5. Emmett

5

EMMETT

I was going to kill him.

I was going to drink a lot of whiskey first, and figure out the best way to kill him, before I lunged at him the moment he walked through the Jade Brewery doors—but either way, there was no shot Storm Rosling was getting out of here without giving me answers.

"Another," I told Rush from across the bar. "Little more, this time, if you can spare it? I tip very, very well."

Rush glanced up at me, lifting an eyebrow. "Just gave you a shot about twenty seconds ago. You sure about this next one?"

"I can hold my liquor," I said, and he gave me a wry smile.

Jade Brewery was a riot of music and laughter around us. Shawn, Nathan, Charlie, and other guys from the Fixer Brothers crew were scattered throughout the dance floor, some booths, and a pool table near the corner.

I'd gotten so used to ritzy, fancy, overly clean bars and lounges, and it made Jade Brewery feel a little bit like being in a chaotic wooden tavern in a fantasy novel.

Ring stains on every wood surface. Big metal brewing tanks on one side that sometimes clanked and beeped and gave off steam. A jukebox that people actually sometimes had to hit the side of to make it work again. It felt like at any moment, some adventurer might burst through the front doors, demanding ingredients for a potion.

I was pretty sure Rush would welcome anyone to hop on top of the bar and start doing a dance.

"I'll give you this whiskey, but I'm watching you," Rush said kindly as he poured my drink.

"Thank you," I said. "Shawn told me you treat people well."

"Shawn is the love of my life, and I think about him more than anyone else," Rush said. "But I care about every person who walks through those doors, okay?"

"He might be right, Em," Landry told me. "You're chugging whiskey like you're a grizzled old man in a saloon."

Landry had come with me tonight as a designated driver, and also because he knew I'd been thinking too hard about cracking the problem that was Storm Rosling.

"Now's not the time to deny me alcohol, Lucky," I told him. He laughed.

Just about everyone called Landry "Lucky." He kept me grounded when I was stressed, and I'd been leaning on him more in the past couple of years. We'd worked alongside each other at Lux Marketing for a long time, and he'd become so much more than just a colleague—he was my best friend, and just as much of a marketing bloodhound as I was. Sharp, kind, and great at what he did.

People sometimes said Landry and I were like twins who weren't related. He really did feel like family.

"We both know what happens when you overdo the whiskey," Landry said.

"You and Rush are both very good people," I told him. "But I promise. I can handle the liquor."

I didn't know if it was true or not. I'd done a couple of shots already, and I felt the whiskey hitting my blood like fire.

I kept looking over toward the front doors, waiting for Storm to walk through.

"Where is he?" I asked Landry. "Over an hour late. He operates on hotshot football player time, I guess."

"Not everyone shows up ten minutes early to everything like you," Landry said.

He was right. I was always punctual, always the good boy.

Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but I was kind of feeding on the energy of the brewery, right now. A quiet buzz coursed through my veins, anticipating what I might do when Storm walked through the front doors.

Fake photo leak, my ass.

I knew way too much about marketing to believe that any part of Storm's explicit photo leak wasn't intentional.

I didn't know if it was a friend who dared him to do it or if it was all him, but it seemed like everyone on the internet other than me seemed to believe it was just an accidental leak.

An older man came and sat down on one of the bar stools next to me, tipping his trucker hat in my direction.

"Evenin'," he said in a gruff way.

"Hello, there," I said.

"Hey, William," Rush said, already passing over a beer glass to the old guy, who was clearly a regular.

"What's up here at the bar tonight?" William asked.

"Not too much. Shooting the shit, chatting about Storm Rosling."

The old man narrowed his eyes, adjusting his hat again. "Is that the dumbass who keeps making news headlines for fights?"

I felt a wall go up inside me so fast I almost had whiplash.

"Storm's not a dumbass," I said automatically.

Whoa.

Where was that coming from? I was defending the guy, even though he was my new rival?

