The Crush (15)

“I have my car here,” I told him. “But thank you.”

Emmett made a quiet sound that I couldn’t decipher, but I sensed frustration. “Why did you run?” he asked quietly. “I know you didn’t expect me, but … I thought maybe you’d be a little happy to see me after five years.”

My head dropped onto my folded arms, and I took a deep breath. It was a good thing I couldn’t see that face of his.

“Buckle up, Ward, because I’m about to make things awkward,” I said.

He exhaled a laugh. “Okay.”

“Remember when I came to you the night before the draft? Like … what was I thinking, right? You were standing on the edge of this giant, massive, life-changing opportunity, and I thought that was a really great time to tell you that I thought I was falling in love with you.” I swallowed past the lump creeping up my throat. “In my head, it was going to be this huge romantic moment, you know? You’d tell me that you’d always felt something too, and we’d kiss and maybe you’d bang me senseless against the door or something, I don’t know.”

Emmett exhaled my name, and I pinched my eyes shut.

I’m telling you, it was entirely possible to still feel the mortification like it happened yesterday.

“I know it was horrible timing,” I said. “I know why you told me I was …that it wasn’t like that for us. You had bigger things on your plate than starting a relationship, and I shouldn’t have taken my shot when I did.”

“I was such an asshole,” he said.

“No, you weren’t,” I insisted. “I was never angry with you. Not then, and not now.”

“And tonight?” His voice was rough. Low like the way he’d spoken while we danced.

Even though I didn’t want to admit this, where the entire evening had touched on some unseen bruise that I wasn’t aware of, the words came easily. I owed him this truth because running had been the coward’s way out.

“It felt like a joke, I guess. Not a cruel one, or anything you’d do to hurt me. More like some cosmic prank—the one guy I fantasized about for so many years was standing in front of me, and I didn’t even recognize him.” My cheeks were hot again. “I ran because I felt stupid, Emmett. In my head, something big and romantic and incredible was happening, and then you took the mask off, and I realized it’s just … a guy I used to like, dancing with a great friend, who he doesn’t see like that.”

“I never wanted to make you feel that way,” he said. The intensity in his voice had that same edge from earlier that pulled goose bumps up my arms and sent a pleasing tremor down my spine. “Adaline—”

“It’s okay, I know,” I told him. “And it’s good we’re getting this out of the way before this weekend.”

I rubbed furiously at my little Emmett bumps on my arms. They needed to stop. They needed to go away.

No bumps.

No shivering. I glanced down at the front of my pajamas. My impressive, four-figure chest had perked right up at the sound of him saying my name.

“Get it out of the way?” he asked.

I rubbed my forehead. “This awkward, I used to have feelings for you thing. I don’t anymore, you know?” Liar, liar panties on fire. An hour earlier, I was ready to let him pull me into a coat closet as long as it had a sturdy lock. “We were young, and for a long time, I thought everything in my life was pointing in your direction. But … it wasn’t. Our timing wasn’t right. And that’s okay.”

Emmett was quiet on the other end, and I winced at how much tension was strung tight through one simple phone call.

“I don’t really know you anymore,” I continued quietly. “I mean, I do. But I don’t. You’ve been through a lot in the past five years, and I hope you know how proud everyone is.”

“You’ve been through a lot too.”

My laugh was short and dry and loaded. What a very true statement. Four years of my life to a man who never had any intention of putting me as a priority in his life. Four years of standing by his side, thinking that eventually, we’d marry, only to hear on SportsCenter that he’d taken a landmark contract in New York for the next five years. Somewhere he’d be moving alone.

I meant to tell you first, he said, with dumbass tears in his stupid blue eyes. This is too big for me to turn down. But I love you, I hope you know that. I just don’t know if I’m in love with you.

I shook my head, freeing it of that particular memory. “Yeah, we could trade some stories, that’s for sure.”

“Then let’s do that,” he said, voice sure and steady.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This weekend. Trade stories with me, Adaline Wilder. I want to hear if you’ll tell me.”

I fought a wave of nostalgia, something that tugged warm and sure at my heart. He had such a way about him that it was impossible to believe that there weren’t a thousand women in Miami who hadn’t tried to tie him down.

Figuratively and literally.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

The satisfying sound he made would echo in my fricken ears all night. I glared down at my arms.

No Emmett bumps allowed.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “You’re not gonna bail on me?”