Page 250 of There's No Us Without You
“No, of course not,” Emerson says, reaching for my hand. “Think about it.”
I dart my focus between my two opposites—they’re like apples and oranges; both can be sweet and a little sour, but damn if I don’t love them all the same.
“Fine . . . I’ll think about it,” I say, although I’ve already made up my mind.
SEVENTY
Will
My chest tightensas I stare at the stapled A4 pieces of paper in my hands. It’s been two days since we saw Eden. Two days since she said she’d think about moving back in.
I’m not usually one for bribery, but I’ll do it if I’m desperate enough.
And I’m fucking desperate.
If this is enough for her to forgive me for being a total arsehole, and come back to us, I’ll fucking go there.
Nothing is beneath me when I really want something.
Or someone.
After I saw my dad for the first time in years, I couldn’t even blame him. Tyler was right. I can’t be like him. He’s a shell of what he used to be, and that’s not saying much.
If I believed in karma, I’d say he’s getting his fair share. The accident, the brain damage. Not that I’d wish that on anyone, but his suffering is enough for one lifetime.
Maybe I don’t have to make it worse.
Before Eden left, Emerson and I were hatching a plan to help her get the rest of the money to buy the restaurant back. We didn’t want her owing the bank anything. Just watching her put all her love and soul into the food she makes, left us with no other option.
It’ll be worth it to see the small smile on her face as she dances around in the kitchen, unaware of how intoxicating she is to be around. She’s like a drug, an addiction.
I’m just not sure how she’s going to react.
It was easy enough getting Tony to agree to our terms if Emerson apologised for threatening to cut his hands off, but other than that, the conversation was straightforward.
We put the money forward to pay Tony, then Eden has to agree. Obviously, if she says no, then her contract with Tony stands and she does it on her own terms.
Emerson’s plan of surprising her tonight—in more ways than one if she agrees to come home—has me aching all over.
It’s been weeks since I’ve had them both, and my dick is so fucking hard. All. The. Damn. Time.
Even Emerson has had to tell me to piss off once or twice because I can’t get enough. Has he seen himself lately? He walksaround with no shirt on, that smirk on his face, knowing full well he’s pushing my buttons.
More often than not, I want to tie him up and fuck him senseless. Most of the time he agrees, but he’s also not as submissive as Eden, and a few times he threatened to punch me in the face if I came near him.
He came close once, his face going red, his hands fisted at his sides. All I could do was laugh until he stormed off and sat in his room like a goddamn child for two hours.
Eventually I apologised.
Something I’m getting better at.
Eden walks through the doors of the restaurant at exactly seven, wearing a tight red dress like a second skin.
Well . . . fuck.
She sucks the air right out of my lungs, her dark hair pinned up in a messy bun on top of her head. And those red lips against that light skin.
Jesus Christ.
