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I filled my glass and clinked it against hers.
“Here's to… Here's to…” I began but drew a blank when it came to completing the sentence.
“Here's to chemistry,” she said, finishing my sentence with a cheeky grin.
We both took deep swigs of our wine and then dove into the food. It was, without bragging too much, pretty damn delicious.
We chatted as we ate, discussing topics like our classes, the people in them, our teachers, but also recounting days from high school, parties we'd been to, funny or embarrassing situations we'd been in. Chatting with her was natural; the conversation flowed.
Eventually, the topic turned to my parents. I tried to maintain the upbeat tone of our evening, but I couldn't help talking about my dad and what I'd learned earlier that morning. Brooke was so easy to talk to and such a great listener. I felt comfortable releasing all the emotions I’d had pent up since I got the phone call.
“Oh, my God, Emerson,” she said, and there was genuine concern and sympathy in her voice. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
She reached across the table and took my hand in hers. A powerful stirring of electric excitement charged through me as her skin touched mine and I felt the warmth of her hand under the tips of my fingers. “If there's anything you need, I'm here for you,” she said. A glisten of tears rimmed the edges of her eyes.
“Thank you,” I repeated, not really knowing what else to say. “That means a lot to me, Brooke. It really does.”
“Well, I mean it,” she assured me.
We sat in silence for a few moments before I gently withdrew my hand from hers. “Let's not talk too much about it, though,” I said. “I don't want to dwell on it.”
“Alright,” she replied. “Well, now that we're done with dinner, how about we do something else?”
“Sure,” I replied as I drained the last of my wine from my glass. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, how about another bottle of wine for starters?” she suggested, her eyes glinting with a flirtatious glow in the candlelight. “The night is still young.”
“It's still young, indeed,” I agreed. “Bring it on.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooke
Hearing Emerson talk about his dad's medical situation really pulled at my heartstrings. I had to stop myself from getting all teary-eyed right there in front of him. I don’t know what it was, but seeing him hurting broke my heart. I had to hold myself back from jumping out of my seat and wrapping my arms around him to comfort him. Instead, I took his hand. That’s when something happened. I could almost feel him calm down as our eyes met. It was as though the touch of my hand seemed to assuage some of the fears that were gnawing at his heart at the prospect of his dad having such a risky surgery.
At once, all I wanted was to steer his thoughts away from all the worry and anxiety. So, I suggested, against my own rational judgment, that we drink more. I don't typically approve of using alcohol as a crutch, but once in a while, it can be a little therapeutic to drown one's sorrows in a few glasses of liquid courage. And, I sensed that poor Emerson had some pretty intense sorrows to drown.
So, we headed to the sofa, our bellies satisfied with both wine and the delicious meal Emerson had made, and we sat down with a fresh bottle of dry red. The room wasn't spinning by any means but I was, however, feeling a bit of a heady rush from the bottle we'd already finished off. I wasn't quite drunk yet, but the buzz was coming on fast. We flopped down on the sofa, and Emerson uncorked the second bottle. He filled up a glass for me, one for himself, and he then clinked his glass against mine with a smile. “Thanks for a great evening,” he said.
“It's not over yet,” I replied. “Unless you’re just ready to get the hell out of Dodge.”
He locked his gaze on mine. “Not a chance.”
An energy pierced the air between us. I could sense the heat of Emerson's stare, and could almost feel the pumping of his heart in that powerful chest through the space between us. I immediately looked down at the glass in my hand, trying to breathe, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him as he leaned toward the coffee table to set the bottle of wine down. He caught me staring and smiled almost shyly, causing me to avert my eyes once more and sending a flush of heat through my cheeks.
“Alright,” he broke the awkward silence, “how about we play a drinking game?”
I laughed. “I have never played a drinking game!”
“Well, all the more reason for you to do it now! What's life without trying new experiences?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows, challenging me.
I considered his challenge for a moment before replying. “Okay. Fine. I'll play. What kind of game are you thinking of?”
“How about a little game you might have heard of called… truth or dare?” He took a sip of his wine as he looked over the edge of his glass at me ever so suggestively.
The intensity of his glance took my breath away. I pulled in a slow, deep breath as inconspicuously as I could. “Alright,” I agreed. “Let's do this. So how does the drinking aspect of it come in?”
