fingers on the wheel. “I didn’t.” This whole idea is most likely going to explode in my face, and yet I press my foot down more firmly on the accelerator.
“Sterling.” Two syllables have never been more full of frustration. I’m delighted.
“Emmalyn,” I volley back, keeping my tone light. Jovial, even.
“Please tell me where you’re taking me.”
“Or...” I drag the word out as I flip my blinker on. “I could just show you.”
“This is where you live?” she asks as I key in the gate code.
“Yup.” The wrought iron monstrosity swings open, allowing us entry.
“You brought me to your house?”
“That does, in fact, seem to be the case.” My voice is rife with humor.
“Why?” Hers is not. If anything, my little mouse sounds about zero-point-two seconds from flinging herself from my car.
She’s even edging her right hand ever so slowly toward the door handle, as if she’s contemplating bolting at any moment.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Run.” I nod to her white-knuckled fingers. “Not only would I catch you, but you’d hurt yourself.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m just taking you to lunch, Emmalyn.” I guide the car into my designated parking space and kill the engine. “I know we had a rocky start, but not everything I do has nefarious motives.”
She casts me a doubtful look, so I shoot her my most charming smile.
“Fine. But don’t make me regret this, Sterling.”
“I won’t,” I say, all the while thinking, I’ll make you regret so much more than this. I’ll make you regret ever crossing my best friend. I’ll make you regret it all.
In sync, we unbuckle and exit my car. “Which is yours?” she asks, eyeing the row of two-story luxury townhomes curiously.
I guide her to the end unit and swipe my fob over the sensor. I give her one last look before swinging the door open and letting her inside.
For the first time in a long time, I take in the space I call home with fresh eyes. From the high ceilings with exposed ductwork and dark stained concrete floors to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall making up the back of my living room, this place is pure masculine splendor.
With a chef’s kitchen full of top-of-the-line appliances, three spacious bedrooms, each with their own en suite, and a deck that nearly doubles my living space, there’s not a single amenity missing.
And thanks to my designer, it looks lived in. Welcoming, even, if Emmalyn’s slack-jawed expression is anything to go by.
“Whoa,” she breathes out as she takes in the view beyond the wall of windows. “You live here?”
Then again, it could be the million-dollar mountain view that has her catching flies. It is what sold me on the place, after all.
“I do.” I close the door behind us and usher her deeper into my house.
“It’s amazing.”
“You like it then?” I ask, moving in close behind her.
She shivers at my nearness. “I love it.”
For some reason, her approval sends a warm tingle through me.
“Are you hungry?” I know I am, but food is the last thing on my mind. I’m craving another taste of Emmalyn, which is unfortunately not on the menu.
“I could eat.”
I swallow down a million dirty retorts, and instead ask her if sandwiches are okay.
“As long as there aren’t pickles or onions involved, I’m down.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“Such a giver.” Her playful tone is a shock to my system, but I decide to roll with it.
“Typically, I prefer to take.” I wink. “But something about seeing you in my space has me feeling particularly hospitable.”
“Lucky me.”
“Why don’t you head out to the deck, and I’ll throw these sandwiches together and join you?”
“Are you sure don’t need help?”
“I am one-hundred percent sure I can slap meat between some bread.”
She hesitates for only a moment, a dopey smile on her face, before the tempting view lures her toward the massive sliding glass doors.
As soon as she steps outside, I take what feels like my first full breath since she walked into class this morning.
Something about seeing her in my shirt, in my space, it feels right. Natural, even. Which is downright terrifying.
Maybe bringing her here wasn’t the best idea after all...
I shake the thought off. Too late now.
In the kitchen, I make quick work of plating up some turkey sandwiches, along with some fresh fruit and leftover pasta salad.
“It’s beautiful, right?” I step onto the deck, our lunch tray precariously balanced in my right hand.
“Oh!” She tears herself away from the view and rushes toward me. “Let me help you.”