Chapter 13

Thirteen

Everett

I t’s just about nine o’clock and I’m sprawled out on my couch, watching some rerun episode of Friends when my phone lights up with a notification on the coffee table next to my half-drunk bottle of beer. I’m more than a little surprised when I see it’s a text message from the last person I expected to hear from tonight.

Gemma: Hey! I realize it’s kind of late, but I totally meant to send this earlier. I lost track of time when I sat down and realized Pretty Woman was on TV.

I wait a minute to see if another message comes through, because this one sounds incomplete, but it never comes. Chuckling, I thumb out a response.

Me: Can’t go wrong with Pretty Woman.

Gemma: Wholeheartedly agree. What are you doing ?

Me: Watching reruns of Friends and drinking a beer.

Gemma: Wanna drink beer… over here?

Sitting up, I reread her message… thrice, just to make sure I read her right. Then I stand up off the couch and walk into the dining room because, apparently, things will make more sense in there.

Spoiler alert: they don’t.

She wants me to come over?

Another message comes through.

Gemma: Or wine lol. I have wine too. Figured it might be fun to hang out.

Me: I’m down for some wine and hanging out with you. Right now?

My heart is beating so fast, I think it may bust out of my rib cage.

Gemma: Yeah, now is fine!

Me: Okay, give me five minutes and I’ll be there.

Setting my phone on the table, I walk through the house into my room, where I change into something that isn’t the ratty pajama pants I’m currently wearing. Then I make a pit stop in the bathroom, checking to make sure my hair doesn’t look like I stuck my finger in a light socket, and then for good measure, I swish my mouth with some mouthwash.

I’m so nervous, and I don’t even understand why. Since I’ve moved in here, I’ve been to her house a handful of times with no underlying nerves. But this is different… isn’t it? It’s nine o’clock at night. I’m sure Sutton is asleep, which means it’s different from every other time I’ve been over there. This time, we’ll be hanging out alone, as adults. There will be no child buffer.

After I grab my phone and house keys, I walk over to her house, knocking as softly as I can on the front door. I don’t want to risk waking Sutton. The door opens, Gemma appearing in the doorway, and my breath gets caught in my throat as I take her in. She’s wearing exactly what she was wearing earlier, except now her hair is tied in a bun on the top of her head. She’s so damn beautiful.

She smiles as her gaze meets mine.

“Hey, neighbor.” Stepping to the side, she lets me pass by her into the house. Even though it was only a couple of hours since the last time I was here, the warm, sweet scent in the air still makes my heart race.

“I was surprised to hear from you,” I admit as we walk side by side to her kitchen. She’s got an already opened bottle of wine sitting on the counter next to what I assume is her empty glass. Lifting onto her tiptoes, she retrieves another from the cupboard. I let my eyes drop down to her ass as she’s reaching for the glass, and my mouth waters at how incredible it looks in her shorts.

Tossing me a flirty smile, she says, “Hope it was okay that I used your number.”

My lips curl up as I watch her pour me a glass of wine. “It’s more than okay. In fact, I’d go as far as saying I think you should use it more often.”

She giggles. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Taking the glass she hands me, I take a sip, the sweet, fruity flavor erupting on my taste buds. “I definitely enjoy seeing your name pop up on my phone. ”

Gemma pours herself a refill next, bringing it up to her lips. Watching me over the top of the glass, she takes a long, slow sip, something about the sight of it sending warmth through my veins. “Duly noted,” she murmurs with a smirk.

A moment passes between us when neither of says anything. The air feels electrically charged, and my pulse kicks up a notch.

“Want to go sit on the back patio?” she asks, nodding in that direction.

“Sure, let’s do it.”

String lights I’ve never noticed before when I’ve been over, probably because it’s always been during the daylight, wrap around the wooden posts, basking the area in a warm glow. It gives it a cozy and relaxing feel. Gemma takes a seat in one of the chairs, setting her wineglass on the glass table, as I drop down into the seat on the other side of it.

