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“You’re awake,” I say, sitting on the mattress next to her, leaning over her, and pressing my hand on the other side of her hip.
“Read it, Jax.” She overemphasizes her words, speaking slower than usual but more precisely, clearly feeling the whiskey. “Oh God,” she presses her hand to her face, “I’m a horrible drinker.” She drops her hand. “Really bad.”
“A lightweight is more like it,” I tease, motioning to the two-mini bottles that might be small but straight up pack a bunch for a little think like Emma. I don’t fault her for drinking. She’s trying to process her father’s words in that journal, the way I was trying to process what I had to tell Savage. “Liquid courage to read the journal.”
“He doesn’t name names when he writes out all his vile thoughts,” she says, “but it might mean something to you, something that I can’t see for the disappointment in my father.”
“We’ll read it together tomorrow.”
“There are things you need to know, Jax.”
My eyes narrow. “I thought he didn’t name names.”
“Other things. Other things that you need to know.”
“What do you think I need to know, Emma?”
“Who some of the players in my father’s sick games are, players he doesn’t have to name. I know who they are. But telling you could ruin the Knight empire and I don’t know you well enough yet to trust you with that.”
It’s hard to argue the smartness of that statement. It’s impossible not to push her for more. “Then tell me something else. What secret are you keeping for York?”
Her fingers brush my jaw, her eyes searching my face. “I think I might really like you, Jax.”
I want her to really like me and drunk people tend to say what they might not otherwise, and it’s usually honest. I catch her hand. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“You’re addicted to me, you said.”
“Obsessed was the word, but addicted works, too. I am addicted to you. Is that a problem?”
“To fucking me. You’re addicted to fucking me. We have thissexthing, but when that’s over—”
“That’s the whiskey talking. We had this conversation. We’re not just sex.”
“Do you want to have sex right now?”
“I always want to have sex with you, Emma, but that’s not the point.”
“Yes,” she assures me. “It is. It means this is a sex thing.”
“I don’t want to have sex every time a woman laughs a certain way or looks at me. Not unless it’s you.”
“When I laugh you want to have sex with me?” She manages to sound confused and hopeful, a combination most likely only possible while drinking.
It’s adorable. She’s fucking adorable and sexy. “Yes, sweetheart,” I confirm. “I do.”
“How many women do you call sweetheart?” she snaps right back.
“You,” I say, looking her in the eyes. “Just you, Emma.”
“How many women do you call baby?”
“Same answer. You, Emma, just you.”
“Why sweetheart and not baby? You started out with baby.”
“I’m pretty sure I started out with sweetheart.”
“I think it was baby.”
