Taking the Handoff, page 11
But I caught myself at the last minute. I already know there will be no going back if I kiss her. I’m too far gone already. So, I’ve been trying to get us back into the friend zone.
But Jesus Christ, she’s really pushing all my restraint.
Especially when she cuddles on the couch with me in her skimpy pajamas that have me so distracted, I couldn’t even tell you what movies we’ve watched this week.
Or when she grazes her body against mine when she walks past me in the kitchen while I’m cooking breakfast or dinner and sets my skin on fire.
Or when she laughs at my stupid jokes, and her whole face lights up with joy.
And definitely when she snuggles against me before falling asleep, and I feel like I’m finally breathing for the first damn time in my entire life.
My phone rings, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts, and I glance down at the caller ID to see it’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, baby boy,” she says, using her favorite term of endearment.
“What’s up?”
She starts talking about what’s going on at her country club, and I half listen, knowing she doesn’t expect me to respond. I love my mom, but she’s a pretty self-centered person. Her comfort and happiness always took priority when I was growing up. I often wondered why she even bothered to have a kid. I don’t doubt she loves me. She just loves herself more.
“Luke? Did you hear me?”
“Hmm?” I ask, realizing she changed topics when I wasn’t paying attention.
“I talked to your dad. He said he’s been trying to reach you.”
Instantly, my mood darkens. “Mom, seriously, this again? Why do you care? You two aren’t even together anymore. Why do you even still talk to him?”
“Luke, you know we are still in the same social circles. We can be cordial, and it’s important to keep up appearances. Why aren’t you speaking to him?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, already wishing I hadn’t answered the phone. “Mom, it doesn’t concern you.”
“Sweetie, I know your dad can be difficult, but he’s the only dad you’ve got. You’ll regret it if you don’t fix this.”
Anger spikes in my gut. “What makes you think I’m the one who needs to fix this?”
“Well, your dad is clearly trying to reach out to you, so he’s done his part. Now you need to do yours.”
Clenching my jaw, I grind out, “Mom, you need to let this go.”
“Luke—” she starts, but I instantly cut her off.
“Enough, Mom. I’m not talking to him. It’s okay for you to leave him, but I can’t?”
“That’s not fair. Did you want me to be miserable? You know how unhappy we were together.”
Oh yes, I’m well aware of how unhappy they were. The constant yelling, condescending comments that were perfectly designed to cut each other down, and then when they finally did divorce, their attempts at using me to get back at each other. It’s one of the factors that drove me to spend as much time at Drew’s house as I could get away with.
“So you get to leave when you’re unhappy with him, but I can’t?”
“It’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
“How is it any different? He made you miserable, so you left him. He makes me miserable, so I don’t talk to him anymore. Seems pretty similar to me.”
“He’s your father.”
“So? You act like that means something. Just because we share the same DNA doesn’t mean I owe him anything. Is this why you called me? To try to guilt me into talking to him? Why does it matter to you?”
“I just don’t want you to look back at this and regret it.”
“If I do end up regretting it, at least I’ll be regretting my choice and not someone else’s. Let this go, Mom, or it won’t just be Dad’s calls I’m screening.”
Silence reigns on the other end before I hear a small sniffle. My shoulders sag, and I roll my eyes, preparing myself for the guilt trip I set myself up for. Before my mom has a chance to start, my phone beeps, and I glance at the screen to see Drew is calling me.
Happy for an excuse to get off the phone with my mom, I say, “Sorry, Mom. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
I end the call with her and accept Drew’s call. “Hey,” I say, my voice still tense from my phone call with my mom.
“Uh-oh, I know that tone.”
I release a heavy breath. “My mom’s hassling me about not talking to my dad again.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not particularly. Not right now, at least,” I amend. It might be helpful to talk to him about it later and get it all off my chest.
“Just let me know. How’re things with Emma?”
It takes my brain a second to process his question and remind myself that he doesn’t know I’ve slept with her in my arms every night for the past few weeks, except for the night when she fell asleep on the couch. And while all we’ve done is sleep, I still don’t think he’d be entirely comfortable with it.
“Uh, things are good.”
“She’s not been too much of a burden?”
“No, she’s been great. She’s a hell of a lot better as a roommate than I remember you being in college.”
“Whatever, man. You weren’t exactly roommate of the year, especially when I had to put up with your smelly football gear all the time.” His tone turns earnest. “But in all seriousness, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Em.”
My stomach rolls with guilt.
“She attempts to do everything on her own and rarely asks for help. I blame my parents for that. They’ve tried so hard to push her into this specific image they had of her, so she learned early on to dig her heels in and do things her own way. Well, you know. You’ve been around for all of it. Anyway, she means the world to me, and I can’t tell you what a weight you’ve lifted from my shoulders by looking out for her, especially since it’s taking her a bit longer to find a new place than I expected.”