“Sutton video chatted with my dad and stepmom tonight before bed, and he told them how cool it was that he got to watch his new favorite movie with his teacher,” Gemma murmurs, a faint smile playing on her lips.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess not many kids can say that.”

“Let’s be honest, if Sutton were five years older, he probably wouldn’t find it so cool.” Gemma laughs softly, and once again, I find myself wanting to hear more of it.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Have you ever taught anything other than elementary school?”

“No.” I shake my head, taking a sip from my wine. “When I first started teaching, I did second and third grade for a couple of years, but I really enjoy fifth grade. I have no desire for any grade higher than that, though. Like you said, right now, I’m cool Mr. Windward. My ego likes to keep it that way.”

She throws her head back and laughs softly, my eyes drawn to the column of her throat. The urge to lean in and breathe her in is strong. “It’s what you know you love, so no sense in veering off that path.”

“Exactly.” I pause, taking a sip of the sweet wine before asking, “How’d you get into writing?”

Gemma smiles to herself before meeting my gaze. “I’ve always enjoyed writing,” she says. “It was one of those things, when I finally wrote a book, everybody in my family was kind of like ‘oh, yeah. That makes sense,’ you know? I never expected it to take off the way that it did, but I’m so thankful. It’s truly what I believe I’m meant to do, and I enjoy it so much.”

“Do you write under a different name?”

Her lips tip up again, cheeks pinkening. “Under Gemma Astor .”

Making a mental note to look up her books later, I ask, “What’re you working on now?”

Breathing out a laugh, she says, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about my books.”

“Of course I do.” I hold her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Swallowing, she rolls her lips together as she grabs her wine. She shrugs and smirks. “I don’t know.” Taking a drink, she adds, “Might be boring for you.”

My heart pounds harder at the mischievous look in her eyes. “Gemma, I don’t think there’s a single thing you could say that would be boring to me.”

Her gaze flies over to meet mine, and she doesn’t say anything for a moment. But then she finally says, “It’ s a cowboy romance—well, cowgirl romance. A barrel racer finds love at a horse rescue ranch in Montana after she retires from the sport.”

“That sounds interesting,” I murmur honestly. “I’d love to read it sometime.”

The way her face scrunches up at that is adorable and has a chuckle slipping past my lips. “I don’t know about that.” She laughs, taking another sip of her wine while watching me with amusement over the glass. Grabbing her phone off the table between us, she unlocks the screen, and a moment later, music starts playing from the speaker in the corner. It’s quiet enough that we can maintain a conversation, but loud enough that I can hear the song perfectly.

“Fire Away” by Chris Stapleton.

“Such a good song,” I murmur, meeting her gaze from over the top of her wineglass.

“I love his music,” she replies as she relaxes into her chair. “Georgia and I saw him live last year when he was at a music festival a couple of hours away. His voice is so smoky and soulful.”

“Are you a big concertgoer?”

Eyes gleaming, she smiles and nods. “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t gone to too many, but the ones I’ve gone to have been such an incredible time. What about you?”

“I’m the same. I haven’t been to a lot, but they’re always fun. The Rolling Stones came to Seattle a few years back, and me and my friend from back home went. Such an amazing show.”

“God, I bet! I want to take Sutton to his first concert, eventually. I think he’d love it.”

“That could be smart for you too,” I tell her, my lips tugging into a grin. “Every concert I’ve been to; the kids in the front row or in the pit always get to go backstage to meet the artist.”

Gemma giggles. “Using my child to meet my favorite singers. How diabolical of you, Mr. Windward.”

Shrugging, I laugh and murmur, “What can I say?”

We continue like this for some time, chatting about this or that while we sip our wine and listen to the music change. It’s not until around the end of our second glass that the conversation shifts to something deeper.

“Is Sutton’s dad in the picture?” I ask. It’s something I’ve been curious about since I first met them. She’s never mentioned him, and neither has Sutton.

Her smile falls, but just barely. If I wasn’t paying such close attention, I probably would’ve missed it. “He passed away when Sutton was a toddler.”

