improve.”
“True, but work with what you got. Don’t go trying to redefine everything you are. You’re an awesome person. If you change too much, people will miss the real Emma and she’s something great.”
She turned and their eyes locked. Something tightened low in his gut as everything inside of him insisted he look away, but he was trapped there, under her close, compelling stare. The breeze passed overhead, intensifying the scent of grass and her delicately perfumed hair. She always smelled so clean, like cotton and sunshine.
“Are you hungry?” she whispered, but her eyes seemed to be saying something different.
He swallowed. “Yeah. I could eat.”
“We should eat.”
The sudden urge to lean close and take a nibble of her plump lower lip took hold of him and he jolted upright, his body sending all sorts of haywire signals to his lower regions. Shit.
Where the hell were these urges coming from? Rubbing his face roughly with his palms, he groaned and thought of the unsexiest place to get food in the city. “Wanna go to Flushing and grab some Chinese? They sell gizzards on sticks.”
“Queens?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. But I’m not eating gizzard.” She sat up and the dog lifted her head. “We should probably take Marla back to the loft first. She’s tired.”
Nodding, he stood and busied himself with gathering the blanket and dog toys. Emma fumbled with getting her shoes on and he stilled, transfixed by her pudgy little toes.
Dear God, he was chubbing up—chubbing up over Emma—which was abso-freaking-lutely not okay. Turning away, he stuffed anything and everything into their bag.
As soon as he had their stuff packed he started walking at a clipped pace toward home.
“Riley, wait up. I have shorter legs than you.”
He shut his eyes as his mind filled with images of her little, curvy legs. Christ, even the thought of her deformed baby toe was doing things to him.
“I have to use the bathroom,” he lied, deciding that was the best excuse for walking ahead of her.
“Are you sick?”
His mind was definitely playing sick tricks on him at the moment. “Yes. Sick.”
“Okay, well, you go. Marla and I will catch up,” she yelled from several yards behind.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. The entire way home he jockeyed his way through crowds of pedestrians and practically sprinted over crosswalks and through alleyways. What the hell was wrong with him?
It was like a switch was flipped and he could no longer separate Emma his friend from Emma the delicious little cupcake he wanted to nibble. When he made it to the loft he tossed the bag of dog toys on the floor and went to the bathroom.
Staring at his sweaty reflection, he grit his teeth. “Knock it off.”
His breathing gradually slowed as he stared at himself, degrading every baser instinct he possessed until the storm finally settled and he was back to normal. Then the front door opened.
“Riley?”
His gaze dropped to his jeans. “Damn it,” he hissed. “In the bathroom.” He quickly locked the door.
The dog’s nails scrabbled along the wood floor. He couldn’t go out there like this. Emma tapped on the door. “Do you need anything?”
His eyes closed as his head fell back and he silently groaned. “No. I’m good.”
“You’re sure? I have antacids and some stuff for cramps.”
He laughed without humor. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” His dick just needed to chill.
“How about some tea?” That voice... “I can put some ginger in it—”
“I’m okay, Emma! Just...give me a minute. Please.” He shouldn’t have snapped.
“Okay. I’m right here if you need anything.”
Did she have to be so damn nice? Maybe a cold shower would help. Swallowing, he let out a long breath and turned on the water. After stripping off his clothes he climbed under the icy spray and gasped. “Fuck, that’s cold!”
He adjusted the taps, unable to withstand torture below a lukewarm seventy degrees, and glowered
“True, but work with what you got. Don’t go trying to redefine everything you are. You’re an awesome person. If you change too much, people will miss the real Emma and she’s something great.”
She turned and their eyes locked. Something tightened low in his gut as everything inside of him insisted he look away, but he was trapped there, under her close, compelling stare. The breeze passed overhead, intensifying the scent of grass and her delicately perfumed hair. She always smelled so clean, like cotton and sunshine.
“Are you hungry?” she whispered, but her eyes seemed to be saying something different.
He swallowed. “Yeah. I could eat.”
“We should eat.”
The sudden urge to lean close and take a nibble of her plump lower lip took hold of him and he jolted upright, his body sending all sorts of haywire signals to his lower regions. Shit.
Where the hell were these urges coming from? Rubbing his face roughly with his palms, he groaned and thought of the unsexiest place to get food in the city. “Wanna go to Flushing and grab some Chinese? They sell gizzards on sticks.”
“Queens?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. But I’m not eating gizzard.” She sat up and the dog lifted her head. “We should probably take Marla back to the loft first. She’s tired.”
Nodding, he stood and busied himself with gathering the blanket and dog toys. Emma fumbled with getting her shoes on and he stilled, transfixed by her pudgy little toes.
Dear God, he was chubbing up—chubbing up over Emma—which was abso-freaking-lutely not okay. Turning away, he stuffed anything and everything into their bag.
As soon as he had their stuff packed he started walking at a clipped pace toward home.
“Riley, wait up. I have shorter legs than you.”
He shut his eyes as his mind filled with images of her little, curvy legs. Christ, even the thought of her deformed baby toe was doing things to him.
“I have to use the bathroom,” he lied, deciding that was the best excuse for walking ahead of her.
“Are you sick?”
His mind was definitely playing sick tricks on him at the moment. “Yes. Sick.”
“Okay, well, you go. Marla and I will catch up,” she yelled from several yards behind.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. The entire way home he jockeyed his way through crowds of pedestrians and practically sprinted over crosswalks and through alleyways. What the hell was wrong with him?
It was like a switch was flipped and he could no longer separate Emma his friend from Emma the delicious little cupcake he wanted to nibble. When he made it to the loft he tossed the bag of dog toys on the floor and went to the bathroom.
Staring at his sweaty reflection, he grit his teeth. “Knock it off.”
His breathing gradually slowed as he stared at himself, degrading every baser instinct he possessed until the storm finally settled and he was back to normal. Then the front door opened.
“Riley?”
His gaze dropped to his jeans. “Damn it,” he hissed. “In the bathroom.” He quickly locked the door.
The dog’s nails scrabbled along the wood floor. He couldn’t go out there like this. Emma tapped on the door. “Do you need anything?”
His eyes closed as his head fell back and he silently groaned. “No. I’m good.”
“You’re sure? I have antacids and some stuff for cramps.”
He laughed without humor. “No, I think I’ll be okay.” His dick just needed to chill.
“How about some tea?” That voice... “I can put some ginger in it—”
“I’m okay, Emma! Just...give me a minute. Please.” He shouldn’t have snapped.
“Okay. I’m right here if you need anything.”
Did she have to be so damn nice? Maybe a cold shower would help. Swallowing, he let out a long breath and turned on the water. After stripping off his clothes he climbed under the icy spray and gasped. “Fuck, that’s cold!”
He adjusted the taps, unable to withstand torture below a lukewarm seventy degrees, and glowered
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