Egomaniac - Vi Keeland Page 0,68

home next to that douchebag she’d been pining over for more than three years? The asshole might act more refined than I did, but when it came down to it, we were both men, and Emerie was a beautiful woman. I’d seen the way he acted when he suspected something might be going on between the two of us. He became territorial—not jealous. Which told me a hell of a lot about how he thought. People are jealous when they want something someone else has. They’re territorial when they’re protecting something they already have. That fucker knew he’d had her all along.

My gut told me he was avoiding getting involved with Emerie because he wanted to have a good time—fuck his way through the faculty and his students, avoiding any real relationships. And how, exactly, did I know this about the guy when I’d only met him a few times? Because I knew the face of that type of man. I’d looked him in the mirror every day for the last two years since my goddamned divorce.

Beck had taken out his drawing pad and was drawing a giraffe. I laughed, thinking how often I doodled while on the phone. Nurture won over nature more often than not. I could totally see myself drawing a giraffe right now if that pencil had been in my hand. Although my giraffe would probably have had tits, because since I hit the age of ten, all of my doodles had pretty much incorporated tits in some way.

While during my entire childhood everything had reminded me of tits, the last week everything reminded me of Emerie. An advertisement for bright red lipstick at the airport. Emerie’s bright red lips wrapped around my cock. The flight attendant mentioning that our plans might be ruined by the weather delay. Emerie’s plans—was she snuggled on the couch with the putz? My son drawing a giraffe. If I drew a giraffe, it would have tits. Emerie’s tits are incredible. All the roads in my mind had been rerouted to one destination lately.

I knocked back half of the drink in one gulp and dug my phone from my pocket.

Drew: What did you wind up doing tonight?

Then I waited for the buzz to tell me Emerie had responded. And waited.

***

I was turning into a pussy. This was the third time I’d checked my cell phone this morning. Nothing. Twelve hours had passed.

After making chocolate chip pancakes that were more chip than cake, I’d asked Beck what he wanted to do. His answer was always the same: ice skating. The boy was obsessed with hockey. So I bundled the little monster up in three layers, tied the laces of our skates together, and flung a pair over each shoulder before we took off.

We made it to the lobby, and I told Beck I needed to make a quick pit stop in my office. Having still not heard from Emerie, I was starting to wonder if maybe I should worry instead of getting pissed off at what she could have been doing.

Inside my office suite, faint music was playing. It was an instrumental of some sort, and my heart sped up knowing Emerie was just down the hall. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or anger, but I heard the blood swishing through my ears as I got to her office.

The door was half open, but she didn’t seem to have heard me come in, so I knocked, not wanting to scare her. Considering she jumped onto her chair, I’d say I didn’t succeed.

Instinct had me raising my hands in surrender to her. Again. “It’s just me.”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

With that, Beck, who had been standing behind me, popped out from behind my legs.

Emerie covered her mouth. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. My language.”

Beck answered for me. “My dad says a lot worse.”

I smiled and mussed his hair, but I needed to remember to have a conversation with him later about spilling my secrets.

Emerie climbed off her chair, walked over, and leaned down, offering her hand. “You must be Beck.”

“Beckett Archer Jagger.”

Emerie’s lip quirked, and she glanced up at me. I shrugged.

“Well, nice to meet you, Beckett Archer Jagger. I’m Emerie Rose.”

“Is Rose your middle name or your last?”

Emerie smiled and laughed. It was the same question I’d asked when we first met. “It’s my last name. I don’t have a middle name.”

Beckett seemed to ponder that for a minute, so I cut in.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Beck