My chest tightens, and it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me. “Oh, gosh, Gemma. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Waving me off, she says, “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. You had no way of knowing. It was a valid question.”

She’s right, I had no way of knowing, but I can’t help but feel like an idiot now. “Well, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I add softly. “Were you two married?”

She nods, a smile curling her lips like one you’d get after thinking about a memory you haven’t thought about in a while. “Yeah, we were.”

“Does Sutton remember him?”

“Yes and no,” she murmurs. “He, of course, remembers him, but as far as actual memories go, he doesn’t have a whole lot of them. And he doesn’t remember the accident either, which I’m thankful for. The therapist he saw after Dylan died said it’s probably a mix between his young age and the trauma of losing a parent.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for either of you.”

“It was hard. Honestly, some of the most unimaginable pain I’ve ever experienced. Not just for me, but for knowing that Sutton wouldn’t get to know his dad.” She takes a drink, her shoulders tense. “I think that was the hardest part for me. Having a child, all you want is what’s best for them. You never want them to face any sort of trauma or pain. And a child needs their dad. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just word vomited that all over you.”

She huffs out a laugh, but her cheeks pink up like she’s embarrassed, and I hate that she feels that way. I want her to feel comfortable.

“No, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Gemma. You can say as much or as little as you want with me.”

Her dark eyes slide over to me, and something silent passes between us. Something that has the hair on my arms standing up. “Thank you,” she breathes, standing up. “I’m getting another glass. You want one too?”

“Might as well.” I laugh before downing what little is left in my glass.

Back a few minutes later, she hands me my drink, our fingers brushing, sending an electric current through my body as she takes her seat beside me again. “So, what about you?” she asks vaguely with a tip of her lips.

I arch a brow, smiling back at her. “What about me?”

“Well, you now know about my past relationship. Tell me about yours. Why is the Everett Windward a single man?” She waggles her brows suggestively.

I snort. “You say that like I’m royalty or something.”

Giggling, she shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe back in Seattle you were.”

“Yeah, exactly that. You’re so right.”

“I know.” She fake preens. “I always am.”

“But no, I don’t have any exciting stories, really.”

“You mean, no dead spouses?” Gemma snorts as I gape at her, trying not to laugh myself because it’s not funny, but it also kind of is the way she worded it.

“No dead spouses,” I confirm as she laughs a little more.

“Okay, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Gesturing toward me with her hand, she says, “Continue.”

“My last relationship ended a little over two years ago,” I explain. “Her name is Meg. We were together for a while, but eventually ended things when we both realized that we were better off as friends.”

“Well, that’s lukewarm,” she chuffs, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a sip, her eyes full of mirth as they watch me.

My chest rumbles with a chuckle as I do the same. “Well, I’m sorry my story didn’t live up to your expectations.”

“Tell me a secret.” Memories of the first day we met each other on the pier float around in my mind, my stomach fluttering. She grins before she adds, “And make it juicy.”

Thinking for a moment, unsure how juicy she actually means, I decide to go big or go home with my most embarrassing story to date. “When I was in college, I discovered something about myself.”

Gemma grabs her wine, tucks her feet under herself on the chair, and says, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Laughing, I continue. “Well, I discovered how much the idea of public play turned me on.”

Eyes wide, Gemma asks, “Like, sex outside?”

“Basically.” I breathe out a laugh, suddenly nervous this story might be too much information, but it’s too late now. “One of my buddies in college was in a frat, and we were at a fundraising event where we all had entirely too much to drink, but college guys, what’s new? Anyways, I snuck off with this girl I was seeing at the time, and we started fooling around behind this huge tree, literally probably thirty feet from the rest of the party.”

Her eyes widen as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Uh-ooooh. Did you get caught?”

I nod. “By campus security.”

“Shut up!”

“With my pants literally around my ankles.”

