Evolve Series Box Set (88 page)

"Cabs aren't safe, especially at 2 am."

"Oh, stop. I'm fine. But thank you for caring."

"Why won't you let me drive you home? What are you afraid of? And don't even think about not answering, because you just thanked me."

“And you said sorry.” One eyebrow goes up, challenging me.

“Driving ya’ home.”

She growls and grabs my hand, pulling me into the break room. Looking around and finding it empty, she starts in. "I need you to quit being so considerate and irresistible. This," she flicks her finger between us, "can never happen. I'd love nothing more than to fall into you and get lost, but it can. Not. Happen. I need this job, so go find Mariah and quit making me feel special!"

"Whoa there, Shorty, simmer down." I grab her shirt and tug her back when she attempts to get the last word and storm out. "Look at me."

"No," she answers softly, facing the wall.

"Emmett, please turn around and look at me."

"Sawyer, I'm not what you think I am. Let it go and be my friend. I could really use one." She pulls away and I let her, watching as she walks out. Her shoulders are slumped, and there’s no pep in her step.

I can’t leave it like this, plus I owe her a fact.

“When I was eight, I wanted to be a cowboy!” I call out behind her, waiting.

She stops on a dime, remaining stone still and facing away from me. “When I was eight, I wanted to move to Green Gables.”

I’ll worry about figuring out where the fuck Green Gables is later; right now, I have a more pressing question. “I think you’re fascinating and beautiful and as unused to whatever this is as me. That’s what I think you are. Tell me I’m wrong.”

I wait as she remains standing in the same spot. There’s not the slightest movement for long seconds, before she finally walks away without answering.

Not what I think she is? Does she think I care that she is, or was, or what the fuck ever, a stripper?

We've got about thirty minutes before we open and I'd say some warm up music is exactly what we need. I walk out of the break room and over to the sound panel, turning up the volume before starting the song. I want to see her face with the first unmistakable riff.

"Shook Me All Night Long" comes through the speakers in every room, since I don't know where she's run and hidden. Angus is already singing about American thighs before she comes around the corner, eyes bugged out of her head.

When she finds me across the room, our eyes meet and I mouth to her "I don't care" and crook my finger for her to come to me. She shakes her head violently and disappears again, full speed. Dammit! Not the reaction I was hoping for at all.

Out of nowhere, Kasey saunters over and turns down the music. "You know," he slaps one hand on my shoulder, "you can chase and chase a butterfly and never catch them. But if you stand still, they may decide to land right on you." He walks away whistling the AC/DC track, seemingly pleased with his own philosophical wisdom.

Butterfly? If he’s gotten close enough to see behind her ear, that’s too fucking close and I will lay him out like carpet. Her secret tattoo…that she didn’t mention when we’d discussed mine. I wonder if she’s hiding any more…and when I can find them.

I decide to leave her be for a bit, seriously contemplating Kasey’s advice. We open to a line and I’m busy, but not so much so that I’m not keenly aware of her non-appearance. She only comes out of hiding after the crowd really starts picking up, probably thinking all the bodies will shroud her. But she has to order from me at the bar, so soon we’re sharing awkward silences, far louder than the pulsing beat, as she waits for me to fill her tray each visit.

How long does it take a butterfly to land? She’s not even talking to me now and it’s driving me insane! Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I initiate plan You Better Talk to Me, Woman and wait for the effects of my brilliant masterminding to kick in.

She slides the glass my way a few minutes later. “This got sent back.”

Imagine that—I made the perfect you’re not in Alabama Slammer…with grapefruit juice. “Really? Huh. Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll fix it.” She looks down at her nails, far too sweet for the “hurry up, I’m put out” façade she’s attempting. “Emmett, did you hear me? I said I’m sorry, I’ll fix it.”

Ask for your fact, Angel, don’t leave me hanging.

“If you mess with my drinks, it’ll hurt my tips, Sawyer.”

“I. Said. I. Was. Sorry.”

“I. Heard. You.”

I slap both hands down on the bar and lean over, right into her face. “You agreed to the game. Play with me, Shorty, please.”

She sighs, defeated, and rolls her eyes. “Where’d you see me dance?”

There she is. Relieved, I lean closer, resting my forehead on hers, and she lets me. “At a buddy’s bachelor party. You were terrible at it.”