I close my eyes in pain as my guilt suffocates me. If he only knew the thoughts that swirl through my head about her on a daily basis. If he only knew how close I’ve been to sacrificing our friendship just to taste her lips.
“No problem,” I choke out, unable to say much more.
He continues on, and the longer he speaks, the more my resolve grows. I can’t let this go any further with Emma.
Scratch that. I need to pull way the hell back and bury these feelings that have emerged. I can’t betray Drew. Not after all we’ve been through together. And definitely not after what he did for me in college. I can’t forget that I owe him for everything I have.
“Shoot, I just noticed the time. I gotta head to court. I’ll talk to you later,” Drew says, immediately ending the call. I put my phone in my jogging band and lock up before setting out for my run at a decent pace. Thoughts swirl in my head as I push my body forward.
I need to stay away from Emma.
I need to just be her friend. Except maybe less of a friend than I’m currently being since that also feels like crossing a line.
The problem is I don’t want to.
I want to kiss her hair when we’re lying on the couch watching movies.
I want to take her out in public and hold her hand, showing the world she’s mine.
I want to taste her—every fucking inch of her gorgeous, freckled, porcelain skin.
My fingers run through my hair in frustration while I push my body another mile, my headphones blaring Linkin Park as I try—and fail—to drown out my conflicted thoughts.
How do you choose between the friend who’s always had your back and the one woman who’s made you want more?
After a few miles, I round the corner and slow my pace as I reach my house. I know Emma will be awake once I get in there, and I don’t know if I’m ready to see her.
If I’m ready to—once again—deny all that I’m feeling.
God, I hate feelings.
I’m angry at Drew for even putting me in this situation in the first place. I never would’ve fallen for her if she didn’t live with me.
So, really, this is all his fault.
Fuck, that argument is weak. Now, I’m just grasping for anyone to blame but myself for the situation I’ve found myself in.
I approach my house, my gut tied in knots and this feeling of helplessness overwhelming me. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never hesitated to go after what I want. But what I want now is in direct conflict with the one friendship I’ve valued above all others.
Bending over and stretching my hamstrings, I inhale deep and release the tension in my body, stuffing all my worries and concerns deep down in the box where I bury all the other feelings I’m not ready to process.
When I stand back up, my shoulders release the tension they’ve been holding, and my chest doesn’t feel so tight.
Everything will work out.
It has to.
But then the minute I get inside my house and see Emma standing at the stove, all my conviction to stay away from her disappears.
Twenty-One
Luke wasn’t in bed with me this morning, and I felt his absence like a two-ton weight.
I keep waiting for him to pull away from me entirely, and I can’t help but wonder if today will be the day I’ve been dreading.
The day where he’ll finally put distance between us.
I’m not so naïve as to believe that Luke would ever really choose me over Drew. Whatever we’ve been doing the last few weeks most likely comes from his concern for me after my ordeal with Jason.
Now if only my heart would get that memo.
Unfortunately, the heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart has always wanted Luke.
Stupid thing.
I trudge down the stairs, my whole body heavy with the disappointment coursing through my veins. I get the coffee started, hoping that’ll be a good pick-me-up, but not even the divine smell of coffee brewing can pull me out of my slump.
When the front door opens, my whole body tightens, preparing for the gentle letdown I know is coming.
I wrap my emotions around me like a shield, feeling the stirring of tears but refusing to let them fall. Wanting to be distracted and busy when Luke comes in the kitchen, I get to work on making breakfast. The squeak of his running shoes on the tile hits my ears at the same time that my body becomes painfully aware of his presence behind me.
“What are you making?” Luke asks as he walks around me toward my fresh brewed coffee and grabs a mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker.
“Cheesy eggs and hash browns.” I don’t tell him potatoes are my comfort food, and I was about to eat my feelings in breakfast food.
Glancing in my periphery, I watch as he leans his butt against the counter and crosses his legs, his arms crossed over his sculpted chest and his empty coffee mug in his hand.
I don’t look at his eyes, but I can feel the weight of them on me.
“Do you want some?” I ask quietly.
“That’d be great.”
Silence, apart from the sizzling of the hash browns as they cook, fills the kitchen.
My gaze is focused on our breakfast, but the rest of me is completely attuned to every movement and sound coming from where Luke is standing.
He clears his throat, but I still don’t look at him, afraid if I do, he’ll see everything I’m thinking and feeling.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Yep,” I say, slightly popping the p. I reach into the cupboard and grab the Johnny’s seasoning I packed from home. This stuff is amazing on everything. There’s no way I was moving to LA without my own stash.
“You sure?” My ears pick up the hint of concern, and I finally look over at him. His hazel gaze is locked on me, and his body is stiff.
