Unbreakable(16)

Jackson keeps one arm firmly around Emmy as they move from one social circle to the next. Emmy’s always been great with people, so she fits in with this group easily. She’s also gotten more than her share of appreciative glances from some of the guys at the party. Not that I blame them.

She’s talking with a short, blonde-haired guy when I see Jackson catch the eye of one of his friends. Jackson nods toward Emmy and gives his friend the universal hand signal to indicate he’s getting a hand-job later tonight.

I narrow my gaze. Oh, hell no. Not in a million f*cking years am I going to let that happen. She’s tipsy and can’t consent. I didn’t think it was possible for this guy’s stock to tumble further, but this seals the deal.

He leans forward and whispers something in Emmy’s ear. When his hand drops down just above her ass, I’ve seen enough. I excuse myself from Brooke and her friends and quickly make my way over to Emmy.

“Em?”

She turns and gives me a tight smile. “Hey, Will.”

“Listen, I have something I want to show you back at the house. I set it up after you left. Want to take off?”

Emmy frowns. “Oh. Right now?”

“C’mon, Maverick. You guys can’t leave now. The party’s just getting started,” Jackson says. He shoots me a glare and takes a long swig of his beer.

I give zero f*cks about his opinion, so I ignore him and concentrate on Emmy. “Yeah, now. I promise you’ll love it.” I hold out my hand to her, and to my relief, she reaches for it automatically. This pisses Jackson right off.

“C’mon Sunshine, it’s way too early to leave,” Jackson cajoles. “Besides, I thought we were going for a walk together.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Alone.”

Hearing my nickname for Emmy come out of his mouth infuriates me. It takes every ounce of my restraint not to tell this f*cker he can chew glass.

“I’m sorry. We’ll go another time,” she assures him.

“Are we at least still on for breakfast tomorrow?” he asks, irritation lacing his voice.

“Of course,” she murmurs. “I’ll see you around ten.”

He gives me a smug look, then bends over to kiss her cheek. “Good. I’m really looking forward to it. We need to be alone, you know?”

The look he gives me now is one of open hostility. He’s staked his claim, and he expects me to back off.

He can go f*ck himself.

I narrow my eyes. “C’mon Em. Let’s get going.” I tug her gently toward the side of the house and down the stone walkway.

Once we’re back out on the dirt road, she glances over at me. “Do you really have something you want to show me?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have asked you to come back with me if I didn’t.”

The silence between us is uncomfortable as we walk back to the cottage. I try to make small talk, but she only gives one-word answers. It’s not like Emmy to be so quiet.

“Are you pissed at me or something?” I ask finally.

“You don’t like Jackson.”

“No,” I tell her. “Not really.”

“Well, you seemed to have a great time talking to Brooke.”

I snort. “Brooke’s a nice girl. Gorgeous. But she’s superficial.”

“Jackson said he could tell she was into you. Anyone could tell. She was attached to you all night. So were her friends.”

Is that jealousy I hear in her tone? “I have a feeling Brooke is into a lot of guys, Em,” I say gently. “Especially if they’re athletes. She’s not my type.”

I give her hand a squeeze as we approach the cottage. She looks up at me then squeezes back. Just like that, all is right in my world again.

Once we reach the house, I flick a light switch near the front door.

“So, what do you want to show me?” she asks.

I cover her eyes and lead her around to the backyard, praying that she’ll like what I’ve done. There’s nothing more I want than to see that brilliant smile again.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods. “Ready to find out why my crazy friend led me away from a party that was in full swing? Yes.”

I drop my hands from her eyes.

Emmy gasps as she peers around the back yard. “Oh my God. Will, what did you do?”

Slowly, she looks up at me, and BAM—there it is. That beautiful smile.

Score.





Chapter Eight





EMMY




Will ushers me further into the backyard. “What do you think, Em? Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” I manage, gaping. “Will, I love it!”

Tiny, twinkling blue and white lights hang in the trees above a large tent. On the picnic table, plastic bags holding all of the ingredients for s’mores are waiting next to jars of fresh fruit, a loaf of bread, and two sandwich irons.

A lantern softly illuminates the inside of the tent, and through the zipped screen, I see two sleeping bags and a big stack of pillows.

“You did all this after I left?”

He nods.

“Oh, Will.” I blink back tears. “I love it. Really.”

When we were kids, Will, Sully, and I set up this same tent for one night during our vacations. Our parents would stay in the house and leave us alone for the evening, and we took full advantage of it. We’d stay up late telling ghost stories and making s’mores and hot fruit pockets. Sometimes we’d go for a dip in the lake after they fell asleep. Tent Night is one of the best memories I have from our vacations at the cottage.