Negative side, it means I'll be kissed like that more often.
You can only be kissed like that, looked at like that, talked to like that, so many times before you either, A) screw him silly or B) start believing it.
///
God, I hope there's an option C.
I manage to momentarily get myself together as we pull away from the curb, inching away from Emmett and trying to smooth out my dress over my thighs so my shorts aren't showing, all while trying to calm my heart.
But Emmett isn't having any of it. He keeps close to me, his hand goes right on my thigh while his other arm goes around my shoulder. I can feel the heat transfer from his clothes to my skin, smell the product he used in his hair, the scent of his cologne. I have to close my eyes briefly, caught between wanting to revel in the feel of him like this, and trying to push it away.
In the end, I can't win. Everything about him is overpowering, overwhelming. I can't stop feeling his palm against my thigh, the way he plays with my hair, how his eyes keep skirting over my face and body in awe, like he's seeing me for the first time.
"How are you?" he asks me, his mouth close to my ear, blowing hot air over me. I can't help but shiver in response and he grins at that, which only worsens the problem. "Cold?"
"I'm good," I say in a small voice. "A bit tired, I think."
"Tough day at work?"
I nod, keeping my eyes forward and focusing on the road ahead. "You could say that."
"Did your co-workers say anything about us?"
Now I glance at him. I shouldn't have. I'd forgotten somehow how mesmerizing his eyes are at this non-distance. "They did, actually."
"Good things?"
I bite my lip, thinking it over. "It depends. I got a standing ovation over you."
"No kidding. And that's bad?"
I guess in these circumstances it can't be.
"No, it was wonderful."
Lie, lie, lie, I tell myself. Then again, it was kind of nice for once to feel special among my peers. But I wouldn't admit that to Emmett.
"And did you sign that contract we were talking about?"
I nod. "I did."
Even though the courier dropped it off at my desk and I signed the simple documents alone under fluorescent lights, I felt like I might as well have been in a dungeon, by candlelight, and signing it with my own blood.
"Did you find out who took the photographs? Anyone from your work?"
"The guy who I suspect was out sick so I couldn't ask him," I tell him.
"That's convenient … "
"Right?"
Our conversation changes to easy topics after that, though the entire drive he keeps his hands all over me. I keep going from wanting him to touch me and enjoying it to hating the fact that I'm enjoying it because none of it is real.
By the time we get to the restaurant, Rodney's Oyster House in Yaletown, I need a drink or twenty. Especially as the driver lets us off a few blocks away and we have to walk there, holding hands, past people who stop and take pictures. Luckily it's only a few people who actually recognize Emmett but it's still enough to make me feel awkward and question why I'm doing this again.
Forty grand, forty grand. It's a mantra I'm repeating in my head.
"You're doing so well," Emmett whispers to me at the restaurant while the hostess walks us toward our table. He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and instinctively I squeeze his hand right back. That part I know was real and it gives me a dash of courage.
We're lucky that even though we're on display, the booth where we're seated is out of earshot of everyone else in the restaurant so we don't have to carry on a fake conversation. After the waitress leaves with our orders for drinks and a dozen oysters, Emmett gives me a sweet smile.
"How are you holding up?" he asks, tilting his head as he inspects me. I'm assuming I must look absolutely shell-shocked.
Well, I am.
"I'm … okay," I tell him. I take in a deep breath and try to smile. "This is just really … weird."
"I know."
"I mean it has to be weird for you, too."
"It is," he says, still smiling.
"Why are you smiling like that then?"
"Because if you were my girlfriend and we were on this date, this is how I'd be looking at you."
Oh.
He frowns. "Don't tell me the guys you date aren't drooling all over themselves when they talk to you."
I let out a dry laugh. "Yeah right."
"You're either exceedingly modest or just plain oblivious."
"I'm neither of those things," I tell him. "It's just the truth. The guys here in this city, they're constantly looking over my shoulder for someone better."