Collide (32 page)

“Well, don’t forget, I leave for Florida tomorrow morning for a few days.” He pulled her closer, positioning her legs across his lap. “You don’t want to hang out with me before I go, do you?”

“You know that has nothing to do with it,” she replied, coughing. “We could’ve stayed home and hung out. Plus, why the hell you want to go out tonight when your flight leaves so early is beyond me.”

He leaned into her ear and slowly smoothed his hand under her skirt, his fingers making small circles against the lace of her panties. “I can handle an early flight, babe. Let’s just hope you can handle me once we get back to my place.”

Attempting to push his hand away from her, shock crossed her features. “You don’t really think you’re getting laid tonight, do you?” she asked, sliding away from him, amazed that he could possibly be thinking about that.

She was sick, and he knew it.

In one sweeping move, he pulled her by her arm, yanking her toward him. This time he anchored one of his legs over hers. “I
know
I’m getting laid tonight, Em,” he breathed out, sliding his tongue across her neck as he dipped his hand back under her skirt. “I’ll be gone for a few days. I need a little bit to hold me over.”

“Get off me, Dillon. You’re drunk already!” She backed away, trying to ignore the driver now staring at them through the rearview mirror. Taking extra measure to make sure Dillon wouldn’t come at her again, she let loose a gurgling cough in his direction, hoping the microscopic germs made their way straight into his nostrils.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop him from trying again. Fortunately, her reprieve from his drunken attempt on taking her right there in the taxi came when his phone started ringing. After pinning her with a cold look, Dillon pulled it from his pocket to take the call. Emily slid across the seat, making sure to stuff her coat and purse between them.

Letting out a sigh, she tried to ignore his conversation as he laughed with whoever was on the other end. However, she couldn’t ignore the growing anxiety steadily filtering its way through her veins, knowing she was about to spend the evening in the presence of Gavin. After their last encounter, the past several weeks had been nothing short of…difficult for her. Though she had plunged head first into her new teaching job, apartment hunting with Dillon, and planning for the wedding, Gavin was there in the back of her thoughts like a lingering beautiful shadow—never leaving, never letting go, just there.

She was hurt and confused and reminders of him were abundant. Certain songs she knew he liked stopped her dead in her tracks when she heard them. Thoughts of him constantly distracted her from what she was doing. She’d found herself becoming unproductive in a heartbeat when he clouded her mind. Her overall disposition was overtly strained. He stimulated her emotions…her nerves…and all her senses. She may have wanted Gavin, but she knew she shouldn’t have these reckless feelings for him, especially a few weeks before her wedding. She hated the fact that she felt powerless around him. That he resurrected feelings that needed to stay buried deep inside. That he made her want to take risks on him—on them. That he made her question things like her upcoming marriage to the only love she’d ever known—the only man that had ever been there for her. Gavin did this to her. She did this to her. Fate did this to her. She didn’t know who or what to blame, but the one thing she did know was the whole situation was tearing her apart.

Pulling up to the sports bar on the Lower West Side, she drew in a deep breath and stepped out from the taxi into the crisp October air. It would be an understatement to say she wasn’t looking forward to tonight.

Gavin saw Emily the moment she walked in. It was impossible for him not to. Even among the frenzied crowd, she shone bright, like a blazing star illuminating itself in a dark sky.

His dark sky.

The invisible wire tightened around his throat, rendering him nearly breathless. She looked incredible—clad in a black skirt, sexy knee-high boots, and a tight green sweater that enhanced every curve that God himself had graced upon her. Gavin had never known a woman so beautiful. He’d sunk himself into work the past several weeks, trying not to think of her. His intentions were to obliterate her completely from his thoughts, but the more he had tried, the more she took root in his mind.

She wasn’t supposed to be there tonight—at least, that’s what Trevor told him. Now, as he watched her weave through the ocean of bodies in the sports bar, it suddenly felt as though his heart was slamming its way out of his chest. His body pulsed with energy, colliding with his desire, want, and need for her. The connection and pull she extracted from him—even from the first time he’d laid eyes on her—still amazed him. In the seconds before she and Dillon approached, Gavin’s voice of reason piped up, telling him to let it go and be done with her. But, as much as he wanted to listen to it, his head was already in overdrive. She was the recipient of all his pent-up emotions—for she alone stoked all his fires. She was nothing short of agonizingly addictive to him. Gavin’s eyes found hers, but she looked away, essentially ignoring his very existence. After shaking hands with Dillon, Gavin watched as she walked over to Trevor.

“You made it,” Trevor hooted, leaning in to hug Emily. “Feeling better, I assume?”

Backing away from him with a weak smile on her face and a cough to top it off, she answered, “No, I don’t feel better, so you might not want to hug me.” Trevor smiled and pulled her into his chest despite her warning. She looked up to him. “Trevor, I’m serious. I’m as contagious as they come right now.”

He squeezed her tighter and laughed. “Em, I have enough alcohol running through me right now to kill off any fucking germs you might spread.”

Managing a laugh, she returned his hug. “Alright then, but you asked for it.” He smiled at her. “Happy birthday, big man. What’s the number tonight, the big three-zero?”

“Not quite. The ripe young age of twenty-nine,” he answered, snaking his arm around Fallon’s waist. He flicked his eyes down to her. “And what a year it’s gonna be.”

Fallon leaned up to kiss him and then looked at Emily. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“You are a lucky girl, and he’s a lucky guy, too. Don’t forget that,” Emily smiled. “I love the new color.”

Fallon fluffed her crimson hair to the side. “Do you? I’m not used to one color at a time.”

