Page 59 of Common Grounds

“Then there’s nothing to feel bad about.” I shift my leg, so my shin presses up against hers. I lean in and drop my voice an octave. “And there’s definitely nothing wrong with you.”

She gasps and her eyelids flutter. She looks equal parts turned on and relieved by my response. Her leg rubs against mine under the table as she eyes me playfully. I don’t think I’ve played footsie with a girl since middle school, but fuck, that’s hot.

Emery flashes a coy smile that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing. And it looks as if she likes it as much as I do.

That is when I’m certain I’m taking her home with me again tonight.

“I thought you wanted to keep things professional,” I practically growl.

“I don’t care about professional anymore,” she whispers.

“What about Glasses over there?” I tilt my head toward where she was sitting at the bar.

She hums as her foot, which she must have slid out of her sandal, brushes up my leg. “Funny story,” she breathes. “I was here to find a guy so I could stop thinking about you.”

She bites her bottom lip again as her eyes ask a question. I’m not sure what the question is, but whatever she wants, the answer is yes.

“And you think Glasses was going to help with that?”

She hesitates, swallowing hard. “No,” she says. “I don’t think anyone could.”

Her eyes find mine again, and she smiles self-consciously. God, she is so beautiful.

I take a breath, emboldened enough to ask her if she wants to get out of here when a man lumbers up behind her, leaning in to get a good look at her face. “Emery, is that you?”

She stiffens, and her eyes go wide. She slides back away from me, removing her legs from where they touched mine. I’m immediately cold in her absence.

What is with the douchebags here tonight? Is it a full moon or something?

“That is you,” he slurs, then plops himself into the booth next to her, sloshing his beer over the side of his full glass.

That’s when he notices me. He sticks out a beer-glazed hand and says, “Hey, man. I’m Derek, Emery’s ex-husband.”

Chapter twenty-three

Emery

Fucking Derek.

He is absolutely not supposed to be here. I ran into him here once about a year after our divorce, which is when I demanded that this was my place first, and he needed to stop coming here. He threw his hands up and shouted this place was a dive anyway on his way out. I haven’t seen him since.

Just being near him is making my skin crawl. He’s clearly been drinking, and now I’m trapped in this booth with him blocking my only exit. I send up a silent prayer that Trevor won’t leave me here with him.

Derek must realize Trevor isn’t going to shake his hand because he retracts it and wipes it on his jeans. Trevor leans back and folds his arms, eyeing him up and down and clearly finding him wanting.

“What are you doing here?” I grind out. I don’t know why, but I need Trevor to know this isn’t a regular occurrence. I try to catch his eye across the table, but his gaze is trained on Derek. He’s not shooting daggers, exactly, but he does not look happy.

“We were bar hopping. I thought it might be fun to visit the old haunt, you know?” he says, leaning over the table to box Trevor out of the conversation. It only serves to box me in.

I swallow heavily. “You were bar hopping on a Wednesday night?”

He shrugs, which effectively brushes his arm against mine. My lip curls of its own accord. This contact is unwelcome, and entirely different from the heat Trevor’s leg gave me a few minutes ago.

“You’re here on a Wednesday,” he points out.

“I’m not drunk. I’m having an after-work drink with a friend.” I indicate Trevor, who leans forward. His eyes haven’t left Derek, and I would pay a million dollars to find out what he’s thinking right now.

A few minutes ago, I was positive I was giving this a shot with him. I couldn’t hold out any longer as my leg pressed up against his in the most sensual game of footsie I’ve ever played. Now, I’m not sure if he’s going to run away or start a bar fight. Or, worse, if he’s judging me for my obviously poor taste in men.

---