Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)(30)

Sexy. Sexual.

Like I am the one at the helm of my own experience. Like I can reach for whatever it is that makes me feel good, without shame or embarrassment. Beau never made me feel like that. Sex with him was good, but always on his terms. I haven’t even touched a man since, not including that kiss, and I feel like everything has changed.

I just didn’t realize that it was showing on the outside too.

“Hey, change is good,” I say, tilting my head toward her with a smile.

“Change is scary,” she replies, staring at her shoes.

My heart drops. “Oh, little Smurf.” I wrap my arms around her, kissing her on the top of the head. I know what she’s thinking, that our dad left because he couldn’t handle change. That her whole life is changing every day, and the last person she wants to lose is me.

But this change in me isn’t scary, not to me. It’s exciting. Because I feel like I’m on the brink of something huge, and I can’t wait to see what it is.





RULE #14: WHEN IN DOUBT, DANCE.





Charlie





Emerson: I will pick you up at eight.

Charlie: Sounds good. Thanks.





I got ready too early. Maybe I was just excited or eager or something, but I’ve been standing outside my mother’s house in a shimmery sapphire and gold floor-length gown since seven-forty-five. My mom and I got a manicure together and Sophie helped me curl my hair. I don’t remember the last time I ever got so dressed up, and I don’t understand why my stomach is being assaulted with butterflies.

But when his car pulls up, his windows are too tinted to see his face. I’m a little surprised that he’s driving. I thought millionaire business owners were chauffeured around by bald, beefy drivers in black suits, or maybe I’ve been reading too many of Sophie’s books.

When the door opens, and he steps out, walking around the car to open my door for me, I nearly lose my breath. Emerson always looks handsome, but in that satin blue suit, he looks so good it hurts my eyes. His dark brown hair is slicked back, and his beard has been trimmed to perfection.

I keep forgetting he’s old enough to be my dad, especially when he looks that good.

His eyes seem to linger on me as long as mine linger on him.

“Charlotte,” he says quietly, approaching me.

“Hi,” I stammer awkwardly.

“You look…so beautiful.”

There is something about his tone, the way he trips over his words and adds so in there as if saying I simply look beautiful isn’t enough. It tells me he’s not just dishing out compliments to be polite. He looks almost shaken as his eyes rake over my body.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

Then his gaze casts upward to my house and back to me.

“My mom’s on the night shift and Sophie’s at a sleepover, or else I’d introduce you to my family.”

“You have a nice home,” he replies, and I giggle at him. It’s a thirty-year-old split-level. The grass needs mowing and I can see the smudgy windows from here. Still, it’s nice to hear him call it lovely because it is lovely to me. Although it’s not nearly as fancy as his.

“Actually, I live in the guest house in the back.” I point to the side gate I use to get to the casita next to the pool. It was a big deal when we bought the house, and I’m pretty sure my dad thought he was pretty hot shit because his house came with a pool house.

“Ready?” He opens the passenger door for me and ushers me inside.

The moment we’re alone in the car, I get a whiff of his cologne, headier than his usual scent.

He seems tense as we drive, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. “Nervous?” I ask.

Emerson handles stress surprisingly well. He’s been busy these past few weeks, but he hasn’t shown an ounce of anxiety about the club opening.

“About the opening?”

“Yeah.”

“Not really. I have a good team. They’ve handled everything well.”

“You’re good at delegating,” I reply, and the compliment seems to ease some of his nerves. But if he’s not worried about the opening, what’s his problem?

We make small talk during the rest of the drive, and as we pull up to the valet, there’s not a soul outside except for two parking attendants waiting for us. One of them opens the door for me, and I wait for Emerson to round the car to stand next to me. He sticks his elbow out, and I glance up at him nervously before looping my arm through his.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” I say.

“Protect me?” That wrinkle is back between his brows but so is his smile.

“From the ladies. That’s what I’m here for, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” Then he leans down until his mouth brushes the lobe of my ear. “I thought you were here as my date.”

My lips part and I gaze back up at him. There hasn’t been another incident between us since the foot rub a couple weeks ago, and I’ll admit, it’s been excruciating. Every day I come into work hoping he might brush his hand against my lower back or lean in close enough while reading over my shoulder that I can feel his breath on my neck. My mild curiosity and subtle crush has turned into full-blown infatuation, and I’ve been looking forward to tonight for weeks.