“I do. It’s becoming of you.” Emily looked around. “Where’s Olivia and Tina?”

“Apparently, you’re not the only one sick in Manhattan tonight,” Trevor answered. “Tina didn’t feel good, so Olivia took her home.”

Emily nodded and settled in a seat next to Dillon. He was ordering a few shots and steadily on his way into deeper alcohol oblivion.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Trevor continued, “I’m gonna go get my sweat on with my hot lady here.”

Emily watched as Trevor and Fallon disappeared onto the dance floor.

Over the next half hour, Emily and Gavin exchanged nothing more than the occasional apprehensive glance. She listened to him and Dillon talk about baseball. The Yankees had made it into the playoffs, and game three was currently being displayed across several large flat-screen televisions throughout the bar. Their rival—go figure—was the Baltimore Orioles.

Emily had to smile at that.

Unable to numb her anxiety with alcohol because of the medication she was on, she endured the situation as best as she could—paying no attention to either man. As she accepted a glass of ice water from the bartender, her cell phone lighting up in her purse caught her attention.

Pulling it out, she noticed it was a text from a number she didn’t know:
I must admit…you play the game very well…

With furrowed brows, having no idea who it was, she texted back:
Who is this?

After a few seconds, the reply:
However…your “birds” have no clue how to play the game…so it all evens out…

Snapping her head up in Gavin’s direction, her heart skipped a beat. Though he was perched on the opposite side of Dillon, he was in Emily’s line of sight. Staring at her, his smile was wide and inhibited. She flicked her eyes in Dillon’s direction. It was obvious that he was paying no mind to her or Gavin, clearly more intoxicated than when they first arrived. He was in the midst of a conversation regarding the game with another patron as they laughed and shared a few shots together.

Another incoming text vibrated her phone:
Take a look at the score…

Nervous, she looked over at Gavin again.

Smiling, he leaned his chin in the palm of his hand and gestured to one of the televisions with his bottle of beer.

Quickly averting her eyes to the screen where it was highlighting a Yankees lead by five, she let out the breath she was holding. She looked back to him where yet another smile broke out across his face.

Emily texted back:
How did you get my number?

His reply:
Admit that your birds don’t have a chance against my Yankees…and perhaps I will release that information…

Coughing, she cocked a brow and looked at him.

He smiled and casually shrugged.

“The nerve,” she mumbled under her breath as she texted him back:
I will do no such thing…

Her eyes shifted to his again. With a perplexed look on his face, he smiled, and she watched as he swiftly ran his fingers across his screen.

He texted:
Then you’re left with your original assumption of my personality…I’m a stalker, and you’re my beautiful prey. Boo.

Shaking her head at the true wiseass he really was, curiosity got the better of her:
Fine, my birds aren’t playing their best tonight…

Sighing, she heard Gavin let out a full throaty laugh.

He replied:
I’ll make it simple…your team S-U-C-K-S. And since you wouldn’t admit that your birds have no chance against my beloved Yankees, I have the sudden urge to make you…beg. Kinky, right? I’ll be waiting for your response…

Taking a sip of her water, she scoffed. “He’s seriously lost his mind.”

She watched as a superior smile washed over his face.

She began to text him back, letting him know she wouldn’t beg for an answer, but he sent another:
I decided I’m in a generous mood tonight since my team is whipping some serious ass. Forget about you begging me…which I know you would’ve…text back the magic word, and I will relinquish the information you so desire. Clue…it starts with pretty…

She rolled her eyes and texted him back:
Please…

His answering text was quick:
I knew I could get you to beg…Molly.

Now she couldn’t help but laugh. Her text was a little more demanding this time:
Emily to you, “stalkerboy”. You didn’t get me to beg for anything. I want the information.

Oh, his smile was teetering between lewd and mischievous when she looked in his direction now.

He responded:
You begged, doll, and I’m pretty sure…no, I’m positive…I could get you to beg for plenty of things if given the proper chance to do so. Plenty. But, to answer your question, Olivia gave me your number. I would assume my source doesn’t come as a shock…

She sighed:
I disagree with the begging part. I call it being courteous. Not sure how to answer your second statement except to say that you’re an arrogant bastard. No, I’m not shocked about Olivia being your partner in crime…the both of you are certifiably nuts…

Between becoming consumed in her text session with Gavin and the now roaring Yankees fans in the background, Emily didn’t notice that Dillon had disappeared. However, she couldn’t help but notice Gavin staring directly at her with only a barstool separating them now. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as he closed that distance by sliding over into the seat next to her. Propping his elbow on the bar, his smile was no less cocky than before.

“So, says the ‘arrogant bastard,’” he began, shifting his body to face her, “are you still going to deny that I made you beg?”

The familiarity of his humor-filled voice sent chills down her back. With a smirk, she let out an exasperated breath. “You’re relentless.”

“Always,” he answered evenly. Taking a long pull from his beer, his gaze never left hers. “I figured it was a good way to break the tension hanging in the air.”

“You have a funny way of breaking tension, Gavin.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Let’s see…trying to get me to admit that I was begging.” She answered, crossing her legs, and then quickly added, “Which I wasn’t.”

“You begged, doll, but I’ll let it go.”

Laughing, she shook her head. “I give up; you win.”

He smiled, and for a minute, he let himself drown in her, getting lost in the memory of her touch. “In all seriousness, I figured my little texting skit might go over well,” he said as his eyes shimmered with something akin to an apology behind them. “I’m hoping it did at least.”

He was right; the tension that had built up inside her had seemed to dissipate. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded. “It did.”

Slowly, he slid a bottle cap over to her and smiled. “Truce?”