She laughs softly. “Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. Not really my thing, obviously.”

“You’re welcome and it was a compliment. Do you do it anymore?”

She shakes her head back and forth, those bewitching green eyes staring at me. “I need my orders.”

“I’m driving you home.”

“I figured.”

I smile, happy we’re back to talking, even happier she’s going to let me give her a ride home and ecstatic that she and I have a cohesiveness all our own; it’s just a matter of finding the moment and a few words to put us back to good. I finish filling her tray, all made right this time, then pull out my phone. I shoot Dane a quick text that I really need the car tonight and slide it back in my pocket. I don’t have to wait for a reply; I know he’ll come through for me.

The rest of the shift goes more amicably than it started, Emmett gifting me with a few sentences or a smile every time she comes back up. By last call, she looks dead on her feet, but still breathtaking, and I can’t wait to be alone with her. We all pitch in to wipe tables and stack chairs, then I tell everyone they can head out, which will leave Emmett and I alone while I finish drawer counts.

She flops down on a bar stool in front of me and slides off her shoes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my life,” she groans, lifting one leg and starting to give herself a foot rub. “Totally worth it, though. I made over a hundred dollars tonight.”

“Emmett, you want to walk out with us?” Jessica stops and asks on her way out with Kasey and Darby.

“No, I’m okay, but thank you. I have to wait for Sawyer to finish counting so he can give me a ride home.”

Darby’s face wrinkles up. “Why would he do that? I’ll give you a ride home. Where do you live?”

Ahh, isn’t that nice? Fuck no! Darby’s do-gooder act isn’t fooling me. If she thinks cock blocking Emmett is gonna get me to fuck her again, she’s got another thing coming, or not coming, I suppose. I quit it almost before I even got done hitting it, a regret I live with every shift she works.

“Briarwood Apartments, right off Daline,” Emmett answers her.

Oh fucking hell, she lives in CJ’s complex? That place is…well, saying it’s sleazy would be like saying Miley Cyrus has kinda lost her damn mind. This keeps getting worse; she was going to take a cab at 2 am to Briarwood. My smokin’ lil’ butterfly has got herself one helluva life.

“That’s on my way.” Darby tips her head. “Come on.”

Emmett turns back to me and flashes a smile full of either sarcasm or defiance, which one, I’m not quite sure. “Looks like I’ve got a ride. Goodnight, Sawyer.”

“Night,” I grit out, giving Darby the stink eye.

Once they’re all filed out, I finish the count, my mood souring with every minute. Darby better not run her mouth about us, it was over a damn year ago…just get Emmett home safe, watch her walk to the door. What if she doesn’t? That neighborhood, the late hour…I’m up the stairs before I know it, grabbing the folder with her name. The beauty of management—access to the personnel files.

I program her phone number into mine, assigning it the perfect ringtone, then dial. “Hello?”

“Emmett? Hey, it’s Sawyer.”

“Hi?”

“Hey.” You already fucking said that, dumbass. Jesus, why not fly a banner over her house that says, “I never call girls”?

She fills the painfully awkward gap in exhilarating conversation with a giggle. “Sawyer, did you need something?”

“I, ah, wanted to make sure you got home all right. It’s late and all, so did you make it okay? Inside?”

“I’m sliding my key in the lock as we speak. You’re too sweet, thank you.”

“Go ahead and get inside, turn on the light. Everything look in order? Nothing out of place, right?”

“No, looks the same as when I left it. I’m fine.”

I sigh, relief flooding me all at once. The thought of something happening to Emmett makes it hard to breathe, the protective instinct burning in my chest unlike anything I’ve felt before, certainly different that the protectiveness I feel for my female friends. I love Laney and the girls and I’d take a bullet for them, but with them it feels like instinct and with Emmett…it feels like will.

“Okay, wanted to make sure. I can let you go.”

And I just lied to her—I don’t think I could let her go if I tried.

“Goodnight, Sawyer,” she whispers.

“Sweet dreams, Shorty.”

CHAPTER 7

Driving Miss Emmett

***Emmett***

Ninety-three! I roll my eyes at the thermostat on the wall and try to call my landlord for the tenth time; voicemail again.