"I'm not so sure," William said. "I know I don't like what I see in the news about that Rosling guy. My Denver Ferals are supposed to be good men, not brutes."

I cleared my throat. "Storm is a good man," I said.

I wasn't even sure if I believed it, but for some reason, I didn't like the idea of someone talking like that about him.

"Is he?"

"He definitely isn't a brute," I said. "He's… really smart, actually, when I've spoken with him."

William's eyes went wide. "Oh, you know him? Personally, like that?"

"I've started working with him recently."

William shrugged. "Well, maybe I've got him wrong, then. Nothing like getting to know a guy personally when it comes to judging his character. The guy certainly does have a charming face, after all."

"He really does," I said, still grappling with the strange urge to defend Storm. "He's a handsome man. I don't think he has bad intentions, even if his actions can be… wild."

I was surprised by how much I meant what I said. It wasn't just a public relations move, where I was hoping to make the public see Storm in a better light.

It was really how I felt.

The front door swung open and my heart rate ticked up as I glanced over.

But it was just a couple, walking in and holding hands. They walked in, smiled, and took a sweet moment to wrap their arms around each other in a quick kiss before making their way to the opposite end of the bar.

And the loneliest person of the year award goes to… Emmett Waycott.

I picked up the whiskey shot that Rush had poured for me, tossing it back. Soon, William headed over toward the pool tables and struck up a game with an older woman over there, leaving me to my confusing thoughts about Storm while Landry got lost in his phone beside me.

No. I wasn't going to start a pity party now just because a football player had come tearing into my life like a wild animal. Did I want to start a fight with him, or did I want to defend him?

Or did I just want to stare into his frustratingly perfect eyes? It was hard to tell, now that the whiskey was acting like a truth serum in my blood.

I was just going to talk to him when he walked through those doors.

Calmly and respectfully.

I could always find a way to get along with anyone.

Over an hour later, I realized that Storm wasn't going to show up, and somehow that thought bothered me even more than the idea of him walking through the doors.

"Dad always used to say showing up is half the battle of being a good person ," I said.

"I love all of your dad's old quotes," Landry said. "God, I miss him."

"I miss him, too," I said. "He'd know what to do about this whole Storm thing."

I could really feel the whiskey in my blood, now.

"We'll do okay," Landry said, a little more optimistic than me.

"Have you ever seen someone skip their own celebration party?" I asked Landry, shaking my head. "Keeping everyone waiting and he doesn't bother to show up?"

Landry had a stack of paperwork out on the bar, reviewing marketing data for Cutmore even now. It was the kind of thing that I would usually do, too—find every spare moment of time to work, even in a bar.

But tonight I couldn't focus.

Landry glanced up and looked around. "It seems like everybody is having a great time. Don't worry about Storm."

"Right. I shouldn't," I said, and Jax, the frat boy bartender across the bar, gave me a look, smiling.

"How's that whiskey treating you?" he said. "Too many shots?"

"I want to deny that, but I don't think I can," I told him. I glanced back over toward the dance floor, where the rest of the guys were laughing, teaching each other some sort of silly square dance jig. "Listen, Jax. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he said. "What's up?"

"I'm going to head out. Landry's going to take me home, but can you tell the guys I said thank you? I wouldn't usually leave without saying goodbye, but I'm a bit… well, I'm a bit drunk."

"A bit? " Landry teased from beside me.

Jax gave me a sympathetic laugh. "I can do that. Although Charlie just told me they're going to go to an afterparty—I'm sure you're invited, if you want to talk to them?"

I pulled in a breath, wavering a little as I stood up from my bar stool. "No. No afterparty. Water, and bed, and maybe a lot of soul-searching about what gets under my skin about a cocky football player who doesn't even like fall ."

Rein it in.

Not the kind of things to say out loud, Emmett .

"Is everything okay?" Jax asked. "I know you guys are working with Storm, but he seems like a nice guy—"

"No. Of course. I like Storm," I lied. "Such a great guy. Really going to stand out on social media."

