The Crush (81)

Neither Allie nor I stood as he left, and once he was clear of the room, she slumped in her chair.

I gaped at her. “Holy shit,” I breathed.

She exhaled a laugh. “Holy shit is right. That was a first for me.”

I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “You’re actually going to let him get away with that? I can’t stomach the thought that that’s the reason I can get what I want.”

Allie set her chin in her hand, studying me with a small smile. “You’d rather stay and have him take the fall for that, wouldn’t you?”

With a rough swallow, I thought of Adaline’s face. My sisters. My mom. My nieces. “Yes,” I said without hesitation.

She slid her hand over mine. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that was the only set of photos in my possession.”

My brow furrowed.

Her smile was devious. “My husband, however, has his own copies. And those will be going to the FBI—and the press—as soon as you sign the dotted line of whatever contract you accept.”

I sat back, mouth agape. But relief had my shoulders slumping, the iron knot in my stomach. “He’s not off the hook?”

“Hell no. Have you met me?”

I swiped a hand over my mouth, studying her with a newfound sense of awe. “No wonder you told me to trust you.”

“I know a thing or two about protective men who love the women in their life. They’d never want him to get away with it either.” Allie smiled. “Are you hungry? I’d be happy to have dinner with you, but if you’re ready to go home after this, I understand.”

“All I have waiting for me there is an empty house and SportsCenter,” I said. “But I’ll stay if you let me pay.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Two hours later, Allie’s driver dropped me off in front of my house, and before I left the car, I said my goodbyes, giving her my eternal thanks. Even though nothing was decided yet, and I still had to be patient to see what kind of offers might come in from someplace like Washington or Portland, I felt lighter than I had in months.

It was something, and I felt like the best part of my life was cueing up at the running block.

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my dress pants and looked up at the inky, bluish-black sky. More than anything, I wanted to call Adaline and tell her what happened. I grinned, striding toward the house, ready to do just that.

That was when she stood from the chair next to my front door.

Her dark hair was down around her shoulders, covering a worn Stanford T-shirt, her legs were bare underneath denim shorts. On her feet were white and gold sneakers.

I froze, hand settling immediately over my racing heart.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“You’re … here?” I said. Like an idiot. I took a step toward her, unable to believe what I was seeing.

After the night I’d just had, it was almost more than my brain could handle. And that was nothing on what my heart was doing.

“I’m here.” She walked down the step, studying me with soft eyes and a sweet smile. “You look very, very handsome in that suit.”

“You’re here. At my house.”

Adaline grinned, coming to a halt just in front of me. My hands shook from the effort it took not to touch her, but I wanted to be very, very clear about why she was there.

But she didn’t make me ask. She didn’t make me wonder. Without any idea of what had unfolded just a couple of hours earlier, Adaline slowly slid her hands over my stomach, under my jacket, and around my back, where she burrowed against my chest with a deep sigh.

I wrapped my arms around her back and buried my nose in her hair.

Adaline’s head lifted from my chest, and she cupped the side of my face. “I love you. And I don’t care what we have to do, I don’t want to love you from far away anymore.”

My forehead dropped to hers, and I exhaled with all the weight of the last six months behind it. The last six years, really.

I took her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, and led her inside.





Emmett



We only made it as far as my entryway, but we didn’t stop for the reasons I would’ve imagined.

It wasn’t tearing at each other’s clothes, or some irrepressible violent urge to take her against the wall or on the stairs or on the floor. Those were the urges that we’d allowed when our time together felt abbreviated.

And now, everything rolled out in front of us slowly. Her fingers trailed over mine, tickling the palm of my hand where we sat on the first landing of the stairs leading up to my bedroom. My back was against one wall, hers was on the other, her bare legs dangling over mine. I’d shed my jacket just inside the door, her dark eyes tracking my shirt-covered chest and arms as I tossed it over the bench by my front door.

As we sat on the floor and talked, I played gently with her fingers while she told me about her conversation with Tim on their back porch. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she didn’t cry.

“You are the least selfish person I’ve ever met, Adaline.” I kissed her knuckles, and she trailed her fingertip over my bottom lip. “I hate that you felt that way.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know that I ever thought about it, you know? He doesn’t take up a lot of my brain space every day. It was more like … when I had something truly pulling me away, it was the first time I’d ever put words to it.”