Page 117 of Fever Dream
FROM WHERE I’Mstanding in my small kitchen, hip propped against the counter, cup of piping hot coffee pressed between my palms, I watch Emmett.
Emmett. Here. In my space. Wearing only a pair of boxers.
I feel like I’m a visitor at a zoo, watching a rare and exotic animal. But it’s just me, in my condo, watching the WBRF’s most notorious playboy looking downright domestic.
The muscles in his shoulders bulge as he lifts a long, flat leaf from one of my favorite plants and inspects it with an expression of wonder on his face. “So many plants,” he murmurs, movingon to admire the one above it with long vines draping down over the shelf.
“Yes, some people have dogs or children. I have plants. I’m a weird plant lady. That plant you’re fondling? That’s Keanu Leaves.”
The grin he tosses me over his shoulder would melt my panties if I were wearing any beneath my soft, white jersey housecoat.
“Keanu Leaves? Well, who could blame me for fondling him then? Have you seen that guy? Aging like fine wine.”
I smile back at him like a total loon. The man fucked me silly. I feel like a little girl with a crush. If I were a cartoon character, they would draw me with literal hearts for eyes right now.
I clear my throat, trying not to scare him away with my stalker-staring vibes, then nudge my chin toward the counter. “There’s coffee here for you.”
“Thanks,” he replies as he goes back to admiring my plants, which is the perfect opportunity for me to admire his shoulder-to-waist ratio.
I sigh.
“Julia, if you keep eye-fucking me like that, I’m going to have to do the gentlemanly thing and lend you a hand.” He doesn’t even need to turn around. He just knows. I’m that transparent.
I scoff, feeling my cheeks go warm. “I bet you say that to all the other girls.”
He stills, and then he slowly pivots to face me. One brow is quirked but aside from that, his expression is deadly serious. “What other girls?”
I let looseanotherscoff. I must sound like I have some sort of affliction.
A nervous, awkward one.
“I was joking,” I tell him flippantly.
“I wasn’t.”
My throat works as I attempt to swallow the coffee in my mouth in lieu of spraying it all over my kitchen.
“We don’t need to talk about this.” My words come out rather choked, and I take a deep swig of my coffee to help—and just to give myself something to do. Because the way he’s looking at me right now is far too intense for my liking.
Emmett and his piercing stares are deadly at the best of times. But the intensity is borderline unbearable when it’s just the two of us standing face-to-face in my small condo. There’s no field or gravel driveway for me to escape to.
I’m just trapped. With him. And the elephant in the room.Romance Ranch.
“I think we do,” he replies pointedly, making his way toward me, prowling like he’s on the hunt. He takes a seat on the stool across the counter from me.
And then he just… looks.
“Are we having a staring competition?” I joke, trying to soften the tension that’s thickening the air between us. I’d rather just have more sex, not talk about the show and all the repercussions of this situation. As they say,ignorance is bliss!
But he doesn’t fall for it. He breezes right past it with a look of concentration on his face.
“No, I’m gauging what’s going on in your head so we can figure out how we’re going to do this.”
I blink. “Whatthis?”
“Us, Jules. You and me. Catch up, would you?” He reaches for his coffee, but not before shooting me a lethal smirk that sends butterflies crashing into my ribs.
Did Emmett Brandt, playboy extraordinaire, just refer to what we’re doing here as anus?
