Emerett Has Never Been in Love (Love Austen 1)

“Cameron, hi. Thank God. I need a favor. Would you sit next to Philip on the loveseat for however long you can keep him there?”

“Why don’t you want to sit there?”

“Long story, in which I hope I’m very wrong. Anyway, I’ll come back with drinks. Free your seat under no circumstances.”

Cameron obliged, and Lake mixed orange juice with a splash of Coke which he would tell Philip was a tequila sunrise.

Knight caught his eye over Josh’s mum’s shoulder, and Lake raised his cups and winked. All good.

Nothing to worry about in the slightest . . .

Cameron kept his seat for over an hour. An impressive effort.

Cameron and Philip even bonded over some guy Cameron recently hired to edit segments before they aired.

“He’s diligent in his job,” Cameron said, always seeing the good in everyone. Cameron turned to Lake. “Have you ever thought about working with—”

Philip dropped the lemon he’d been fondling and chased it with such vigor that the loveseat swung back and upended Cameron on the grass.

“So sorry, my bad,” Philip said, clutching his lemon triumphantly.

Lake offered Cameron a hand up. Cameron frowned, mirroring Lake’s thoughts exactly. Philip and alcohol clearly didn’t mix. He’d feel embarrassed by his behavior in the morning.

Philip caught Lake’s eye and deigned to wink.

Very, very embarrassed.

Lake furtively checked Knight hadn’t seen it. He was pre-occupied with Josh’s friends at the greenhouse. Thank God.

As if he felt Lake’s stare across the yard, Knight looked over. Their gazes met for an oddly intense moment, rendering Lake more aware of himself—from the way he dug his shoes into the lawn to the bits of loose thread that he played with in his pockets.

Knight excused himself from the crowd, and each step closer had Lake’s pulse jumping.

He wanted Knight and his solid presence next to him. On the other hand, Knight could not witness this . . . whatever it was.

Philip didn’t know what he was doing.

In the last few steps, Knight’s mouth tipped upwards and an eyebrow quivered higher than the other. Light filtering through the bush speckled Knight’s cheeks and hair, adding to the twinkle in his eye. Carefully controlled humor cloaked him like a nimbus. Contagious.

It took considerable effort to not to break out into a grin.

“Oh, Knight,” Lake said, feigning concern. “You look exhausted. Are you heading home?”

“Exhausted?”

“It’s been a really long day,” Lake hurriedly explained to Cameron, who stood awkwardly near the loveseat. Philip had propped himself up on an elbow and was leering at him.

Lake steered Knight away by the elbow. “A good sleep will help.”

Cameron nodded like it was a sensible decision, and Philip agreed. Rudely. “It’s almost eleven, and you’re no spring chicken.”

Annoyance creased the corner of Knight’s lips, but he held it in. He leaned in and spoke low in Lake’s ear, the words a ticklish puff in his hair. “Why are you angling for me to leave?”

“Will you?” Lake asked hopefully under his breath.

“Not unless you explain or—”

“Or?”

“Leave with me.”

Definitely that one.

“Actually,” Lake announced, smiling in Cameron and Philip’s direction. “I’m done with a big crowd too.”

Philip swung his legs off the loveseat. “You want to be someplace quiet? Private?”

“My bed.” Lake continued steering Knight away. “Later.”

“Later,” Philip replied, waving, a drunken smirk stretched across his face.

Lake didn’t let go of Knight’s elbow until they’d left Josh’s and were, well, home.

They traipsed up the groaning stairs, and a yawn escaped Lake. “I’m gonna hit the sack.”

He strode into his bathroom and stripped off his jeans and T-shirt, but he couldn’t summon the energy for a shower. He’d do it in the morning.

A knock came at the door. “Is the bathroom free?”

Lake stuffed his clothes into the hamper and opened the door to Knight’s room. Knight rocked on his heels at the sudden puff of air and Lake—practically naked—before him. “You could have said it was occupied.”

Knight’s gaze did not stray any lower than Lake’s eyes, and disappointment wormed low in Lake’s gut. Not that he expected Knight would want to look at him—why would he? He was in love with Paul and probably saw Lake as a miscreant accidental son.

Knight’s lack of interest should have stopped Lake from checking him out, but He. Couldn’t. Help. Himself.

“Just need to brush my teeth,” Lake murmured.

Knight cleared his throat. “Me too. I can wait.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lake said, top of his ass bashing into the sink. “We can do it together. I mean, at the same time. Where are your pajamas?”

“Pajamas?”

“Your two-piece flannel suit. The one that buttons to the throat.”

“I don’t own such a thing.”

“You should.”

Knight’s eyes sparkled like they held a secret. “Why should I wear pajamas?”

“Because you’re . . .” Lake waved vaguely in Knight’s direction.

“I’m . . .?”

“A dad. You shouldn’t be sleeping in only a pair of tighty-whities. At the very least wear socks.”

“Socks.”

“Yes, because there’s something intimate about not wearing socks in bed. All those nerve-endings sliding through soft cotton sheets . . .”