Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(58)

“What are you smiling about?” my mom asks as she brings me a white plastic cup filled with soda.

“Seeing her smile makes me happy,” I say, nodding toward Sophie.

“Yeah, me too.” She turns toward me. “You know…seeing you smile makes me happy too.”

I turn my attention toward my mother. “Of course it does. What’s your point?”

“My point is…you’ve been smiling a lot lately.”

I try to act casual, brush it off. “Well, things are good. My job pays well, Sophie is doing well. You seem less stressed.”

“Uh-huh,” she replies over the brim of her cup.

“What are you getting at?”

“Are you sure there’s not someone…”

“Mom! I literally go to work and come home. Where would I even meet a guy?”

She’s laughing with a sly smile as she tries to hide her face from me. “I’m just sayin’. You have the look of a girl who’s been—”

“I am begging you not to finish that sentence.”

“I’m an ER nurse, Charlie. You think a little sex talk makes me squeamish?”

“Jesus.” I groan, hiding my face in my hands.

While I’m trying to recover from the mortification of my mother telling me I look like I’ve been fucked well, she chimes in with, “Men like that don’t come into the rink often.”

“What?” I ask, lifting my face. My eyes scan the room and my heart skitters to a stop in my chest when I spot Emerson-fucking-Grant waltzing across the skating rink like it’s not the most bizarre thing in the world. “What the—”

For some reason, I duck behind the counter. Shortly after dropping to my knees, I realize hiding was a stupid idea.

“What are you doing? Do you know him?”

If I stay hidden, maybe he’ll leave. Why is he here? It was a big step even telling him about my sister’s party. I sure as hell am not ready for him to meet them! And what about Sophie?

“He’s asking around for you,” my mom adds. “Your aunt Shelley just pointed this way.”

Fuck. Fuck. Act natural, Charlie.

When I stand up, I try to appear casual, but his eyes are immediately on my face. Naturally, in his gaze, I delight in the attention. It’s like sitting under a sun lamp, absorbing the warmth. His mouth quirks up in a small grin.

“Well, hello there,” he says in a casual tone I haven’t ever heard from him.

“Hi,” I stammer awkwardly.

My mom clears her throat, stuck in the crossfire of our locked gazes.

“Oh, Emerson, this is my mom, Gwen. Mom, this is…my boss…Emerson.”

She puts out her hand with an eager smile. “Nice to meet you!”

“The pleasure is mine, Gwen.”

My mother enjoys another long moment of gazing up at Emerson like he’s a national landmark.

Finally, she glances back at me. “I’m going to see if Sophie needs anything,” she says, quickly removing herself from our conversation.

Once she’s out of earshot, I level my glare at Emerson. “What on earth are you doing here?”

He laughs, like he knew this would get me all flustered. Like he likes seeing me rattled. “You said three o’clock. I know I wasn’t invited, but I wanted to see you in your element.”

Okay, that’s really sweet. Fuck, why is he being so sweet? We had a deal: keep it secret and just have our fun when we can. But now he’s met my mother, and he looks so freaking good in that T-shirt and those jeans.

I lean over the lacquered counter and bring my face close to his. “Okay, listen!”

He’s still wearing a smug grin, and I want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“I’m Charlie here, not Charlotte, okay? No ‘yes, Sirs’ or secretary bit here.”

“Of course,” he laughs.

It’s ironic to me, being the one to boss Emerson Grant around, but I guess we’re already so out of our element here that anything goes. And he seems to think it’s funny too. Then his gaze falls on my lips. I quickly hold up a finger.

“And none of that. You’re my boss.”

“Do they know…”

“You’re Beau’s dad? No, but I’m sure they’ll find out eventually.”

His face keeps that light, amused expression with a hint of a smile, and it’s so weird to me. A far cry from the brooding, serious boss I see every day, but I sort of like it. I’ve never really seen this side of Emerson, and it feels like just another part of him I get to myself.

“So, let me meet this birthday girl,” he adds, tapping the countertop. A small sense of worry fills my gut. I trust Emerson, but what if he’s not perfect with her? I have an innate sense of protectiveness over Sophie, but also a fear that if he screws this up, I won’t be able to look at him the same way.

He turns and faces the rink where Sophie and her friends have taken to doing laps around the pi?ata.

“Let me guess,” he says. “The one with the blue hair?”

I chuckle. “Yep.” I wave at her when she spots us watching, her eyes instantly focus on Emerson. She doesn’t give him the same pensive expression she always gave Beau. Instead, she skates over and rolls right up to the low wall with that bright, freckle-faced smile.