Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(52)

“Anyhow, I think I’ll turn in,” Emma says, faking a yawn. “That speech, it’s always hard, ya know…” I roll my eyes at her sad performance, then run my hand down Lindsey’s arm to find her fingers waiting to tug my hand and body to her bed.

“Yeah, us too,” Lindsey says at the feel of my grip. I follow her down the hall as we leave Emma alone in the kitchen behind us. I don’t care that she’s alone. I don’t care that she knows where I’m going, and I don’t care that she’s met some guy who wants to buy her coffee.

I don’t care about Emma Burke.

I step into Lindsey’s room, and she pauses at the doorway, hanging out of it to look down the hallway to her friend. That’s guilt she’s feeling. She needs to let that go.

“She’s okay,” I say, coming up behind her, breathing into her, reminding her. My fingers find her stomach, and I tug her shirt from her jeans and let my hand find her bare skin.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says, part of her giving into me, but part of her still out there in the hallway. I can tell. I kiss her neck, moving my hand through her hair, wrapping it around my fingers. She sighs, letting her weight fall into me. I turn her to face me and lift her into my arms, my hands grabbing her ass as I walk us backward. We just need to get to her bed. She’ll forget everything there.

I’ll forget everything there.

“Goodnight.”

Lindsey’s door is still open; Emma pauses on the other side of the hall and speaks, her profile outlined by the faint light spilling from her room, which means she can see just as much of us. I knew the door was open; I wanted her to see. I timed that kiss just right. I hoped she’d walk by, but another piece of me wants to take that last kiss back.

Lindsey’s mouth tightens up and eventually falls away from mine.

“Goodnight,” she says back to her friend, her forehead sliding along my shoulder until her face is tucked against my chest.

Fuck, I’m an *.

“I’m sorry.”

Lindsey is apologizing to me. The irony.

“It’s fine…really,” I say, looking over her form as Emma’s door closes behind her. Emma never looks back again. She’s seen enough. Maybe I have, too.

“Something’s with her, tonight. I think it was the speech. I…I probably should have talked to her more, or maybe gone with her. Gah…I’m so sorry, I just feel bad now. You probably think I’m nuts.” Lindsey looks up at me with her mouth caught between an apology and a frown—waiting for me to tell her it’s okay. I pull her in against me for a hug, mostly because I can’t handle looking in her eyes anymore. I don’t like the reflection in them.

“You know what? I’m gonna go ahead and go,” I say, my lips tight now, too. I’m not looking at Lindsey though. I’m looking beyond her. I realize it a little late, and she catches me. When my eyes drift back down to hers, there’s a hint of suspicion in them. “Why don’t you and your roommate have a night—do that girl-talk thing, huh?”

Her misgivings about my motivation seem to melt, and her hands squeeze my arms in thanks. The puppy-dog grin she looks up at me with seals it. I hug her again, but my eyes stay on the shut door across the hallway.

Lindsey follows me through their kitchen and living room, where I grab my gear and pull it back up on my shoulder, leaving this apartment one more time without satisfaction.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says as I back out of her door.

I hold up a few fingers and start my steps toward the elevator bank, but remember that tomorrow’s Sunday, and Harley told me to keep my evening open in case he could line something up. I could really use the stars to align for a fight—financially and emotionally—I take a few quick paces back to her door, catching it before she closes it completely.

“You know what? Actually, I’ve got some family things tomorrow, and I’m not sure how late I’m going to be. I’ll just text you when I get home?” She looks down, and I can tell she’s trying to decide if she wants to believe the line of bullshit I’m giving her. Part of me wants her to call me on it, and part of me also thinks maybe that’s what I need—a good fight to distract me, to let me feel something other than angry and alone.

“Sure,” she says. It’s a pained response, but for now, I’ll take it. I’m tired; I’m also not in the mood for a breakup. And a breakup would mean no more Emma…and I’m not so sure I’m ready for that either.

“Great,” I smile, leaning in to kiss her lips lightly, just to leave her feeling something better than how I’m sure my blow-off just did. I really do have family shit to deal with tomorrow; I really only stretched the truth some.

The doorman is starting to recognize me, and he smiles and waves as I pass by this time. It’s the hockey gear, and my Tech sweatshirt and hat. It works on girls and doormen, it seems.

As long as everything felt like it took at Lindsey and Emma’s, I end up walking through my apartment door forty-five minutes behind Trent. He didn’t go to the bar, and I have a strange feeling that he was waiting for me—probably sitting here stewing in his own self-righteousness and whatever-the-f*ck he thinks he has all figured out. He’s sitting on the couch, his feet up, beer in his hand, and the TV on a replay of some NASCAR race. He hates racing, so I know he’s just posturing.