It got to Brommy, too, who gaped at her with something akin to awe. But then he blinked, and the ends of his ears went red. Honestly, I’d never seen him reduced to a blushing bumbler by a woman before. It was impressive. Then again, so was Emma.
“Technically,” I said, before Brommy could fall totally under her spell, “we’re screwing.” I held up my drill as evidence.
Her smile went wide. “You’re terrible.”
My arms were starting to tire, and I turned to secure the cabinet with the drill, then hopped down and grabbed a towel to wipe the dust from my brow. “You need something, Em?”
Her gaze darted to Brommy but then found mine again. Either I imagined it, or Emma Maron was nervous. “I wanted to talk to you, if you have a minute.”
Brommy caught on quickly and hopped down as well. “I’m going to grab some more drinks.” He took the cooler we had and then tipped an imaginary hat toward Emma. “Miss Emma.”
A small smile tilted her lush mouth. “You can call me Princess, Brommy. I know you want to.”
He grinned, and I scowled. Not that they noticed.
“See you in a bit, Princess.”
“Brommy.”
They nodded to each other like regal friends, and then he left, whistling a happy tune. Emma watched him walk away for a second, then swung her gaze back and caught me scowling. But her smile only grew. Right then, I would have given anything to know if she thought of that night in the pool, if she regretted how it ended. We’d never talked of it. But I hadn’t forgotten. If anything, the memory was starting to take on painfully sharp edges.
Focus, Oz.
She wandered farther into the room, looking around at this and that. “I haven’t said before, but you do good work.”
“Hmm.”
Emma paused at the sound, and amusement lit her eyes. “Do you enjoy construction?”
I shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
I was being closed off all over again, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I knew she wanted to say something. That much was clear. And it was something she thought I wouldn’t like. She hadn’t yet asked me about Cassandra. I’d been expecting it but figured she was biding her time. Maybe that time was now. But I wasn’t about to beg her to keep quiet or imply that I couldn’t handle talking about my failure with Cassandra with her.
But she did none of those things. Instead, she leaned on the half-finished counter area and looked me over like I was prospective real estate. My body came to attention.
“I have a problem,” she said.
Oh, the dirty possibilities of how I could solve her problems that went through my head. I shoved them back down into the gutter of my mind, where they belonged.
“Your family members are about to arrive, bound and determined to drive you up a tree?” I offered, stalling.
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “No, that’s all you.”
“Well, I hope you’re not jealous. Spoiler alert—it’s not as fun as it looks.”
She shook her head wryly. “You’ll miss them when they’re gone, Brick.”
The nickname pinged at my heart. “Ask them to leave, and let’s see.”
“Would you be serious?” She didn’t sound too annoyed; there was a lilt in her voice. I wanted more of that.
“I was.”
“Lucian.”
“I like it better when you call me honey pie.”
Huffing, she rolled her eyes but still couldn’t hide that smile. “Dear sweet honey pie, would you shut it and listen?”
“Since you asked so nicely.” Truth was I’d damn well do anything for this woman.
I think she knew as much, because her expression turned victorious. “I’m invited to a wedding in Malibu this weekend . . .”
Hell. I knew what was coming. My skin started to feel too tight, the air around me too thick.
“If you’re looking for fashion advice, that’s more Sal and Amalie’s purview.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. Will you be my date?”
And there it was. Part of me wanted to do something mature like a fist pump because she’d asked me out. That part was drowned out by the ornery ass who did not, under any circumstances, want to be at any event that required conversing and interacting with others.
“Em . . .”
“Before you say no, the wedding will be very small and intimate. It’s for my costar Macon Saint.”
“And you thought it would be a good idea to bring me?”
I had no doubt she knew what I meant. I wasn’t charming. I was barely social.
Emma shrugged, the strap of her pale-blue sundress slipping a little over the golden-hued curve of her shoulder. “I could go it alone. But I don’t want to. A woman alone at a wedding is a target for ten million questions, none of them good. I’d rather have a wall of big snarly man mountain guarding over me.”
She needs you. Say yes, you idiot.