Chapter 3

three

WHO LET THE DOG OUT?

M y head spins and Tate rolls my window down before I can even say anything.

I grunt out a thanks, but the bastard just smiles knowingly.

Dammit. He isn’t wrong. I shouldn’t have drank so much. Especially after I just swore to Mr. Moore that I was on my best behavior. But how was I supposed to know we’d run into some of the guys from the hockey team? We’re not far from campus, but we’re not actually in Westbrook either.

Of course we had to celebrate when we shared the news.

The shots were probably a bad idea.

“You think?” Tate snarks, and I turn to look at him, confused.

“Did I say that out loud?”

His smirk grows wider, and I turn my face back to the window, letting the crisp air cool the heat flushing my cheeks. Damn that feels nice.

Zac whines in the back seat about it being cold, but I flip him off and stick my head further out the window.

“He’s like a dog,” Wilder jokes from where he’s sitting next to Zac .

“You’re the stray that’s following us home,” I remind him.

He scoffs, offended. “I am always invited,” he slurs his words together. I’d make fun of him, but my words are probably running into each other just as much, if not more. At least I had something to celebrate.

“Yeah, Xan,” Zac snarks. “Don’t be a dick. You guys are equally strays who spend holidays with us.”

Tate just chuckles as he pulls into their driveway. My window starts rolling up, bumping my nose and making me groan. He shakes his head. “Don’t give me that look. You know you’d regret the dirt going up your nose and I don’t want it in my car.”

Before I can even get my door open, Tate is opening it for me. His arm wraps around my shoulder and eases me out of the car. I bat at his stomach. “I’m not that drunk,” I argue as I stumble over my feet.

Tate holds me up, but I can feel his body shaking with the laughter he’s holding in. “Sure, buddy.”

I groan, leaning on him more than I’ll admit in the morning. “Is your dad asleep yet?”

Zac curses behind me and I hear him trip, making me snicker. Little shit shouldn’t have drank so much either. “Oh fuck,” he curses again. “I hope he’s asleep.” His voice drops to a whisper half-way through his sentence.

“It’s after one in the morning, he’ll be asleep,” he reassures all three of us. Even Wilder looks nervous as he stares at the front door, slowing his steps as we get closer.

Just before we reach the door, the sound of a car turning onto the gravel stops all four of us in our tracks. We turn slowly in unison to see headlights coming up the drive and Wilder is the first to break the heavy silence. “Ooo, someone broke curfew,” he sings in a low voice.

Tate pulls his arm away from me, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the car slows to a stop next to his. I follow suit, standing up straighter and dropping my drunk smile into an indifferent mask as I glare at the car. It’s not Emery’s car or one that I recognize.

“She has a new curfew,” Zac grumbles, obviously just as unhappy as us.

Emery opens the back door, stopping to lean into the front passenger window. The back door closer to us opens too and some douchebag gets out of the car and walks around to cut off Emery as she rounds the front of the car.

Tate tenses at my side as the kid reaches out to grab Emery’s arm. My chest tightens and it’s a struggle to hold still and not stomp across the yard and throttle the fucker for even thinking he has the right to lay a hand on her.

I don’t have a right to hate it, but fuck. I do. I do hate it. And even more wrong? I want her to know just how much I fucking hate another man’s hands on her.

The only thing that stops me from flying across the yard when he leans down to kiss her cheek is that Zac had a head start. Tate reaches across me, to grab the back of his shirt, snapping me back to my senses.

“It’s 1:29, Emery,” Tate yells in his most authoritative voice. Her glare turns towards us as she pulls away from the shit head and starts rushing up the driveway.

Tate drops his hold from Zac who continues to glare at the car even as the door slams closed and it begins to reverse down the drive. Emery pushes through us where we block the door, bumping against my shoulder as she shoves Tate’s hands away from her.

My hands itch to reach for her, to replace everywhere he touched her with a touch of my own. A kiss of my own. To steal more than that dickwad could ever even dream of.

I am so incredibly fucked .

I’m the last one through the front door as the others follow her in. I half expect some of her recent fire to shine through and dress Tate down for interrupting her, but she doesn’t. Zac storms off in the other direction, muttering to himself with Wilder hot on his heels. Tate lingers in the hallway, watching Emery as she heads straight to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her. A message in itself.

He sighs and I pat him on the shoulder. “She won’t give you the silent treatment on Thanksgiving.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “It’s not like I even did anything.”

“Maybe you should have,” I say before I can think better of it.

He gives me a surprised look and I grimace. “If you’re going to be in trouble anyways?” I shrug. It would be easier to make sense if I couldn’t feel the tequila turning in my stomach.

