I used my fingers to smooth down my hair and desperately tried to calm my trembling hands. “I… I don’t know what this is but this isn’t me.” I paused and rolled my eyes. “It… can’t be me. I just… I have to go.”
Quickly, I turned on my heel and all but ran down the hallway to the table that held my purse. Good going, Fallon. Not only do you run off with some guy that your parents would literally shun you for even talking to, and make out with him heavily in some bar hideout, but you also leave your purse on the table. Terrific job! You deserve a gold star!
I snatched my purse with one hand and turned around, only to run right into a solid chest. “Ope,” I said, holding my probably-now-busted lip.
Emmett steadied my arms. “You can’t go. Not without at least giving me your number.” When I looked up at Emmett’s face, I could tell he felt exactly like me: conflicted.
Did I want to give him my number? Hell. Yes.
Did I want to continue on with what was happening in the hallway? More than anything.
But there was no point.
Even if I dressed him up in a suit and tie and brought him over to a family dinner, announcing to my parents, “Hey, never mind about marrying someone you basically picked out for me, I found this one all on my own! See! I can pick decent guys!” My father would take one look at him and explode right there at the table. Could you imagine what he’d do if he managed to ask Emmett what his profession was? You know, before exploding?
It would go like this:
“So, what do you do for a living, Emmett?” My father would raise an eyebrow and cast his glare downward.
Emmett would swallow and answer, “Oh, I tattoo for a living, and hey, did you see Fallon’s new belly button ring? I did that for her the first time we met.”
Then, I would pipe up beside Emmett, grabbing his hand under the table, and say, “Isn’t it romantic?”
I would then watch as my father finally exploded. Seconds later, I’d watch my mother do the same.
I shook my head softly and looked at the gleaming red exit sign. I couldn’t even bring myself to look Emmett in the face. “I’m sorry, Emmett. There’s just no point.”
Then I took my arms out of his grasp and headed for the door.
As soon as the night air hit my lungs, I ran to my car, slammed the door, and peeled out of Oak Hill like there was no tomorrow.
When I looked in my rearview mirror, the only thing I saw was dust… and that was probably a good thing.
???
I stared up at the whitest ceiling I’d ever seen, wishing I could get out from under this spell. The spell that Emmett had put on me. I was convinced that he and Guy, the bartender, had put some love concoction in my beer, because I could not stop thinking about him.
Even when I was asleep!
I wasn’t a stranger to having a wet dream (is that what they were called for women, too?). I mean, there had been many times that I’d had some wild, out-of-this-world sexy dreams that had woken me up with a throb between my legs, but I had never dreamt about someone so real before.
My arousing dreams usually centered around David Beckham or Jackson Avery from Grey’s Anatomy (because who can resist a hot doctor?), but now they were centered around a head of ruffled dark hair, deep sea-colored eyes, and a look that pinned me to my very spot.
Kissing Emmett could, no doubt, set off explosions all the way from Oak Hill to Washington D.C. The talented way he moved his mouth over mine, the way his hands roamed my body, the small growl I heard when I’d pushed up against him.
I was breaking out in a sweat just thinking about it.
Laughing, I threw the covers off my legs and trotted over to my silk robe. I slipped it on, tying it firmly around my waist. I had been hoping the tight silk tie would cease the after-throb of my latest dream, but the only thing it did was remind me how Emmett had gripped my waist at the bar the other night.
I couldn’t sleep a wink when I’d gotten home, which was why, the next morning, I showed up to the club to meet my mother a half-hour late with unwashed hair.
The look on her face lay somewhere between utter disgust and pure disappointment. She very awkwardly dragged me by the arm, threw me into the restroom, and scolded me for my appearance. She wet a paper towel and shoved it into my hand, the wetness dripping onto the porcelain floor. “Clean yourself up! Derek’s mother is meeting us for lunch! Goodness, Fallon. What were you up to all night? You look a mess.”
What I was up to all night was overanalyzing my night with a piercing god. That was what I was up to all night.
Part of me wanted to just pull my dress up to show my mother the pink, glittery ball hanging off my belly button, just to see her reaction. But the good daughter—the one that didn’t want to disappoint her family any more than she already had—nodded her head and began wiping the leftover mascara from underneath her eyes.
It was like night and day. There was Fallon Addington, the daughter who did what her parents told her with a smile on her face. And then there was the Fallon Addington who was spontaneous and reckless and who had spent all night in a strange bar with people who felt more like friends than those she had known her entire life. It wasn’t just like night and day. It was more like Earth and Mars – like being on two completely different planets.