Page 101 of Fever Dream
Hell, I spent all morning telling myself I’d play it cool. I planned to ask how her day was going, toss in a smug joke or two like nothing weird happened last night. Like the thought of her sitting across from some guy who was “sweet” and available and might have an actual chance with her hadn’t been gnawing at me all damn night.
I close the door and lock it behind myself, and the sound makes Julia spin on the spot to face me.
She looks tanner somehow, her skin glowing against a flowy white boho top, the neckline wide enough to show off the elegant slope of her neck, the proud lines of her collarbones. Loose tendrils of dark hair spill out of her messy bun, topping off the sensual look.
Her hair is back to curly, so she’s clearly had a shower.
Maybe with him.
Fuck. I hate living in my brain right now.
The expression on her face is half surprise, half satisfaction. Like she knows I’m losing my goddamn mind. Like she can see straight through me.
So I cave.
“How was your date?” I ask, my tone harsher than I mean.
Or maybe it’s exactly what I mean.
She blinks before moving toward the bench in the middle of the room, taking a seat, propping back on her palms, and crossing her legs.
Pure attitude.
“Wow. Straight to it, huh?”
“Just curious,” I reply with an unaffected shrug. “Call it professional interest. One coworker to another.”
“Coworkers?” She chuckles, crossing her arms. “You been kissing Teri and asking her about her dates too?”
“I would never.”
“Oh, don’t go acting all holier-than-thou on me now. You know damn well I didn’t want to go on that date. But it’s for the best, right?”
“No.” I say, my voice low. “It is definitely not for the best. Not for me.”
Her brows lift. “You all but told me nothing would ever happen between us. Even after the show. You want me. You don’t want me. Make up your fucking mind.”
“You think I don’t want you?” I laugh, dark and humorless. I told her that. Hell, I even thought I meant it. But that was before I realized I can’t stay away from her.
Her chest heaves as I push off the doorframe to prowl toward her.
“Because if you do,” I say, coming to a stop and towering over her. “Then you’re not paying attention.”
She tries to look unaffected, but I see it—the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes drop to my mouth before snapping back up. “Are you jealous, Emmett?”
My fingers dust over her neck, thumb under her jaw, tipping her face up. “Iamjealous. I’m losing my goddamn mind over you. And you’re traipsing around in these tight fucking jeans with a permanent smile on your face like you weren’t out allnight with some country club loser who got the chance I only dream of getting with you.”
Her eyes lock on mine, wide and dark. “Then do something about it.”
And that’s all it takes to break whatever leash I’ve been trying—and failing—to keep on myself.
My hands drop suddenly, gripping her hips and tugging her closer.
“You went on a date, and I fucking hate that,” I say, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Did he touch you like this?” I drag my teeth over her jaw, letting one hand slip into her back pocket to give her round ass a possessive squeeze.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t answer. Her silence makes me feel more desperate. More untethered.
I drop to my knees in front of her, needing to look her in the eye. Needing to know. To see. To read her features.