He pauses though, his head tilted to the side as if he’s contemplating it. After a few moments, he waves me off. “She’ll be fine in the morning.” He looks me up and down where I’m leaning against the wall. When did I start leaning against this wall?

My hand strokes over the wall, it’s so nice and cool. He arches a brow. “You good?”

I clear my throat, standing up straight and dropping my hand back to my side. “Of course.”

He eyes me skeptically. “You sure? I’d rather not be on vomit duty to make sure you don’t choke to death, but I will if I have to. You can take my bed.” There could not be more disgust in his voice if he tried to.

“You’re a good friend,” I sigh. “The best friend.” Which makes me all that much more of a dick because all I can think about is how it isn’t his bed I want to climb into. I guess it would be weird if I wanted to sleep in his bed too though. “Water and I’ll be fine,” I promise.

He nods. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

My head knocks back against the wall and it takes all the will power I possess to not slide to the floor and just sleep right here. Who cares if it’s a hallway? Hallways can be comfortable too.

The sound of a door opening makes my eyes open and I almost immediately regret it as light filters into the hallway. I have to squint to make out the amused look on Emery face as she walks up to me.

No. Not me.

The door next to me.

“Tate give up on you?” she taunts, standing in the bathroom doorway as she flicks on the light, making me groan and cover my face with my hands. I can feel her amusement radiating off of her in waves.

“It’s funnier when your fire is directed at Tate.”

“At least you enjoy giving him a hard time too.”

Her satisfied little smirk makes me want to kiss it off her face. No. Nope.

Fuck those tequila shots were a bad fucking idea.

“What are friends for?” I say, attempting to tear my eyes away from the way her lips turn up at the corners as she tries not to laugh at me struggling. If only she knew what was actually running through my head.

How would she react if I pulled her into my arms? Here and now? Consequences be damned.

“Apparently to be your personal water boy.” Tate’s voice snaps me out of my daydream and I damn near fall to the floor in my surprise.

Emery’s laughter washes over me, making me smile more freely than usual .

“God, you’re drunk,” Tate chastises, shaking his head and handing me a water bottle. “Come on, hotshot. Let’s get you into bed.”

“You gonna tuck me in and kiss me goodnight?” I ask, making Tate scoff and Emery giggle behind us. I think I’d say anything just to hear that laugh. She closes the door and I let Tate lead me down the hallway to the guest room I always stay in when I’m here.

As soon as my ass hits the bed, I throw myself back and a yawn stretches across my face.

“Come on, Xan. At least drink a little water or you’re going to hate both of us tomorrow morning.”

I groan but sit back up and take the water from his outstretched hand, drinking half of it in one go. Wiping my mouth with my arm I look up at Tate’s concerned expression. “I swear I’m fine now.” The room stopped spinning as soon as we got out of the car.

The jealous rage may have had something to do with it. Possibly. Probably.

He gives me one more measuring look before saying his goodnights and backing out of the room. Finally. I release a deep breath. At least I didn’t say anything to give away any of the errant thoughts I really need to get out of my head.

These feelings have to go away. Surely, right?

I tried to look at other girls at the bar, but none of them could capture my attention for even a moment. How could they when Emery’s laugh haunts me? When her smile and her sparkling blue eyes are only ever a thought away? Easy to conjure up in my mind as if even my subconscious is pushing me towards her. Which is exactly the opposite direction I should be reaching.

Finishing the bottle of water, I throw it in the trash and sigh. Laying on my side, I fish my phone out of my pocket and start clearing out the texts I’ve ignored all day. I can’t help but laugh when I look to see the number of texts in my thread with Tate. It might actually be a new record.

Shit. There are a couple from Coach Wilson congratulating me on the news and asking for me to call him after the holiday. I need to remember to text him in the morning. A few from some of the other guys on the team that knew what today was. Something must have happened with Torryn and Baylor as well, because I missed a good twenty-something texts in the group chat I’m in with their roommates. That’ll be fun to catch up in the morning. I leave those unopened and continue to clear out my other unread messages until there’s only one left. Emery.

My thumb hovers over her name in my phone, knowing full well opening the thread is only inviting trouble when I’m this drunk. And still jealous.

Fuck it. I don’t have the self-restraint to not know what she said. Was impulsive on the director’s list too? Probably should have been if it wasn’t.

Oh fuck. I’m even more fucked than I originally thought. My heart stutters in my chest when I see there are two messages from her and my cheeks ache with the stupid grin I know is stretching across my face.

Emery wished me luck. I was on her mind all day. She was nervous for me and couldn’t wait to hear the news through her brother and came to me for an answer. I’m almost wishing I had checked my phone earlier.

