The Boy Who Has No Hope (Soulless 6)

He straightened. “Derek, you aren’t helping your case, man…”

“I was having a hard time, and she comforted me. That’s it.”

“Right…” Pierre continued to stare at me.

“Can we get back to work now?”

“Sure. But…can I say something?”

I sighed and put down my paper, since this wasn’t going to stop until Pierre finished his point.

“She’s really something, man. And I’m not talking about the way she looks. She’s not stuck-up even though she’s gorgeous. It’s like she has no idea or something, like she doesn’t own a mirror. And she’s smart, considerate, thoughtful… She seems like the real deal to me.”

“She’s not my type.” Pierre and Jerome knew exactly what my type was.

“Yeah, she’s not your type for a one-night stand and a weekend fuck-a-thon. But she’s definitely your type for something more.”

All I could do was stare at him.

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Just a suggestion…”I was working on my laptop when Emerson walked inside.

“The chef made lasagna. Looks pretty damn good.” She carried the containers to the kitchen and reheated it before placing it on the table. “How are you? Whenever I don’t see you, it feels like an eternity.”

A weekend had come and gone, and we hadn’t communicated at all. “Good. How are you?”

“Great.” She helped herself to a glass of wine and sat beside me, having a serving from the chef because she’d requested it.

That hug was still fresh in my mind because my memory was much stronger than the average person’s. Things that happened years ago felt like they’d just happened yesterday. So that hug felt like it happened five minutes ago even though it’d been several days.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged someone I wasn’t related to.

With the girls I brought back to the penthouse, there was kissing and touching—but no hugging. When I walked them out, I gave them a kiss goodbye, but that was it. The only people I hugged were family.

And now, Emerson.

With her, it felt a lot more intimate, more intimate than sex in a lot of ways. The combination of our fully clothed bodies was pure, with no other intention. But sharing that level of closeness with someone you weren’t sleeping with…felt different. She soothed me through my pain because she could feel my distress, and she tried to put it out like it was a fire. She was the blanket that smothered the flames. She comforted me and carried the pain with me, creating a connection that turned into a bond.

Whenever my mind wasn’t thinking about something else, the embrace popped into my consciousness.

“You alright?”

I turned at her question, forgetting she was there for a second. “Yeah…just thinking.”

She chuckled. “You’re always thinking.”

I speared my fork into my food and started to eat.

She worked on her computer and ate at the same time.

“What did you do this weekend?”

“Spent time with my family. You?”

I stayed home and just worked the entire time. I didn’t even go out. “Nothing, really.”

“You didn’t go back to the cabin?”

I shook my head.

“Do your siblings have kids? Do they take them there?”

“No…no kids.”

“You know what would be cute? Since you loved that cabin growing up, if you take your kids there and teach them out how to fish. You know, full circle.” She sliced her fork into the layers of noodles and sauce then placed it in her mouth.

“I don’t want kids.” I didn’t want to get married, so I definitely didn’t want kids. I barely had enough time to do anything except work, so raising a human being wouldn’t be feasible. I didn’t have the patience or the desire.

“You might change your mind later.”

“No.” I didn’t change my mind.

She finished her bite then looked at me. “I’m surprised you would say that.”

“Why?”

“Because someone of your intelligence should reproduce, right? You need to leave a legacy after you’re gone.”

“My siblings will have offspring, so I’m covered.”

“But it’s not the same as your offspring…”

“Then I’ll donate my sperm or something. I hate kids.”

She stilled at my statement, her fork in her container but steady. Her eyes were on me, like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. It was the only time she’d given such a strong reaction, like I’d said something truly terrible.

“I don’t literally hate kids.” Maybe I should have chosen my words better. That was an aggressive statement. “But I definitely don’t want to raise a kid, devote any time to a kid, have to deal with all the bullshit that comes with having a kid…” There was nothing wrong with saying that. Some people wanted to have kids; others didn’t.

“I wouldn’t describe it as bullshit…” She dropped her gaze and looked into her plate to slice through another piece. “I hope you’re more affectionate with your nieces and nephews.”

“That’s different.”

“And what if your siblings ask you to watch them?”