55
“The boss would be an idiot if he did.” He looks over at me, a hint of a sad flicker. Not fun and flirty, Jake. He’s still in serious mode.
“My boss is sometimes an idiot,” I flutter at him impishly. “He gets me drunk, irrationally drunk, and lets me fall apart when he should know better.”
“Maybe getting you drunk is the only time you’re truly yourself around him. That, and it’s easier to seduce you when you can’t see straight,” he retorts. I finally catch that mischievous glint in his eye. He visibly relaxes into a casual pose.
“So, you planned on getting me drunk, Mr. Smooth? To take advantage of me!” I shake my head, my mood restored to a tipsy mellow, and everything else fades away. I’m glad that we’ve steered away from emotional topics, with this weird habit we have of going from fire to soft lapping waves in a flash.
“No. Maybe. Yes. Damn, you caught me!” He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and I know he’s still digesting what he’s learned about me. I didn’t want him to know any of that stuff. I want to take it all back.
What does he see now? Damaged goods? Some pathetic little girl that men tried to molest? A slutty girl who encouraged it, maybe? Her own father couldn’t even look at her, too disgusted to want her.
That inner shame and self-loathing rise from the fiery depths once more, and I swallow it down.
“I don’t want to do this, Jake,” I mutter quietly, looking at our hands held together, so weirdly fitted and snug.
“What? Snuggle in the cab? Let me take advantage of you?”
He glances at me a little unsurely, humor evident but not quite hitting the mark.
“This whole bonding over shitty childhood experiences. I want to take it all back, so you don’t know any of it,” I breathe out honestly, holding his hand and taking comfort from his touch. He’s my harbor in the storm right now.
“Why?”
“Because it’s … shameful. I’m ashamed of it.” It’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud and admitted it. I sigh, trying to steady my inner turmoil, but this is harder than I thought it would be. He shakes his head and pulls me close to him across the seat, releasing my hand to bring an arm around me tightly. His forehead rests against mine as he pulls my face back to him, his hand sliding along my jawline, carefully bringing me to him.
“Emma, you never did anything wrong; you didn’t ask for any of it.” His green eyes lock on mine forcefully, dark with emotion.
“I must have. Why did they keep trying?” I hate that alcohol causes this verbal diarrhea. It comes out from somewhere inside me, causing a sharp pain in my chest. Anytime I think I have a handle on it, teen Emma blurts out her dark secrets and insecurities to Jake. He has a way of making it happen.
“Because you’re beautiful, and they wanted you. It makes them the sick fucks. I would destroy every one of them to prove that this isn’t your fault.” The conviction and fire in his voice and eyes make me want to curl up in his lap again. I know that he means it, that he’s capable of it. I can’t let things slide this far into being so personal in this way; it would affect our relationship in so many ways. I glance up at him with what I hope is a grateful expression and a soft smile.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” And this time, I mean it. I’ve never opened up about this, never cried about it to anyone except him, and I feel nauseous at the thought that Jake just saw all of that. I want to recoil and hide in shame and take it all back. I move his hand from my face and pull away, still sitting close but gazing away from him out the window.
“Emma …?” I can tell by his tone that he will push this further. I stiffen with slight hostility, bristling up.
“No!” I answer boldly with determination.
“You can’t open the door to let me in, then shut it in my face,” he pleads, his hand tracing my jawline tenderly. His touch dissolves some of my resolve for a second. His caress always makes my body sag hopelessly.
“Yes, I can,” I say, calm and aloof, wanting to remove his fingers from my skin but needing his touch more, taking solace in it while fighting him.
“I won’t let you, Emma. This isn’t the last time we talk about this, and next time you won’t be drunk.” He seems determined, building the tension between us.
“There will never be a next time, Jake; just let it go.” I’m back in PA mode, emotions pushed down and voice steady. I know he’s frowning at me. I can tell by the tone of his voice, but I don’t care. The alcohol is numbing things again, but I’m feeling overwhelmingly sick.
We pull into the hotel garage, and the car stops, finally, as the endless journey comes to a halt. I slide out and move away from his side, but he tugs me back to him and guides me through the dimly lit basement. He stoops to scoop me up in princess-carrying fashion with my shoes in one hand, my arm sliding easily behind his neck.
“I can walk,” I protest weakly, too tired to mean it.
“There’s broken glass and all sorts of crap down here. Be quiet and just hold on; enjoy being the damsel for once, woman!” He’s in boss mode, and I know the argument is pointless. In a way, I’m glad because I’m still swaying, and everything keeps sliding around me. I hold on around his neck and rest my temple against his jaw, inhaling him. He feels good, and he smells amazing, safe, strong, and warm. I glance up, trying to gauge how drunk he is, hoping he’ll forget our entire conversation, but he seems normal, focusing on where he’s heading. His green eyes are clear and gorgeous as always.
Was I the only one to get plastered?
He catches my eye and gives me a genuine smile, a soft, warm look. The urge to trace his chiseled lips with my fingers shocks me, and I rest my face back down into his neck, taking away the temptation and inhaling him while I can. He carries me into the elevator and back up to our rooms.
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