“I’m fine.” I’m used to saying that to my family, but the words leave a nasty taste in my mouth giving the lie to Luke.
His expression tells me he doesn’t buy it. His eyes slide back and forth between mine, and he chews the inside of his lip before speaking again. “I have practice today, but I’d like to take you somewhere tonight. Are you free?”
Is he asking me on a date?
I stare at him, the crease between my brows deepening slightly while I try to figure out what’s happening. I thought he was going to let me down easy, but now I’m wondering if I read the situation wrong.
Or jumped to conclusions—which certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
“I’m free,” I reply, my heart thundering in my chest at the possibility of this being a date.
The tightness around his eyes softens slightly as his lips curve up in a subtle smile.
“Great.” He walks over to me and drops a kiss on my forehead that has me practically melting to the floor while my heart soars out of my body. He drops his forehead to mine, and his voice is husky when he says, “I’m gonna run up and shower before breakfast is finished.”
I can’t speak. He’s so close. If I just tipped my head up, our lips would meet.
God, what I would give for him to kiss me.
His hand comes up and gently cups my face, his thumb grazing the apple of my cheek. My breath stutters in my chest while my heart beats at a dangerously rapid pace.
My gaze slides up his throat, over his parted lips, until it locks on his gorgeous hazel eyes that are filled with so much heat, it steals whatever breath was left in my chest.
Kiss me.
I beg the words silently, convinced my gaze is screaming my desire for him. His stare drops down to my mouth, and I inhale sharply when he licks his lips. His gaze shoots back up to mine, and dread seeps into my blood at the conflict in his face.
What would it take for him to choose me?
He swallows and steps away, leaving my body cold and wanting.
Clearing his throat, he says, “I’ll be back down in a few.”
“Okay,” I say quietly, but he’s already racing up the stairs.
Away from me.
I turn back to the stove, my brain trying to process everything that’s going on between us. Things have changed, but I still don’t know if he’ll let himself truly feel what I can see in his eyes.
Would he ever take a chance to be with me?
Or am I not worth the risk?
I chew my lip and fight back the familiar hurt that comes with wanting someone so desperately and knowing he’ll never really be mine.
Because deep in my bones, I know without a doubt, Luke will never choose me over Drew.
Twenty-Two
I’m hoping my plans tonight put Emma and me on better footing than when I left the house this morning.
Things were awkward when I came back down from my shower.
I’d been so close to kissing her before my brain finally caught up to my body and screamed abort!
The line is getting so blurred I’m not sure I even know where it is anymore. I want her more than I should, given how much her brother means to me. But every time we’re together, the only thing I can think about is kissing her, claiming her, making her mine.
I don’t even see Drew anymore when I look at her.
I know tonight is crossing the boundary even more, but I’m also pretty sure she’ll love it, and it’s the thought of her eyes lighting up in pure happiness that pushes Drew completely from my mind.
I shower and change at the training facility after practice and then head straight home. Nervous energy thrums through me, my hands tapping on the steering wheel and my left leg bouncing the entire drive home.
I pull up to the house, park in the driveway, and then walk to the front door, shaking out my arms in the process and hoping to dispel some of this anxiousness before I see Emma.
Fuck, I hope she likes what I have planned.
When I walk into the house, I immediately pick up the lyrical sound of her voice from the living room and the strum of her guitar as she covers a song I heard on the radio the other day. As much as I liked the radio version, I love hers. Her voice soothes every piece of my soul until I’m standing at the edge of the living room completely enraptured by her.
She glances up right as she hits the last line, her gaze locking on mine through the final notes.
It isn’t until she stops completely that I realize I wasn’t breathing.
I clear my throat, feigning the confidence I’m usually known for that has completely abandoned me. “Hey.”
Hey? Really, dude?
God, this woman has me so twisted up I can’t even come up with a good opening line. I feel like I’m seventeen again.
“Hey,” she responds, watching me carefully.
“You ready to go?”
“Where are we going?” She’s curious, but there’s something else in her tone too. Something I can’t quite name but has me wondering if I tie her up in knots as much as she ties me up.
“It’s a surprise.”
She stands up, turns around, and places her guitar in its case on the couch before facing me again. “Am I dressed okay for what we’re doing?”
My gaze slides down her deep red hair falling in luscious waves over her shoulders, the ends just barely reaching her plush breasts. She’s wearing a purple off-the-shoulder dress that wraps around her curves but flares out right above her knees. I remember an ex-girlfriend calling a dress like this a mermaid style. Whatever it is, it’s peak fifties pinup and has me salivating for a taste of her.
I clear my throat, not as capable of exuding confidence this time, and respond truthfully. “You’re perfect.”
A blush stains her fair porcelain cheeks, and my fingers twitch with the desire to touch her, but I hold back.
