Stepbrother Billionaire(23)

Emerson steers the Chevy out of the school parking lot, and for a moment it seems that we’re totally in the clear. That is, until the security guard at the front gates looks up from his crossword puzzle with a scowl.

“You might want to duck down in your seat a little,” Emerson tells me.

I obey, without daring to ask why. The security guard lumbers out of his hutch, signaling for us to stop. Emerson eases up on the gas as we approach, rolling toward the gates. But just as we’re coming up on the school guard, my reckless companion floors it. With a rabid whirr of the engine, we fly past the baffled guard and swing out onto the main road out of town. I swallow down a terrified yelp as I watch our school shrink behind us in the rearview mirror.

“Desperate times, right?” Emerson laughs, slapping the steering wheel with his palms.

“I don’t understand why you’re so desperate to get to some stupid house party,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “Even if it is in honor of your birthday.”

Emerson raises an eyebrow at me, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Holy shit, Abby,” he crows, laughing at my surly expression. “You are, hands down, the most gullible person on the planet. Did you seriously think—?”

“What?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter, “Did I think what?”

“Did you seriously think I was going to blow off what we planned for some stupid birthday party? Damn. I must be a better liar than I thought,” he chuckles, pulling out a cigarette.

My heart inflates like a helium balloon as I catch his drift. “You mean,” I breathe, “We’re still on? For...?”

“Of course we’re still on,” he says, glancing my way. “You think I’d actually miss the chance to follow through on my promise to you? You must be out of your damn mind, lady.”

“But then why—? What—?” I stammer, smiling despite myself.

“I had to feed Bob and Deb that house party bullshit,” he explains, turning off onto the highway ramp. “They may be the two most oblivious, self-centered people on the continent, but even they would have been suspicious if their teenage son and daughter had announced they were going off on a romantic seaside retreat together.”

“You know something Sawyer,” I say, beaming at his brilliance, “You’re a lot smarter than you look.”

“Wish I could say the same for you,” he scoffs playfully. “I can’t believe you fell for that whole thing.”

“Guess my heart is just too pure and wholesome for my own good,” I kid, fluttering my eyelashes daintily.

“Or you’re just gullible as hell,” Emerson replies, cranking up the radio and laying on the speed as we soar along the highway.

In a matter of minutes, my heart has been entirely mended. Emerson had no intention of abandoning me after all, and certainly didn’t run off and spread my secrets around the school behind my back. But as happy as I am to be back on track with him, a little part of me is worried about the intensity of my reaction to the mere idea of losing him. His smallest action has the power to send me soaring to new heights of bliss or drag me down to devastating lows. I’ve never intentionally let someone hold that much sway over my heart and mind. Never cared so much for someone to the point of trusting them so fully.

I have every reason to think that I can trust Emerson not to hurt me. But clearly, I’m having trouble putting any weight on that faith in him. I can’t go into this half-heartedly. If I make the choice to trust him, be vulnerable and open with him, then I’ve got to charge full speed ahead. The quickest way to ruin this thing we’ve got is to hold back from each other. We both risked a lot even telling each other how we feel. We’ve come so close to breaking through each others’ iron-clad defenses. It’s time to lower the walls once and for all.

As we race along in Emerson’s Chevy, I reach for his hand. Without missing a beat, he gives my hand a squeeze, letting me know that I’m safe and sound with him. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve known that all along.

And that might be the scariest part of this whole thing.





Chapter Seven





At least one part of Emerson’s story was true—we are, in fact, spending the weekend at the beach. Only, instead of shacking up with a bunch of other kids in someone’s rich parents’ beach house, we’re staying in a tiny motel in a room of our own. I tease Emerson as we pull up to the place.

“A motel? Seriously?” I smile, grabbing my backpack. “Bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

“I can set up a tent on the beach if you’d rather,” he shoots back, “But this place has HBO. So I hope you won’t mind if I don’t join you.”

We get our keys from the front office, only drawing a slightly suspicious look from the man behind the desk. But hey, Emerson’s eighteen now, and has the ID to prove it. That’ll take a little getting used to—the whole being able to do whatever we please thing. It may not be a huge deal, booking a motel room of our own, but it’s cool all the same. It’s a taste of adult independence, and damn is it thrilling.

Though not nearly as thrilling as what’s set to go down in said motel room, that’s for damn sure.

We find our room at the end of a long line of doors. The motel sits right on the edge of the dunes overlooking the Long Island Sound. The spring air is just cool enough to be refreshing, and the sun is just beginning to set over the water. Emerson pushes open our door, and we step over the threshold together.