Opening the windows might have actually made it worse as this is late summer in Georgia. I’m drained, dizzy, and nauseous from the stifling heat and lack of moving air in my box of an apartment. This can’t possibly be good for me, but I have no one to call, nowhere to go…not that I have the energy left to walk to the bus stop anyway.

The knock on the door sounds like angels singing—maybe it’s the landlord! I fling open the door, ready to tear into his ass or faint, whichever comes first. Faint, definitely faint, becomes the obvious choice as I take in the sight of one very large, very sexy Sawyer Beckett leaned up against the door frame.

“Morning, glory,” he says with a smirk, chipping away at my resolve with those teasing, deep blue eyes and perfect white teeth uncovered by a beaming smile.

“Um, morning?” I’m sure my face expresses my confusion at his presence.

“Can I come in?”

I do a mental check, cataloging in my head. Unless he sneaks away from me and goes digging through my closet, we’re good. “Be my guest.” I put out my arm and step aside. “Hope you like saunas.”

He steps in and immediately feels it, turning to me with an angry scowl. “It feels like hell in here, Emmett. Pretty sure my eyebrows are singed. What the fuck?”

“The air’s broken and my landlord won’t answer.” I blow the hair out of my eyes, a complete waste of effort since it’s plastered to my forehead with sticky sweat. “Don’t!” I hold up my hand when his mouth pops open. “Dressing me down won’t fix it. What are you doing here, anyway? How’d you know which apartment was mine?”

“Brought you a car, checked your resume, get your shit.” He stomps over to the window, slamming it closed and attempting to lock it, figuring out quickly the latch is broken. He turns his head slightly, one eye glaring at me. “Your air doesn’t work and your window doesn’t lock. Lemme guess, you have to walk down to a well and pail out water?”

I glare at him. “Not helping.” So it’s not the Hilton, but it’s mine.

He’s clomping through the place like an angry bear, flipping light switches on and off, grumbling something about “lazy slumlords” when I step in front of him.

“Stop it. You’re making me feel worse than I already do.”

“I’m not trying to, but shit, woman, no dishwasher, no microwave.” He sighs, clamping a hand on the back of his neck. “Where do you do your laundry?”

I shrug. “Laundromat.”

“Emmett, I really don’t want to lose my shit in front of you, but so help me God, woman, if you do not grab whatever you need in the next five seconds and head to the door, I’m gonna do it for you.”

It’s official, I’m suffering heat exhaustion. I’m obviously hallucinating him talking to me like that. Who does he think he is?

I’m still trying to figure it out, frozen in place in open-mouthed shock, when my arm is damn near ripped from its socket.

“Got your purse and phone, that about it?” he asks as he pulls me toward the door.

As much as I don’t want to let him boss me around and get any bright ideas that I might actually be the kind of girl who lets a man tell her what to do, I really don’t want to stay in this hot box another second. “That’s it,” I concede, still at odds with my own cooperativeness.

He ushers me out the door with his hand, so large it spans it almost completely, on my back. “How long were you in there like that?”

I shrug again, complacent and exasperated. “Since I woke up. I’m sure the landlord will call me back soon. I would’ve been fine.”

He takes his hand from my back and lifts all my heavy hair off my neck, the fresh air on my overheated skin refreshing. When he leans over and blows on it, I’m no longer hot, but covered in goosebumps, chills coursing through me. “You have anything you need to do today?” he asks in between blowing upon my neck and shoulders.

“No,” I hum, immersed in every wonderful sensation his breath is causing.

“Okay, let’s go.” He leads me down the stairs to a shiny red four-door car that looks brand new.

“Did you get a new car?” I ask him, thankful he’s not about to try and force me on his bike.

“Actually,” he grins, digging a set of keys from his pocket and dangling them in front of me, “it’s yours. Will you give me a ride?”

“No, no, no.” I shake my head, backing away from the keys like they’re a live snake. “I’m not accepting a car from you! It’s too much and I’m not a charity case. I told you not to get too close, Sawyer! Would you buy your other friends a car?”

“Simmer down, Shorty, wouldn’t you trust your other friends? Gotta say, you don’t seem to trust me any more now than the day we met. I didn’t buy you the car. It’s Dane’s, on lease, until you’ve saved enough to get one.” By this time he has boxed me in against the side of the car, my back against the warm metal as I look up and up into his eyes.