14. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 14

N ow that our families had been told about the engagement, it was time to break the news to our friends. Or rather, Ford’s friends.

It wasn’t until we had sat down and discussed all the people we needed to tell that I realized how few people I actually hung out with other than Ford—after all, I hadn’t been popular in high school, my art school co-eds from college were more like casual acquaintances, and I traveled so much for work that the only friendships I really maintained were with Tori and Brooklyn, who already knew what was up with my whirlwind relationship.

Thus, the group we were planning to meet up with definitely consisted of more of his circle than mine. Unfortunately, they were mostly people we’d gone to high school with…not my main tormentors, but they’d certainly gone along with the torture I endured. And all these years later, they were still very cliquey. No matter how many times Ford had brought me along to socialize with them, I still didn’t quite feel tight with the group. I’d never have even been a blip on their radar if it hadn’t been for Ford taking me under his wing.

Did I want to spend a whole night out with them? Hells no.

But these were Ford’s closest cohorts, and he wanted us to share our news together.

He had a whole big event planned to celebrate, with all of us going out to his favorite club, drinking and dancing until the sun came up.

I was anxious about the whole thing, which was how I always felt when I hung out with this particular group. It would have been easier for me to just stay home and let Ford tell them the news on his own, but I knew he wanted them to see us together.

“We really need to sell it,” he’d said. “It has to look 100% real.”

It was already far too real for me. How was I going to survive the next fifteen months?

“Oh, and don’t forget to wear something hot,” he’d reminded me earlier that evening.

Right. I couldn’t help remembering the way he had looked at me the night of the ball—how his eyes kept straying to my exposed back, how his warm hands had trailed up and down my spine, lingering right over my ass. The thought of dressing up for him again made my skin tingle. Especially knowing that we were going to be performing tonight.

Though I was kind of glad to have the show of lovebird-ness to make me feel more included. It gave me a thrill of anticipation, outweighing the usual dread I felt when I knew I’d be hanging out with his friends. After all this time, I’d long forgiven them, but I’d never forget how cruel they were in high school.

Maybe tonight would be different, though. Maybe I’d finally be welcomed into the group.

After doing my hair and makeup—sleek ponytail and smoky eyes with a dark lip—I laid out a few outfit options on my bed and tried to decide exactly how hot I wanted to look for Ford.

The answer, in the end, was very, very hot.

I scarcely recognized myself as I caught a glimpse in the mirror on my way out. The dress I’d pulled from the back of my closet was way shorter than anything I’d normally wear, and the shimmery silver fabric hugged every curve, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

It was hard not to feel even more exposed given that the color was outside the realm of my usual basic black, but I liked the way the silver made my hair look even darker and my skin even paler, giving me a very dramatic, attention-getting look that was unusual for me.

I liked the way the dress showed off my short but shapely legs, clinging to my thighs. I liked the way it was snug around my hips and waist, while the cowl neckline dipped down, showing off just a hint of cleavage.

I hoped this was what Ford had been asking for. I had really gone all out.

Even my go-to lace up shitkickers had been ditched in favor of knee-high boots with a dangerous heel, and I’d added a pair of diamond stud earrings and a small clutch that slipped over my wrist as the finishing touches.

Ford met me in the lobby of my building.

He was facing away when the elevator doors opened, so I had the opportunity to stare a little. He looked good, as usual, in a tailored black shirt and well-fitting jeans. I wondered if he had dressed in black in an effort to match me, and if he’d be disappointed that I wasn’t in my usual uniform.

But when he turned and saw me, the look in his eyes made it very, very clear that he wasn’t disappointed at all.

“Fuck,” he said, before letting out a low whistle. “You look sexy as hell, Em.”

I flushed at the reaction. “Thanks,” I said. “You look nice, too.”

“Oh, I know,” he said and gave me a wink. “Shall we?”

He held out his arm and I wrapped my hand around his rock-hard bicep, trying to remember why I had been so hesitant to come out tonight. If the rest of the evening was like this, maybe I’d have fun after all.

Tension vibrated between the two of us as we were driven to the club. At one point, Ford reached over and took my hand, his fingers sliding over my knuckles.

“Sorry I haven’t taken care of the ring yet,” he said. “I’m working on it.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though I knew it would probably come up tonight.

After all, even my brothers had noticed I wasn’t wearing one, and they weren’t exactly the type to pay attention to something like that. Ford’s friends would definitely notice.

“I really want to get you my great-grandmother’s ring,” he said, sounding determined.

I looked at him. He’d mentioned that at the ball, to his mother, but I’d thought he was just ribbing her, knowing it would bother her. I didn’t actually think he was serious. I also didn’t think his mother would willingly give that ring to someone like me. In any case, I wasn’t holding my breath. Even if it was extra beautiful and had its own cool little history.

“We don’t need to use that ring. We can just get whatever. From a jewelry store with a good return policy, maybe?” I tried to joke lightly.

“No,” Ford said, lifting my knuckles to his mouth in a surprisingly tender gesture. “I want you to have hers.”

It wasn’t until we arrived at the club that my nerves kicked back into high gear.

I spotted Ford’s friends sitting in the VIP area that Ford had reserved ahead of time. There were already buckets of champagne chilling on the table and a tray of shots lined up waiting for us. As we headed over, we were greeted by a round of raucous cheering that made it clear everyone had already started drinking. If Ford’s friends were surprised to see me, they hid it well. And no one commented on the fact that Ford and I were holding hands.

Instead, I was welcomed with warm greetings from the guys and air kisses from the girls.

