Chapter 11: Chapter 11

I don’t know what reaction I expected from Emma when I decided to sneak into the main house after getting ready, but it wasn’t the one I’m getting right now. She stares at me, her blonde eyebrows slightly drawn in on her forehead.

“I don’t remember inviting you inside,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. The movement brings my attention to the dress she’s wearing—and how it molds perfectly to her body. The hint of a smile on her painted lips tells me that she isn’t upset about finding me here.

“You took longer than an hour to get ready.” I shut the refrigerator doors, finding nothing useful in there.

“I told you I would,” she responds. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured instead of waiting alone at the guesthouse that I’d come here and make you some food to help with the hangover.” I point to the two coffees I have sitting on the counter. “I also made coffee. I wasn’t sure if you liked hot coffee or iced coffee, so I made both.”

Her eyes narrow on me as if she’s trying to figure out if I have ulterior motives for the coffee. I don’t—I just know when I used to be hungover almost every weekend that a coffee always helped. She doesn’t move, opting instead to just stare at me suspiciously.

“Do you not like coffee?” I question, the thought just now occurring to me that maybe coffee isn’t the answer to her hangover.

“I love coffee,” she answers, still not moving from her spot.

I keep my focus on her face, although the urge to let my eyes wander down her body is strong. The dress she chose for this party might be the death of me. She looks too fucking good. I already know that all of Jackson’s fraternity brothers are going to be dying to steal her attention, and as her fake boyfriend, it’ll be my duty to keep them away.

Letting out a long sigh, I pick both coffees up, careful not to spill the hot coffee that is filled to the brim of the mug. “Hot or cold?”

“Your personality? A little bit of both.”

My lips pull down into a frown. “I meant how you like your coffee.”

She smiles, clearly proud of her joke, as she makes her way to me. The closer she gets, the more the sweet scent of her perfume surrounds me. It smells like orange blossom and jasmine, reminding me of the different scents you’d find in my grandmother’s greenhouse growing up.

“You really made both, not knowing how I took my coffee?” Emma asks, stopping right in front of me as she focuses on the drinks in my hand.

I clear my throat, wondering why she’s looking at me like I went above and beyond just by making coffee. “I’ll drink anything,” I answer, trying to not make this a big deal. “I figured whichever one you didn’t want, I’d drink.” I’ve already had two cups of coffee today, so I definitely don’t need another, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Emma reaches for the iced coffee, her finger brushing against mine in the process. “I’ll take my caffeine any way I can get it,” she jokes. “IV is probably my preferred method, but after that, iced coffee is typically my go-to.”

“Do you want cream?” I ask.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Preston,” she scolds. “That sounded a little dirty.”

My ears heat. I didn’t mean for it to be dirty at all, but now my mind is going places it absolutely shouldn’t be going. I blink, trying to rid my memory of the way she said the word dirty. Turns out, her saying it sent very filthy thoughts to my head.

I swallow, trying to play it cool. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she gets to me more than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m known on the field—and to the world—as a stone-cold quarterback. No one can get to me, but she makes a dirty joke and I’m blushing like a child.

This is bad. But I don’t care—it’s not going to stop me from bringing her to my sister’s wedding party today and surely making things even worse. She’ll undoubtedly get me to blush more because of the way she doesn’t hold back with every thought that comes to her mind.

“Preston,” Emma calls, playfully hitting my arm.

I shake my head, focusing on her once again.

“I lost you there for a minute,” she teases, her lips wrapping around the glass straw in her coffee.

“Turns out I might need this coffee more than I thought,” I lie, carefully lifting the mug to my lips and blowing on the hot liquid for a second before taking a sip.

It’s quiet between us for a moment. We both look at one another, our eyes roaming the other’s face. I want to look away, to hide my face and hope she doesn’t see the slight color that is covering my skin because of her.

“Thank you, by the way.” Emma’s words break me from my thoughts.

“For what?”

“For the coffee. It’s much needed.”

I shrug. “It’s no big deal, really.”

Emma cocks her head to the side, watching me intently. “Small things matter, too. It’s still sweet you thought of me.”

A sarcastic laugh comes from deep in my throat. “No one’s ever called me sweet.”

It’s her turn to laugh. She laughs so effortlessly, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. “Oh, I didn’t call you sweet,” she corrects. “I just called the gesture sweet.”

I hold my free hand up in defense. “My mistake.”

Emma drops the conversation, instead taking a step away from me and looking behind me. “Did you decide to raid the pantry while looking for coffee?” she asks, pointing to the array of food lined up on the counter.

I let out a long exhale. “I wanted to make you some food to help cure the hangover, but it turns out you have nothing here to eat but stale Pop-Tarts and an abundance of boxes of noodles.”

“My flight got in late last night,” she tells me, picking up the box of Pop-Tarts and inspecting the expiration date. “I didn’t have time to get groceries.”

I nod, setting my coffee down on the kitchen island and tucking my hands into my pockets. “That’s right, you were too busy breaking and entering.”

