest not to stiffen.

“That’s Tyler, my boyfriend.” Vera points at a chiseled blond perched on the edge of the chaise with an Xbox controller in his hand. He lifts his chin at me, offering a kind smile before focusing back on the computer game playing on the huge flatscreen.

“And the guy on the floor is Happy.” Fran points. “He can’t hear you because he’s too busy trolling thirteen-year-olds in Xbox land.”

Happy—not his real name I’m sure—sits with his back to me, wearing a huge pair of gamer headphones. As if on cue, he shouts, “Ha! Eat shit, ya little bitch!”

“Happy, dude!” Tyler scoffs. “Kid’s, like, ten.”

I side-eye Fran right as she offers me an I-told-you-so look.

At that moment, a pretty brunette emerges from the opening next to the kitchen, busy tying her hair up into a messy knot. Her gaze lands on me and she pauses, a smile blooming across her face as she rounds the huge island counter and approaches.

“Hey, you must be Emily,” she says, securing the hair tie. “I’m Hannah.”

“Hi.” I smile. She’s stunning in that effortless girl-next-door way, and her eyes are ridiculous—the palest blue I’ve ever seen in real life.

I glance around the room. “I assume you’re… Happy’s partner?” I point at the man who appears to still be yelling at children through a gaming console.

Fran slaps a hand over her mouth, choking with laughter.

“Ew!” Hannah gasps, rearing back, eyes wide, a look of blatant disgust on her face.

“Hannah’s the daughter of the guys’ head coach!” Fran manages through her own laughter. “We’ve kind of adopted her.”

“Oh.” I offer Hannah a rueful glance. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll let it slide,” Hannah says with narrowed eyes and the hint of a smile. “Just this once.”

We’re interrupted by an arm reaching over my shoulder from behind, a glass of red wine suddenly thrust in my face. I startle, turning my head to see Dallas yet again, right there with no concept of personal space.

“Cabernet.” He grins, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Reluctantly I take it, lips pursed in an attempt to stifle my smile. Does he remember my wine of choice, or is this just a coincidence?

“And of course, you know Dallas,” Fran says quickly, trying to hide her sheepish smirk.

“Better than anyone else here,” Dallas whispers, right next to my ear.

I gulp a big mouthful of wine, feeling my cheeks flush.

“And this hot jerk is my boyfriend, Robbie.” Fran waves a dismissive hand to her left, right as a tall, dark, and very handsome tattooed man appears by her side.

“Love you too, Keller,” Robbie mutters with an eye roll, wrapping an arm around Fran and holding an inked hand out for me. “Robbie Mason.”

“Emily Cole.” I shake his proffered hand.

“I think I met you briefly when I came into the office to see Andy a couple weeks ago, but it was only like your first or second day,” Robbie says. “How do you like working for the most dramatic man in all of Manhattan?” He chuckles.

Dallas laughs, still standing far too close behind me.

“Andy’s great,” I say, shrugging a shoulder.

“You mustn’t have witnessed one of his full-blown meltdowns yet,” Robbie continues. “The guy can throw a tantrum better than his six-year-olds.”

All I can do is smile because on one hand, I don’t want to come across as closed off or rude, but on the other hand, I don’t want to stand here and badmouth my boss in front of two of his clients.

“Maybe it’s you two who cause Andy’s meltdowns,” Fran quips. “Ever thought of that?”

Robbie playfully smacks her butt.

“Come on, Ems, I’ll show you around.” Fran takes my arm, leading me away.

With one last glance over my shoulder, my eyes meet Dallas’s intense gaze right as he offers me a slow wink. My heart stalls. Goddamn sexy asshole.