“So what’d you pull us all together for?” one of the guys asked once we’d settled in.

“I have an announcement to make,” Ford said, making sure everyone had a filled champagne glass. “Emzee and I—we’re getting married!”

I expected silence or shock, but no one was more shocked than me when the immediate response was loud cheering, raised glasses, and nothing but smiling, excited faces all around.

“To Ford and Emzee!” they toasted.

We clinked glasses and drank, and I leaned back against the plush velvet of the VIP seat, trying to roll with the fact that my status had instantly changed the second I’d walked in on Ford’s arm, and that it would probably stay that way now that everyone knew I was his fiancée. Even without a ring on my finger, Ford’s friends just accepted us as a couple right on the spot.

Everyone was friendly and charming to me, complimenting me on my dress and my boots and my purse. I took it all in with a gracious smile.

“This definitely isn’t a surprise to me,” one of Ford’s guy friends said after we’d all gone through a bottle of champagne. “You two have been friends for ages.”

“Totally,” one of the girls said. “It makes perfect sense. A lot more sense than Claud—” But she was cut off from speaking the name of She Who Must Not Be Named by her friend.

“I knew you guys were banging,” another girl said, her voice a sotto whisper close to my ear. “I mean, how could you and Ford be friends for so long and not be?”

The girl who’d been elbowed into silence a second ago laughed. “Too true.”

“We weren’t—” I started to correct, and then remembered myself. Better to lean into the speculation. After all, if people wanted to think that Ford and I had been carrying on some secret affair, it could only lend more credibility to our quickie engagement and marriage.

I cleared my throat.

“We weren’t telling anyone,” I said, leaning my head on Ford’s shoulder in a way that I hoped seemed couple-y. “What can I say? We’re good at keeping things hush-hush.”

“At least I am,” Ford interjected with a wicked leer. “Em’s actually a bit of a screamer.”

Everyone laughed and Ford accepted high fives.

I felt my face go hot, and I couldn’t help feeling equally thrilled and uncomfortable at Ford’s casual discussion of our fictional sex life.

Okay, maybe more thrilled than uncomfortable. Especially when I imagined what sort of things Ford would do to make me scream.

Like pulling me into the alley behind the club and pressing me up against the wall, his hands sliding up the back of my short dress until he discovered that I was wearing a thong.

Or sneaking me into one of the unisex bathrooms with him, bending me over the sink, my dress hiked up to my waist, his jeans around his knees as he thrust into me from behind, his fingers twisting my nipples hard and perfect.

No, I couldn’t think about that. Though it was hard not to when we were constantly touching. And God, was his touch provocative. Especially as the night wore on, and the group began to migrate from our little VIP corner onto the dance floor.

I’d never noticed how tactile Ford was until tonight. Or no, I guess I had. I’d certainly noticed how often he touched his previous girlfriends, like Claudia. It had been hard not to get jealous over the way they’d always been all over each other. How different—and amazing—it was to suddenly be on the other side of that. And also, how confusing.

Ever since we’d left my apartment, Ford’s hands had barely left my body. He either had his fingers linked with mine or he was looping an arm around my waist or dragging a finger across the sensitive skin of my collarbone or my earlobe or my bare shoulder. He also liked to tug the ends of my hair, sending sparks of electricity dancing across my scalp. God.

It was even more intense when we danced. He loved to pull me close, his hips moving provocatively against mine, his palms hot against the thin fabric of my dress, cupping all my curves. He kept touching my ass too, his fingers sliding boldly over the crease between my cheeks, as if he was memorizing my body. Every last inch of it.

My pulse was hammering, my skin buzzing at every point of contact, and the place between my legs was aching and undeniably wet. The air in the club felt hot and thick, and even though I’d only had a glass of champagne and a single shot, I felt drunk. Drunk on desire. Drunk on lust. Drunk on Ford.

There was only so much I could take.

Midway through the night, after dancing chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh with Ford had me riled up enough that I knew I needed to step away, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Once I was there, I pressed a wet paper towel to the back of my neck and between my breasts, trying to cool down and calm the sexual thoughts wreaking havoc on all of my senses. Then I freshened up my makeup and strutted back toward our table.

I was just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation Ford was having with one of his best buddies. Someone he’d been especially close with in high school. The music was loud so I only caught a few words, but what I thought I heard was him asking Ford, “Does Emzee know about that?”

It was enough to stop me in my tracks at the edge of the VIP area. The words were said so conspiratorially that I almost didn’t want to ask, but obviously I needed to know the truth.

“Know about what?” I asked loudly.

Ford’s friend immediately looked up at me, but before he could answer, Ford flashed him a look I didn’t catch and then grinned at me, answering, “About how big my dick is.”

Everyone laughed, reverting back to poking fun at me and Ford, and the moment to delve deeper was lost. I laughed too, even though I was sure they’d been talking about something else. The look Ford had given his friend was definitely suspicious, but the group had once again moved on to dirty talk, which I couldn’t help focusing on.

Not just the way it made me feel—which, yeah, it made me go hot and tingly in all the right places—but also about Ford’s motives with all of this.

Was this how he always joked around about the women he was dating? Or was he laying it on thick because he was trying to push the lie?

Or…what if he was expecting something from me that I couldn’t give?

I’d been firm with him about us not sleeping together, but I didn’t have enough experience with actual sex to know what would happen afterward. Would it really hurt our relationship if we ended up getting together like that? I was starting to think I should at least consider the possibility.

Especially if Ford was as good in bed as he thought he was.