The image of his cock flashed through my mind without warning, and my whole body ached.

I looked over to see that Landry had packed up his paperwork and was waiting for me. I dropped a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills on the bar top and gave Jax a nod.

"Have a good night, guys. Remember to drink some water, Emmett," Jax said, giving me a look as I headed for the doors.

"Yes, yes," I said, waving a hand as I walked. "I will."

"Holy shit, thank you for that tip!"

"You're nice, Jax," I called back. "Charlie's a lucky guy. You're all lucky guys."

I slid into the front leather seat of Landry's car a minute later, breathing deep.

"Cutmore is out of his mind with this Amstead stuff," Landry said as he started heading up toward my house. "Did you see the financials he sent over?"

"It looked messy," I said, vaguely remembering some emails Cutmore had sent us earlier that day.

I was usually on top of everything, just like Landry. Storm wasn't just a marketing liability for me, he was a mental liability. I needed to free up the brainspace that he kept taking up.

No more letting Storm get to me.

This was my one night to wallow in it, wishing he wasn't the media's biggest bad boy. And my one night to wallow in the endless parade of happy couples surrounding me, reminding me of just how single I really was.

Tomorrow, I was going to go back into tiger mode.

Relentless. All about the business.

No messy feelings.

"Thank you, Lucky," I said to Landry as I got out onto my front driveway. "You're the best. Seriously."

"Go easy on yourself," he said from his open driver's side window. "And really, drink some water. See you soon."

The first thing I noticed as I walked to my front door was the chilly air: the continued march toward fall, toward the season that should have made me feel like my best self.

The second thing I noticed was the music.

Loud music.

Bumping loud music, with bass that reverberated all the way to my driveway.

Okay. Maybe tiger mode was going to start right fucking now .

The back gate to Storm's yard was wide open. I walked through to see a full-blown party happening in his backyard. A huge, neon pink inflatable pool had been set up at the center of the grass, and there were dozens of gorgeous women inside, half of them naked. There was a temporary fire pit that had been put up across from it, and a bunch of other people surrounded the tall orange flames, drinks and marshmallow sticks in their hands.

And up on the patio deck, just above it all, was the source of the loud music: a karaoke machine next to a big projector, casting the lyrics of Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" onto the side of Storm's house.

He was there with a microphone in his hand, singing the lyrics of the song with all his heart.

" I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation! I've never been afraid of any deviation! And I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change. And I'm never gonna care 'bout my bad reputation! "

He was wearing a tight-fitted white T-shirt and black jeans, and it was as if he was a punk-rock James Dean as he sang.

And I was going to sock him in the goddamn face.

I walked over, tripping a little on some uneven stones at the side of the patio.

"Storm," I called out as the karaoke song ended, but too many of his friends were talking and hollering. My voice was drowned out. "Storm."

I walked onto the patio and noticed an older woman sitting on one of Storm's lounge chairs. She had her leg in an ankle brace, and her grey-white hair was up in a bun.

"That's my boy!" she called out, grinning wide and clapping along. "Somebody get me another beer!"

"All yours, Mom," Storm called out.

He only saw me because I was apparently standing next to the big cooler full of beer bottles.

Storm caught my eyes and immediately gave me his mischievous smile.

"Emmett! Want to sing a karaoke song?"

"Are you out of your mind?" I asked him.

"I mean, I know you couldn't do Bad Reputation like I can. It's kind of my signature song. But you could probably rock some Frank Sinatra or something. What do you think, Mom?"

"Well, look at you," his mom said, glancing over at me. "You look like you came dressed for a formal dinner with the queen. Snazzy. Mary Rosling, by the way. Nice to meet you."

I reached out my hand to shake hers, shoving away my anger with Storm for a moment. "Emmett Waycott. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mary."

I was never going to be rude to someone's mother, even if I had a problem with Storm himself.

