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The feelings he pulls from me are overwhelming.
“I uh–I’ve got to go. I have more deliveries to make,” I lie, moving to put my helmet back on.
His eyes are on the back of the moped, and I follow his gaze to the empty basket.
Dammit.
I ignore the fact that he’s caught me in my lie and fasten the helmet strap under my chin as quickly as my now shaking fingers will let me. As I’m about to climb back on so I can make my cowardice escape, Emmett reaches for my hand.
“Wait, your tip,” he says.
“Emmett, I’m pretty sure you’ve already tipped me for your next twenty sandwiches,” I tell him.
“Remember what I told you,” he says, pulling me by the hand so my chest crashes into his. It wasn’t a hard pull, but feeling him pressed against me like this knocks the air right out of my lungs. I have to angle my head up to meet his eyes that are half closed, looking down at me from under the brim of his ever-present baseball cap.
“Tips are based on service and once again, gorgeous, I am very pleased with your service,” he says as he lets go of my hand and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a folded bill. Even folded up, I can see it’s another hundred. He snakes his arm around me and pushes his hand into the back pocket of my jeans, dragging his fingers out slowly and letting them just barely graze the top of my butt as he does.
I can hardly breathe.
When his hand is free of my pocket, he takes a step back and I suddenly feel like the air gets thinner around us.
“Have a great day gorgeous,” he says and turns around to walk toward the couch near the television, leaving me standing here with sweat collecting on the back of my neck and my jaw on the floor.
I spend the rest of the day trying to calm my thoughts that keep trying to go back and remember the sensations of his touches.
The next day, Wednesday, is much the same. Dad reads a passage in the Bible that eludes to his desire that I don’t screw up this courting arrangement. Emmett is again the first order of the day and insists on tipping me another hundred-dollar bill. This time placing the bill in my hand and letting his palm rest in mine a little too long. The rest of my day is spent trying and failing miserably, to convince myself I am not enjoying every moment around him now. That every touch from Emmett doesn’t light my skin on fire. That I don’t have any feelings for him.
Chapter fifteen
Emmett
Idon’tknowiftoday's treatment seems like it’s dragging on because I know it’s my second to last round of the cancer fighting juice or because it’s delaying me from seeing Aubrey. Normally, she’d be pulling up to the barn in her flower covered helmet on that bright yellow moped right about now. Instead, I’m literally tethered to this chair by the IV in my arm. I swear, the minute hand on the clock is going backward.
“And why is your knee bouncing like it’s trying to win a pony race?” Rosa, my favorite nurse, says while she checks my vitals.
They keep sticking me back in my old room for treatment instead of in the common room with the other cancer patients receiving chemo and other various treatments. When I tried to protest the first few weeks of outpatient treatment, Rosa finally broke down and told me the hospital CEO gave specific instructions to put me in here. He’s already got the big donation from Mom and Dad, but apparently still feels the need to kiss our asses.
“Just anxious to get out of here,” I say to her as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm.
“Mmm hmm. You’re never happy to be here, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you counting down the minutes. You got a pretty date or something?”
The thought of Aubrey brings a smile to my face, and Rosa doesn’t miss a beat.
“What’s her name?” she asks, never straying from the task she’s working on.
I let myself relax into the leather recliner and tell her, “Aubrey.”
“And why haven’t I met this Aubrey yet?” she asks, only now looking down at me, her eyes narrowed in that way only mothers know how to scold with one look.
I shrink into the chair a little.
“She–uh–Aubrey doesn’t know,” I admit.
Rosa, the nurse who seems to be omnipotent, takes a seat on the rolling stool next to my chair.
“Oh honey,” she says, patting my arm.
I have to look away from her.
