Knockout (Tapped Out 4)

Emerson turned and walked out.

Okay then. This night was proceeding just about as I’d expected so far.

She sighed and rotated her glass between her palm

s. “Sorry, he’s being…”

“Him?”

She laughed softly. “Yeah. But he’s in even more of a weird mood tonight, because of something that happened on the way over here. Or almost happened.” She blew out a breath. “Jeez, nothing actually occurred, but he kind of clammed up even worse after and now I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

I leaned against the side of the bed and tried not to seem terribly interested. Lily was more open than Emerson, that was for sure, but when it came to him, she could vault up with the best of ’em. “What happened?”

She tipped back her head and stared at the ceiling. “I kissed him.”

Only self-control kept me from doing a fist pump. “Huh. Wow. So how was it?”

“It wasn’t.” Another sigh. “I kissed his cheek because he won his fight. And I kind of moved too close to his mouth, and then I think he might’ve kissed me back, but I’m not even sure. So…drinking.” She held up her glass. “Speaking of, I think it’s time you hit me again.”

“You know, I didn’t bring you here to get you drunk.” Well, not exactly. I looped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the side of her head.

Her and me, we kissed all the time. Not on the mouth, of course, but cheeks, top of the head, the occasional forehead—all fair game.

“I’m not drunk, I don’t think. How can I tell?”

“Are you having trouble walking yet?”

She frowned down at her feet as I guided her out of the room and up the hall. “No. I’m a little fluttery though, in here.” She touched her stomach and her lips curved. “I like it.”

“Flutters are good.” I kissed her again, closer to her ear this time, and she grinned and cuddled into my side.

If we hadn’t happened to be walking into the living room at that moment—where Emerson was pacing a hole in the carpet I didn’t have—it would’ve been no big deal.

His death glare ended that possibility.

“Lily, I think we should go.”

“What? Why?” She stumbled a bit over her feet, proving herself a liar. Or else she was nervous. I could see why. Emerson had a rather intimidating stare when he turned it on.

Lucky me, I got to see it on the regular.

“This isn’t a party. I don’t know what it is. And you’re drinking, and your father—”

“My father isn’t here, so stop it. Christ, I’m twenty years old. Twenty-one this summer.” She slammed her glass on one of the steps of the ladder she’d stopped beside. “I have needs.”

I raised a brow. Yeah, maybe I wouldn’t have to pull out the rest of my bag of tricks. It looked like Ms. Matthews could drive that bus all by herself.

“Do tell.” I made a gimme gesture with my fingers. “This sounds good.”

“Shut up.” Emerson glanced at Lily and crossed his arms over his stupidly buff chest. The guy lived in the gym and it showed. Pity he didn’t like showing off his body as much as I did.

“Whatever your…needs are, we’ll discuss them when you’re sober. I can’t bring you home drunk. What will your dad say?”

“I’m not drunk. Jesus.” She grabbed her glass and walked over to the coffee table, the heels of her ankle boots clicking on the hardwood floor. She grabbed the bottle of Samuel Adams, then fumbled off the cap. “But I’m going to be, and you’re not gonna stop me. You’re my friend, Hands, not my damn babysitter.”

“Hey there, let me help you with that.” I moved forward to pour her another glass before she dribbled the stuff all over the table. “One-fifty a bottle, babe.”

“No shit?” She took an eager sip after I handed the glass back to her. “No wonder it’s so good.”