Page 52 of Things I Overshared
“She doesn’t,” Emerson says suddenly from across the table where he and Tim plan to watch. “Bit of a pool shark, in fact.” I glare at him. One, he’s completely stolen my thunder, and two, he’s robbed me of thePose My ArmsFrom Behind Like You’re About To Ravage Me TutoringSessionI was so looking forward to. Wait . . . and three, how does he even know that?
I glare at him for a moment, meeting his rigid, cloaked stare. I cannot read him, at all. So, angry and filled with more questions than ever, I stop trying. I go right back to forgetting he exists, focusing instead on Thomas, who is open like a book. I know my shirt gaps a bit when I shoot, nothing risqué but not unexciting—to human males who are not robot statues, anyway. I know my cigarette pant–style slacks hug my butt to perfection too.
I also know Thomas has no trouble taking in the view, and revealing he likes what he sees. He bites his lip. He grips his pole. I laugh at his jokes harder than I need to. I compliment his shots. He does the same, asking questions about my college life, my life in New York, how I got so good at the game. Thomas smiles wide and free, holding my gaze in a way that’s easy, fun.
The exact opposite of the way that Emerson appears at my elbow after our game. He gestures to Tim as he pulls me away. He’s on his phone, which he shows them as we walk. I’m confused and exasperated by the time we turn the corner to the hall that leads to the bathroom.
“We’re leaving,” he barks at me.
Oh, the hell we are.
Chapter 15
“Um, what?” I ask in a loud whisper, hoping they don’t hear us in the small hallway not far from where Tim and Tom sit.
Emerson glares at me. “Charlie is on his way.”
“I thought this was some work emergency?” I say, gesturing at his phone.
“I was listening to a voicemail.”
“Um, well, that was actually kind of genius. I’ll have to tell Skye about that little introvert trick.” I shake my head, trying to push the fuzziness away from the edges of my brain. “But um, no, I am not leaving. If you want to go home and go to bed, old man, have at it. It’s only eight thirty!”
He lowers his chin. “We have an early morning.”
“Oh, look who finally studied their itinerary,” I say, snarky.
“I thought you might need the restroom before we leave. It’s a half-hour drive back to the hotel.”
My mouth hangs open for a minute.
“Listen,Dad,I don’t need a chaperone or a sitter, and for a friend, you absolutelysuckas a wingman, soyoucan leave and I’ll see you later.”
“Apparently you do, or do you think it’s a good idea to shag a buyer? Never mind your pledge to stay off men—do you think that idea is wise? Professional? Is that the kind ofCanton quality assuranceThomas Gage can expect?”
My face burns with embarrassment.
He didn’t call me a whore, but that’s exactly what those words sounded like when they met my ears.Slutty Samantha.He’s not anywhere near the first to treat me this way, just because of some innocent flirting. My eyes start to sting, and anger boils over inside me. “Fuck you, Emerson.”
He doesn’t seem as surprised as I am at the words I let slip out. Instead, he sighs, shakes his head, and carries on. “Charlie will be here in five minutes. I will tell them we’ve been called off to see to some arrangements for tomorrow.”
I rush into the bathroom, suddenly in a violent storm of emotion so rough, I’m swaying and feeling seasick. Maybe he’s not wrong. Maybe I flirted too much for a professional setting. Maybe this low-cut shirt crosses a bunch of lines.
One place he hit the nail on the head was my pledge, which was on its way out the proverbial window. I clearly haven’t learned my lesson and can’t keep promises to myself. Weak, silly, stupid, same old Sam.Damn it!
I decide to go into a stall and hurry up, angry he was right that I’d need to go and eager to distract the tears that threaten. I am not going to cry about this in front of him or the Gages. I am not.
I wash my hands and blink hard at the mirror, telling myself that I can do this. I can make it to my hotel room without crying. I repeat my steadfast mantra to myself.No effing crap, Samantha!I shake off my hands and put a firm, toothless smile on my face.
I rush out to Tim and Thomas and offer smiley handshakes. “So sorry to have to run on you!”
“Feel free to carry on. Just use the Canton name in any of the pubs, and you’re already set.” Emerson’s voice is gruff.
“No worries, we’ll see you at convention, yeah?” Thomas says to me with a grin.
I can’t tell if he knows what happened, but I give him a wide smile and a nod.
“Absolutely.”