Would she have said congratulations? Would a part of her be sad not to be sitting together at the games anymore? Would she have admitted it to me over text?

Do I text her back now ?

No. What would I even say? She already knows the outcome now. I shouldn’t be courting trouble. I throw my phone across the bed before I can make a decision I know would be stupid.

Maybe I am capable of thinking through some decisions.

Rubbing my face, I curse as the need to pee becomes the only thing I can think about. At least that is safer territory.

It takes more energy and focus to pull myself to my feet as I stagger back into the hallway to find the bathroom. There are no lights in the hallway, both Tate and Emery’s bedroom doors now closed. I sigh, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment.

Shit. I have to pee.

I stumble down the hallway as fast as I can manage without tripping over my own feet until I reach the bathroom. At least I made it. Why is it that the urge always hits so suddenly and intensely when you’re drunk? It’s not fair. Or logical.

“Xander?”

For a moment I think I’m losing my mind and hearing her voice in my head, until I realize she’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom as I wash my hands. Guess I never did close the door now that I think about it.

“Why are you in the dark?” she asks, her amusement clear in the lilt of her voice.

I hum, turning off the water and wiping my hands off on my jeans. “Why are you?” I ask instead of answering her.

She laughs, and I can just make out the way her ponytail swings behind her through the shadows. “I left my phone.”

I pick it up off the counter and reach my hand out to her, but when she grabs it, I don’t let go. Every logical, rational part of my brain is screaming for me to, but my body doesn’t listen. The warmth of her fingers spreads up my arm until even my face feels hot. That small touch sending sparks that shouldn’t exist ricocheting through my entire being. The messages she sent me flash through my mind and I use my grip on her phone to pull her closer to me.

The gasp that escapes her mouth makes goosebumps rise on my skin and I back her up into the counter until I’m hovering over her. Her wide eyes meet mine and I can read the confusion swirling in the blue depths. But no fear. No disgust. No rejection.

I release her phone but somehow my hand finds her hip and I gently squeeze, sending a bolt of pure desire through my core.

“You smell like tequila,” she whispers, but there’s no censure in her tone.

“Bet I taste like it too,” I respond before I can even contemplate the words. Another gasp that makes any regret I should feel disappear before it can even take root.

“You’re drunk,” she says, but doesn’t pull away from me even as I lean in closer to her.

“Definitely,” I admit and I feel more than hear her soft huff of laughter as her breath fans over my cheeks. I inhale deeply and feel all the more intoxicated by her. I just know this scent is going to be impossible to forget now. To not crave the vanilla mixed with something flowery that is so uniquely her.

“I thought you were supposed to be on your best behavior.” Her voice sounds strained, but she leans into me as I run my nose down the column of her neck.

I chuckle, brushing my lips across her jaw in a barely there movement. “Oh, I can be my very best for you, Em.” I tighten my grip on her hip and only feel the thin fabric of her oversized t-shirt between my touch and her skin. What would happen if I lifted her onto this counter? Spread her knees wide and stepped into the space between them ?

“Xander, what’s gotten into you?” Her voice shakes with her uncertainty and guilt wracks over my nerve endings.

I pull away just enough to check her eyes. Still no signs of fear, just a whole lot of confusion. I can only chuckle as I press a kiss against her cheek, erasing where that fucker left one earlier. My nose brushes against her ear and I whisper, “You texted me.”

Her head cocks to the side and I can’t tell if it’s an invitation or yet another sign of her bewilderment. I’m choosing to go with the first option. Pressing another kiss against the curve of her throat I can feel the erratic racing of her pulse. “You care about me.”

She laughs, obviously surprised by the words. Her hands thread through my hair but rather than pulling me closer she uses her grip to pull me away from her until our eyes meet again. “Of course I care about you, Xander.”

I can’t read what her expression means, and based on the way her eyes are darting all over my face she’s having just as hard of a time reading me. We don’t do this. These deep heart to hearts. We give each other a hard time, teasing and taunting the other at every turn. Anything to one up the other. But I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to take more.

My eyes flick to her lips and as if called out by my gaze, her tongue swipes over them, making them glisten even in the shadows.

“And if I kissed you right now?”

Her mouth parts open in shock and I hold my breath, waiting for her response. Her grip in my hair tightens and for just a moment I think she may actually feel the same way I do and is going to pull me and kiss me herself.

But she doesn’t.

“Do you want to kiss me?” The disbelief in that question stings. But fuck, I’ve got nothing left to lose. She damn well already knows I want to kiss her. Haven’t I made it clear enough?

I start to tell her exactly that when the sound of a door opening slams me back into reality.

What the fuck have I just done?