Storm passed his mom a beer and then walked over toward the fire pit. "Emmett. Come grab a marshmallow."

I came up behind him and grabbed his hand, pulling him over toward the side of the yard. "Can I talk to you over here for a minute?"

" Ooh , goodness," he said. "Are we going on a romantic stroll? Need to get me alone, Emmett?"

"Shut up," I told him.

We walked over to the edge of the lawn, into an alcove between the side of his house and the fence that backed up to my yard. It wasn't exactly fully private over by the gate, but it was as good as it was going to get, and nobody was in earshot.

Storm casually put one hand in his pocket and ran the other hand through his hair. I pulled in a long breath, trying to compose myself and not blurt out every frustrated thought all at once.

Being alone with Storm always activated something in me.

"You feeling okay?" he asked in his velvety voice.

"Not really," I said, opting for honesty.

"What's up, Sugar?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. Did he call everyone sweet names like that, or was he just trying to mess with me? And did he always look this cute?

No. Don't hold back. Don't get distracted.

I stood up straight as I spoke. "You're too good to show up to your own celebration at Jade Brewery but you're having a loud party next to my house?"

"Not too good for it," Storm said nonchalantly. "Actually, the Fixer Brothers guys should be here within the next hour. Invited them all to the afterparty here."

I shifted on my feet. "So why didn't you come tonight?"

"You missed me?" he asked with a gleam in his eye, acting all teasing and sweet again.

Something white-hot flashed through my chest. "You didn't even bother showing up."

"I've told you before, Emmett, you know nothing about me," he said. "Stop assuming the worst."

"So what was it, then?"

"I was about to leave for the brewery. Mom was here, and I was going to bring her along, because she loves a good party as much as I do. But one of the wood planks on this ancient patio gave out, and Mom twisted an ankle that was already bad to begin with. She wasn't up for going out, so I asked the Fixer Brothers if they could just meet me here, instead."

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide the small guilt pooling in my chest.

He only hadn't shown up because he was taking care of his mom. Jax had told me that the guys were going to an afterparty somewhere, I just hadn't known it would be here.

"Sorry," I said quickly. I owed him that, at least, as hard as it was to say.

"All good, Fancy Pants," he said, still calm and collected. His eyes skated over me, like he was sizing me up or deciding something about me.

He looked too good in a simple white T-shirt. I liked custom suits and tailored slacks, but with a body like Storm's, thin, soft cotton hugged his torso and let him shine.

He always looked good, to be honest.

I bit my lip and forced myself to stop staring for a moment. I could still stand my ground, even if I'd been wrong about why he was missing tonight.

"I know you leaked your photos on purpose," I told him.

"Is that right?" he said, cocking his head to one side.

I'd expected more of a reaction than that. How did Storm stay calm in any sort of pressure?

"Because you don't know how to keep anything private," I said.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't be that private to me, anyway. I'm proud of my cock."

I went molten hot inside. He did have good reason to be confident about his body. I'd only glanced at the photos, but the image of them had been burned into my mind. Storm wouldn't be shy, regardless of whether he leaked the photos himself or not.

There was something infectious about his pride. He was so completely himself, at all times. Genuine, even when it pissed me off.

"So you'd just show it to anyone?" I asked, trying to push the memory of his images from my mind.

His eyes weren't just stormy now—they were like lightning.

"My cock? Sure. I'd show anyone who wanted to see it," he said, meeting my challenge like it meant absolutely nothing to him.

"You'd just pull it out, right now, for me to see, if I asked. I doubt that, Storm."

He cocked his head to one side. "Sounds like you might want to see it?" he said coyly. "See it again , I mean, because you clearly saw it online earlier."

"You're awful," I said.

I wished I could give him nothing . No reaction, no indication that he was getting to me in any way. But for some reason I couldn't make that happen with Storm.

I couldn't fake it, around him.

