Breathe Out (Just Breathe, #2)(133)

“What is it?” I ask, rendered clueless by the gift.

“They’re keys,” he chuckles.

“Obviously,” I retort. “Why are you giving me keys?”

“They’re to my place,” he reveals. “This one is for the penthouse in California and this one is for here.”

“What?!” I gasp. “No . . . No. No. No.” My body moves away from him as I search the room for my clothes.

“What’s wrong?” Joe checks nervously. “They’re just keys.”

“They aren’t just keys, Joe,” I snap.

“Why are you upset,” Joe asks a little shocked.

“I don’t want keys to your place . . . your places,” I say sternly, keeping my voice low to not wake Jimmy and Allen.

“Why not? We’ve been spending the night at each other’s places for a while now,” he presents.

“So?” I reply.

“So, this just makes sense,” he explains.

“No, it doesn’t. It’s just sex,” I remind.

“Emma, seriously?!” he counters.

“What?”

“We’ve been having sex for five months,” he comments.

“So?” I reply, still panicking.

“So, it’s clearly more than just sex,” he contends.

“No,” I object.

“I haven’t been with anyone else and you’ve only been with Maggie on occasion, which technically doesn’t count,” he states calmly.

“Maggie counts,” I argue, shrugging on my sweater, avoiding the real reason why I’m freaking out.

“You know what I mean, Emma.”

“I need to go,” I announce, searching for my boots and purse.

“Emma,” Joe calls, moving toward me only wearing his underwear and a shirt.

I grab my purse and head to the front door, remembering that my boots are in the closet.

“Emma,” Joe whispers. “Emma, talk to me.” He tries to block me from getting my last boot. “Please, just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I reply, keeping my voice as low as I can while expressing my discomfort. My hand snatches the boot from him and I get it on.

“Emma,” Joe calls, pulling me toward him by my upper arm.

My head turns away, not wanting and unable to look him in the eye.

“Please, Emma,” Joe begs.

With all the strength I can gather, I repeat, “I need to go.” I slip out from his grasp and exit his home. Pressing the elevator door repeatedly as my leg shakes impatiently.

“Emma,” Joe calls when my finger presses the button a second time. He’s standing right behind me with one of his hands on my hip. “Emma, come back inside so we can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I reply, irritated that the elevator has yet to arrive.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” he presents, moving to my left and into my line of sight. “I understand why you’re freaking out.”

My gaze darts to him, but words fail to form in my brain for my mouth to speak. He wants more, he wants a relationship and this is the final rule to my list that hasn’t been broken — that can’t be broken.

“Please,” Joe begs, reaching for my face.

I yank away from his hand and spring inside the elevator before the doors are all the way open. Joe follows me, placing himself between me and the door. My purse drops to the floor when Joe’s body is pressed against mine, holding me firmly against the wall as our mouths dance together. It takes several heated kisses for my brain to gain control and turn my head to the side and for my hands to let go of him.

“Emma,” Joe calls sweetly.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I return calmly and probably with a bit of coldness. “You want more and I don’t.”

“No,” he answers. “Okay, yes. I want more, but . . . .” Joe stops mid-sentence.

I watch him careful, expecting him to finish, but he doesn’t. I’m torn between wanting to know what he was going to say and not wanting to know.

After what feels like a long time of us just standing and staring at each other, I prompt, “And . . . ?”

“And,” he huffs. “I think, even though you’re scared, that you want more too.”

My lungs cease to move as my brain and body process his words. Unable to speak as I start to feel lightheaded, my head shakes in opposition. Joe leans closer, cautiously brushing his lips on mine. My nose sucks in a large breath of air when his tongue reaches in. My body abandon’s my brain, wrapping my arms around his neck, needing to feel his body. Joe spins us and suddenly the door opens. I let go, expecting to see the guards in the lobby. He tries to guide me out the door by my arm, but just as I’m at the edge, my hand snaps back — I press the button that makes the doors close, giving me enough time to get away.


The elevator opens to the lobby and I rush past the guards at the desk, heading for the exit. Another gentleman holds the door for me and I put on my jacket once the steps to the street are at my feet. Taylor is waiting at the back right door of the car — he knew I was coming when I texted after getting away from Joe. Taylor steps to the side, opening the door to let me in.