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“Emmy!” Stella rushes past me, bracing herself against my truck. “Emmy, stop!”
The wailing stops. “Stella?” Her voice sounds small. “What… where?”
“Shh, we’ll talk inside.”
“Who?”
Stella glances back my way. “That’s Samson. He’s a… he’s someone I know.”
That stings.
“He brought us home, and he’s going to help get you inside, okay?”
The girl in my back seat whimpers and Stella shushes her softly. “I’ve known him since I was in diapers.” An exaggeration, but sure. “He won’t hurt you. Okay?”
She must agree because Stella backs away from the truck and nods for me to try again.
“You gonna try and kick me again?”
She sucks in a deep breath. “No.”
I lean in and help her out of the truck, allowing Stella to take over once she’s on her feet. I trail behind them, wondering how in the hell this night turned so sideways.
“The door,” Stella says, jerking me out of my thoughts.
I look from her to the sensor. “Gonna need your card, Luna.”
“It’s in my back pocket.”
My eyes trail over her, finally noticing what she’s wearing—which isn’t much.
“Oh my God! It’s a freaking pocket. You might graze a little ass cheek. It won’t kill you.”
I clench my jaw. “It fuckin’ might.” I try to be all business, in and out, but I can’t help but imagine palming her ass under other circumstances. Like her on top of me, bouncing on my dick and screaming my name after I pop her cherry.
Not the fucking time, I shout at myself. And it never will be if I don’t get her to fully forgive me. Sure, I’ve gained some ground, but I know she’s still hurt.
“Whoa!” Stella wraps her arms tighter around her friend. “Are you okay?”
The brunette nods and mumbles something about bed.
“Are you sure she isn’t on something?” I ask, scanning the card.
“Positive. Now either help call the elevator or go home. We don’t need your negativity.”
“No, just my ride,” I mutter bitterly as I stalk toward the elevator.
The three of us shuffle into the car and I pop my fist against the button for the third floor. The elevator jerks and her friend covers her mouth as she gags.
“I swear to God, if she pukes on me—”
“Stop being such an asshole, Samson!”
“I’m fine,” she says, visibly swallowing.
I follow them to their door and unlock it. “Wait here,” Stella orders before helping her friend into the bedroom on the left.
A few moments later, I hear the soft snick of a door closing and I turn to see Stella walking toward me.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, but her words don’t match her tone. She sounds more annoyed than she does grateful.
“What’s your deal?” I ask, tired of her shit.
“Nothing.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Clearly you do, so out with it.”
“Fine, you really want to know?”
I nod.
“I freaking invited you over here to see my cabinet and you just… ignored me. It was hard to put myself out there like that, Samson.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
She glares. “Oh, sure. Play dumb.”
“Not playing anything. I texted you back and you ignored me.”
“You liar!” she whisper-shouts.
I whip out my phone, pull up our text thread, and thrust my phone in her face. “See? I’m not lying about shit.”
“What?” Stella pulls my phone closer. “But I never…” she trails off, reaching into her own pocket for her phone. “See!” She passes it to me.
Sure enough, my text isn’t there.
“Well, shit, Luna.”
“Shit is right,” she says right before she cracks up. “To think, I spent a week pissed off because I thought you were dropping me all over again.”
I step into her, gripping her chin between my thumb and index finger. She silences instantly. “Trust me when I say I have no intentions of letting you go. Not now, not ever.”
She shivers and steps away from me.
“I mean it, Stella.”
“I’m scared,” she whispers right as her roommate lets out another ear-piercing scream.
“Is she okay?”
“I hope so.” Stella glances toward the door. “Thanks for… everything.”
I take half a step toward her and stop. “Always, Luna. Always.”
Chapter Fourteen
Samson
“Did you double check those measurements?” Saul, my site foreman, asks.
“Yup.” I don’t bother looking up as I reply.
He nods down to where I’m marking my cuts. “You sure, kid?”
I slide my pencil behind my ear and glare at him, though there’s no real heat behind it. Saul’s good people—crabby as hell, but a standup guy. “Measure twice, cut one—I know the drill, old man.”
“You’d better be sure.” He taps his knuckles against the wood in front of me. “Shit’s not cheap.”
“Promise we’re good.”
“Don’t think I won’t take it out of your pay.”
“Keep it up and I’ll tell Renee you’re being mean to me.” Saul’s wife is his exact opposite—where he’s a storm cloud, that woman is pure sunshine.
She cooks for the whole crew at least twice a week and dotes on all of us like we’re family.