"It's no big deal, Emmett," he said in a low tone, almost like he was trying to give me a seductive purr. "I'd let you watch."

I reached out fast, like an explosion had gone off inside my body. I saw red, heat flooding me as I roughly gripped the front of Storm's shirt in my fist. My hand collided with the thick wall of muscle that was his chest, a reminder of the raw strength packed into every inch of his body.

My heart was a war drum beneath my rib cage. Storm gasped, a short, surprised sound, before a tiny flicker of amusement crossed his face. That little hint of a smile came across his lips.

More fuel to the inferno raging inside me.

What is with him?

I'd never in my life gotten physical with anyone. Never been in a fight, not even in elementary school.

What am I doing?

What is he doing to me?

I felt like an animal. I hadn't punched him, but I hadn't even thought before I pounced.

"You don't know how much I need this brand deal," I said, my voice even and low.

He puffed out a laugh. I could smell his body wash from this close, something warmly scented and distracting the hell out of me right now. Storm certainly didn't seem intimidated—he was looking at me almost affectionately, which made me feel like there was a strange electricity running through my veins.

"Listen to you," he purred. " Brand deal. Emmett, if you think I give a fuck for one second about a brand deal, you've got your fist on the wrong guy."

"How are you so selfish?" I asked, words pouring out of my mouth. I knew I should let go of the balled-up fabric in my fist, but I couldn't force myself to loosen my grip. "Why can't you take one second to think about how your actions affect others?"

"Why do you care so much about a brand deal if you're already filthy rich?"

Because it's not just about a brand deal , I thought, but couldn't say.

Because I miss my father more than you could ever comprehend.

Because I want to do the right thing, and get his company back from the ultra-conservative man who's taken it over.

My breathing was heavy.

Heat radiated out from his chest and I could feel his breath on me. Feel his gaze on me.

This closeness—this touch—was the first contact I'd had with another man in almost two years. I'd tried dating since my ex left me, but I'd never been able to go through with a hookup.

I was getting physical with Storm, and all I could think about was how good his skin smelled.

Why do I care so much about a brand deal? Because, Storm, I thought, every other aspect of my life is so empty , and I need this win like I need the blood in my veins.

I let the front of his shirt go and as I pulled my hand back, it hit the ragged side of the wood fence next to us. The rough surface scraped against the back of my hand and I winced at the sting.

"Fuck. Ow, " I cursed under my breath.

"Shit. Splinter?" he asked.

"I don't think so," I said.

If anything, the flash of pain felt more like a relief, than anything. Something real to cut the tension. Something better than me actually trying to fight him, for sure.

He grabbed my hand, gently pulling it up to look at the blood like I was family. He held my hand firmly in his, inspecting it and rubbing a spot of dirt away.

"I thought you might actually want to try fighting me. You're more fun than I thought you were," he said casually, like I hadn't just done something stupid.

His touch only feels good because you're lonely , I told myself. He doesn't care about you.

"You are trouble," I said, but there was no venom left in my voice.

He bit his lower lip, giving me another flirty look that did strange things to me. We were still standing close together. He hadn't taken any step back to distance himself.

Did he like being this close up to me? Like holding my hand in his?

Not that I'd taken a step back, either.

"Can't tell if you want to hurt me or fuck me right now, Emmett. Do you want a kiss? To make it all better?"

He brought the back of his hand up to his lips and pressed a few slow little kisses around the perimeter of my cut.

"You're not going to shock me, Storm," I said, hating the way my voice was a little ragged and broken.

"You don't think I can break you?" he asked in a low tone that went straight to my core.

There was that molten feeling again, as he locked eyes with me. The mischief was gone from his expression, replaced by something… deeper.

He squeezed my hand a little tighter and my cock stirred, more traitorous than ever.

"I know you can't break me," I said to him, though I was sure he could tell I was bluffing.

And then he leaned in, closing the rest of the distance between us, and pressed his lips to mine.

" Yes I can, " he murmured against my lips.