Page 50 of Resisting the Temptation
Emma chews her bottom lip as she contemplates her options.
After what feels like hours, she sighs. “Fine.”
I suppress a triumphant smile.
The valet arrives with my gray Giulia Quadrifoglio and tosses me the keys. It may be a few years old—a 2016 model—but I love the sleek design, and it makes me feel connected to my Italian roots. Like a gentleman, I open the door for Emma and help her get settled in, then I round the car and settle into the driver’s side, keeping an eye out for anyone we might know. Luckily, it seems everyone is still inside enjoying the party.
Emma runs her hands over the leather seats. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t usually listen to music, so we sit in silence until we merge onto the freeway when Emma lets out a quiet but sharp gasp, her eyes glued to her phone.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“N-nothing. Just some family stuff.” She doesn’t even look up.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
Clearly, everything isnotfine. Ishouldlet it go. It’s not what we do, and she clearly doesn’t want to talk to me about it. We don’t ask about personal lives. We don’t share intimate details about families or friends or schedules.
But right now, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m just about to ask her to tell me more when her phone rings, and she groans before answering.
“Hi, Mom. Yes, I got your text. Is he—”
“No, I don’t—but I can—” She throws her head back on a silent groan as she listens to her mom talk.
Emma looks over and gives me an apologetic smile.
I have the overwhelming urge to place my hand on her thigh and give her a reassuring squeeze to show I’m here for her, but I think it would make it worse.
“I was going to ask Jordan—I know, Iknow. We’d stay at a hotel or with Hannah.” She pauses, and I can’t hear what her mom is saying on the other end. “Can I at least FaceTime him? I didn’t get to say goodbye to—” Her voice gets cut off again. “Iknow.I understand. Please keep me updated. Okay. Bye.”
Jesus. Does her mom ever let her finish a sentence?
Emma hangs up and presses her fingers to the corners of her eyes and takes three deep breaths before she whispers. “I’m sorry, but I need you to take me home.”
I don’t like how small and fragile her voice sounds. She doesn’t sound like the boisterous, take charge, sunshiney woman I work with every day. She sounds… sad. Defeated.
“I can do that, but I don’t know if I want you to be alone right now.”
“That’s not for you to decide. And I won’t be alone. Jordan’s home.”
Fucking Jordan. Jordan probably knows what’s wrong. Jordan probably knows so many things about her, things she keeps hidden from me.
“Will you tell me what the call was about?”
“Why does it matter, Ben? This isn’t what we are to each other.”
But maybe I want to be.
The thought takes me by surprise but doesn’t freak me out the way it should.
I don’t have time to examine that right now.