Gemma throws her head back, letting out a full belly laugh that’s contagious. I can’t help but join in with her, reliving the horrifying moment when the middle-aged security guard got an eyeful of my cock at full mast.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” she says through fits of giggles. “But holy shit, that’s the best thing you could’ve told me.” Wiping the moisture from her cheek, she asks, “So, what did you do?”

“What any normal, drunk college guy would’ve done. Asked if he wanted to join.”

That just makes her laugh harder. “You did not! ”

“Oh, I sure as hell did. The guy got so pissed, I thought he was going to call the real cops on me.”

Holding her stomach, she sits up, inhaling deeply as she catches her breath. “Fuck, that was great. Definitely juicy. Did that get rid of your outdoor kink?”

I rub a hand over the scruff lining my jaw, lifting my brows. “Eh, not really,” I admit with a shrug.

With that, I have the pleasure of watching her cheeks pink up as she peers over at me curiously. And suddenly, all I can think of is what it would be like to do something a little risky like that… with her. Would she be into that?

What is she into?

Finally, she brushes a stray strand of hair off her face and says, “I’m learning so much about you tonight, Mr. Windward.”

I don’t know why, but hearing her say my name like that makes my cock hard, especially paired with the way her big, glassy eyes watch me, laugh lines crinkling around the edges of them.

I’m hyperaware of the way my body’s drawn to her. How she’s shifted toward mine. Not for the first time, I wonder, as my gaze dips down to her mouth, what it would be like to kiss Gemma. What those full, pouty lips would feel like underneath mine. What her tongue would taste like. The sounds she would make as I devoured her.

My mouth dries as we gaze at one another, not saying anything for a moment. This moment feels different. Deeper. Like, yes, we’ve been flirting, but this… this makes me want to lean in and capture her mouth. It makes me want to find out the answers to all those questions and more .

The song changes, and I completely forget it’s even still playing until her lips part and a breathy sort of gasp comes out. “I love this song so much,” she gushes, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest.

Luke Combs’s “Beautiful Crazy” fills the air, and blame it on all the wine I’ve had tonight, but I find myself standing and holding out my hand to her as I say, “Dance with me.”

Eyes trailing from my hand up to my face, a smile tugs on her lips a few moments before she slips her soft, warm hand in mine. As I pull her to a stand, her free hand comes to my shoulder as mine lands on her hip. Being this close to her feels like a privilege. Heart pounding, our bodies sway slowly to the music, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

As I take in the woman in my arms, my chest tightens. The one who’s been through so much more than I could ever imagine. The one with the bright, warm smile, and the eyes that are so full of light despite all the hurt she’s experienced. The one who is still soft in a world that should’ve made her hard.

“I’m so happy to have met you, Gemma.” I breathe the words quietly, needing to say them.

Her throat works as she swallows, eyes poring into mine. I don’t know when it happens, but suddenly, I realize that we’ve stopped swaying. The air around us vibrates with an intensity that hits me right in the stomach. Unable to help it, I bring my hand up to her face, brushing a strand of hair away.

Lips parting, Gemma’s breath hitches as she leans into me, her breasts pressed against my chest as they rise and fall with her breaths. My heart stalls as I watch her gaze flick to my mouth before it comes back up to my eyes, and it’s all I need to make up my mind.

Dipping my head down, I barely have time to brush my lips against hers before I hear it.

We both freeze, not yet pulling apart. Gemma’s eyes are locked on mine as we wait, seeing if we hear it again.

And we do.

This time, louder.

“Shit,” Gemma mutters as we step apart. “He’s probably having a nightmare.” Smoothing her hands down my thighs, she looks up at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry, but?—”

“No need to apologize.” I hold up my hand to stop her. “He comes first, always. I’ll go so you can go take care of whatever’s going on.”

Her shoulders relax marginally, and she gives me a small smile. “Thank you.”

Giving her one last glance as she disappears inside, I quietly let myself out and walk the short distance back to my house, resting my back against the door once I get it closed and locked.

My heart is still pounding from the almost kiss… the one I hope I have the opportunity to finish soon.