Her free hand falls to her chest. “Low blow, Preston Rhodes. Plus, if I hadn’t broken into the party, you wouldn’t have a fake girlfriend preventing all your sister’s friends from flocking to you at the wedding.”

I drop the topic, surprisingly grateful she decided to crash the party. Despite her propensity to catch me off guard and even make me blush, I’ve enjoyed the little time I’ve spent with her so far. I’ve enjoyed it so much that I’m ready for more of it.

“Rhodes, huh?” I prod, changing the subject. “Seems to me you did some research instead of getting ready.”

She told me she was going to do so, and her beaming smile tells me she doesn’t care at all that I know about her looking me up, that her doing that is probably the reason we’re running late to this party.

“I had to know everything about you before I spent the next week being your girlfriend.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You can’t know everything about me from the internet.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Your family is in investment banking—I basically called that, by the way,” she adds with a smug look in her eyes.

“That’s a very safe guess,” I point out.

She waves at the air dismissively, not caring about my comment at all. “Your dad could’ve owned a law firm, been a brain surgeon, or even funded a start-up. Instead, he took over investment banking just like your grandfather and grandfather’s father and so forth.”

“You were right about my family.” I keep my tone soft, wanting her to know I’m not upset about her looking us up. It was nice when she didn’t know who I was, but she was bound to find out eventually.

Emma takes a drink of her coffee, but her eyes stay focused on me. I want to know what she’s thinking. Does she think differently of me now that she’s looked me up? It doesn’t seem like she does, but I can’t be completely sure.

“As much as I like to brag about myself, I don’t think I was right about you. You screamed investment banker…not one of the best quarterbacks in the NFL.” Her eyes drift to my arms. I’d opted for a short-sleeved polo and a pair of slacks, knowing that’s how Peyton would want me to dress. My mother will be furious that my tattoos are exposed, but I know Peyton won’t care as long as I’m dressed well. “I also wouldn’t have guessed you’d be hiding those tattoos either. You seemed so prim and proper. Kind of stiff.”

She laughs, and I don’t know if she’s laughing at herself or at my reaction to her comment. Either way, she covers her mouth with her hand in an adorable motion.

I rub the back of my neck, waiting for her laughter to die down before speaking. “I’m not stiff.”

She lifts a shoulder. “You kind of are, but it isn’t bad. It’s just your personality.”

She must take my silence as displeasure because she keeps talking, not waiting for me to respond. “Don’t worry, there’s a lot of endearing qualities about you that make you mysterious. The tattoos, the football, even though I could guess your family was very against that. The fact you did actually help fund a start-up that is now one of the leading apps in the world.”

“You don’t need to rattle off everything the internet told you,” I say, pushing off the counter and heading for the front door. I’m surprised Peyton hasn’t already called me asking where I’m at, but I know she’s probably busy entertaining guests. “We should probably get going,” I tell her as I reach the front door.

“What about my coffee?” Emma asks, sticking the straw in her mouth and beginning to suck. My own coffee is abandoned on the kitchen counter, but I didn’t need the caffeine to begin with. I’ll clean it up when we get back from the party.

“You can bring it in the car,” I tell her, opening the front door. I want her to be comfortable and not rush to drink her coffee.

Surprising me, Emma follows without any arguments. She grabs a purse I hadn’t noticed she’d placed on the counter and follows me out the front door—her lips still wrapped around that damn straw as she sucks down her coffee.

“You don’t have to drink it all before we get in the car.” I stand behind her, watching her type in the code to lock the house.

She turns, looking at me and holding up her near empty cup. “My aunt knew nothing about cars, so I know nothing about cars, but I know enough to know my iced coffee doesn’t belong in a car that nice.”

I’m quiet for a moment, fighting the urge to ask more about how she grew up. It’s the second time she’s mentioned it being just her and her aunt, and I want to know more about that. No matter how badly I want to ask for more details, I keep my mouth shut. If she wants to tell me, she will. It’s clear she’s very comfortable sharing at least some details about her life. Until then, I’ll be left wondering.

“I would’ve let you drink it in the car,” I note, walking to the passenger side and opening the door for her.

She gives me a warm smile. I like the way she’s wearing her hair today, all of it pulled away from her face so I can see every radiant inch of it. “I know. But you got all tense when you said to bring it in the car—more tense than you already are.”

“So now you can read my body language?” I shut the door behind her, wanting to fasten her seat belt for her again to make sure it’s done properly but knowing she’s in far better shape this afternoon than she was early this morning. If I tried to do it now, it might just make me look like a control freak. Which I kind of am, but she doesn’t need to know that. It’ll just give her more ammunition to tease me.

Emma waits to respond until I slide into the driver’s seat. She leans back in her seat, tilting her face to the sun with a wide smile. “When your body language is that obvious, yes, I can read it,” Emma finally answers. She keeps her eyes shut as she lets the sunshine beat down on her skin.

“I’ll play more coy next time,” I say, making an attempt at a joke.

It must work because she laughs. “Or you could just let me figure you out, Preston Rhodes.”

I shift the car into drive and pull out of the driveway, mulling her words over for a minute.

“We’ll have to see about that, rebel.”