Page 53 of The Love Rematch
Then he blocks Sam’s number, turns off his phone, and goes to sleep.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
emily
A cold showerdoes nothing to dampen the fire under Emily’s skin the next morning.
Fucking Jake.
Why did she call him? Why did he answer? Why did he ask her what she was wearing? Why did she walk to the window? And for the love of all things holy, why oh why did the phone have to die?
Frigid water pellets her back, but deep in her core, everything is still molten as the memory draws up. She walked back to the bathroom, fully prepared to continue the stupidly flirty conversation, but when she picked up the phone, her prepaid limit had been reached. With a growl, she wrapped the stupid thing in an old shirt and stuffed it at the base of her suitcase—just in case. Then she went to bed.
At least, that was her intention.
But when she lay down, her fingers found the threads at the bottom of her shirt where the button used to be, and her mind did the rest, drawing up the images of the adorably frustrated knot in his brow as he tried again and again to undo the final button, the wicked gleam in his eye as a new idea struck, the triumphant grin as he ripped and—pop!—the shirt finally parted to reveal her bare skin.
Emily had barked out a surprised laugh. Jake’s eyes had popped wide in fear. She’d slapped her hands over her mouth in horror as they both froze, waiting, waiting for some sign her mother or father down the hall had heard. They lasted about ten seconds in absolute silence before breaking down into giggles. Jake pulled her into his chest and kissed her. His mouth slipped down her throat and over her collarbone, then followed the path down her stomach.
Andthatwas the memory that Emily went to bed with.
A ghost haunting her from the grave.
It’s no wonder her dreams went the way they did. Except the dream wasn’t a memory. As much as she wishes she could blame past Emily for her wayward imaginings, current Emily was fully at fault. Because the Jake in her dreams didn’t sneak into her teenage bedroom. He snuck in here. In boxer briefs and a Star Wars T-shirt. And this time, all the buttons on her shirt popped off as he pulled it apart in his haste to touch her. And the very same shower she’s standing in now, trying like hell to cool herself down in, is where his hands dug into her thighs, and her feet hooked around his back, and her spine slammed into the tiles while he caught every last sigh with his lips, keeping them safe and hidden from the world, until—
Shit.
She needs to stop picturing it.
She needs to get out of this shower.
Emily turns the water off, grabs a towel, and stumbles into the bedroom. With a hard yank, she closes the bathroom door firmly behind her, then drops her head back against the wood with a sigh. The cold air draws goose bumps to her skin.
Finally, a little relief.
“Emily?” Nina knocks on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Yeah!” She jerks away from the bathroom as if she’s been caught in the act, her heart racing in her chest. “Sorry. I was in the shower. I’m still in a towel, but you can come in if you need to.”
Nina pokes her head through the door. “I’m putting an order in for breakfast. I’ll leave the menu here. Holler when you know what you want. Oh, and we have the last wardrobe consultation before Europe in about an hour and a half. We’re headed to the airport after that, so make sure you’re all good to go beforehand. Okay?”
Emily nods, offering a weak smile. “Yup.”
Nina’s brows twitch. She knows something is off, but she retreats to the hall and pulls the door shut behind her.
Emily throws on her comfiest leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Then, in case paparazzi happen to be at the airport, she adds one of the embellished headbands she’s been working on plus a few bracelets. It never hurts to be prepared.
Breakfast is a massive burrito which is really the exact comfort food she needs right now, even if her stylist is giving her major side-eye while she shoves every morsel into her mouth.The evening gowns will fit, she wants to say,don’t worry.Nina smiles as if amused while she eats her much more Hollywood-approved egg-white omelet. They’re lucky they aren’t in Georgia right now or Emily would be housing a plate of biscuits with gravy and a side of cheesy grits.
Mmm, she thinks.I miss home.
The drive to the airport feels all sorts of wrong. No phone. No wallet. No ticket. No ID. That’s all in Nina’s bag. All she’s got in her carry-on is a romance novel, a sketchbook, her one-of-a-kind Emily Ann Designs that she would never trust in a checked bag, and some snacks. Not even any good ones. Just some nuts she managed to steal from the mansion and a single dark chocolate bar, which is something, she guesses, but she’s a milk chocolate girl. Really, she’s a Skittles girl. Or Starburst. Anything sweet and fruity. It’s an eleven-hour flight—she needs sugar.
Alas, when they finally get to the airport, Emily feels more like a piece of luggage than a human. Nina and Trish shuttle her through the business-class line, then through security. She sees her ten remaining guys in the normal line with Jake, the assistants, and all the non-senior crew. There’s no time to wave. Nina grabs her arm and tugs. On the other side of security, people stare. Some snap photos. It’s sort of surreal. But she hardly has time to process it as Trish and Nina urge her along, never stopping, keeping it moving, until the three of them are sitting out of the public eye in the business-class lounge.
And, okay yes, business class is the BOMB, but would one little stop at the newsstand have killed them?
Fred joins them about twenty minutes later with four glasses of free wine.
