Page 13 of Not Part of the Plan
“It would have been weird if he didn’t look at me while he asked me out.” Emma allowed herself to gloat just a teensy bit. “Technically, he demanded that I go out with him.”
Eva pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks and then her face lost all its glee. “Why’d you say no?”
Damn.Emma hated being predictable. “Who says I said no?”
Eva rolled those emerald green eyes heavenward. “Youalwayssay no. What was wrong with Mr. Perfection?”
“He’s got this whole ‘dangerous, bad boy, player’ thing going. Not my type.”
“You’re bad boy prejudiced,” Eva accused.
“Shouldn’t we all be?” Emma felt her defensiveness kick in. “This guy is an award-winning fashion photographer. He’s probably got a new model on his arm every night of the week. He’s the kind of man who would talk you into dropping your panties in a coat closet at a party, dole out orgasms like after dinner mints, and then never call you again.”
“I don’t think you’re making the point you think you are,” Eva interjected, wistfulness tingeing her tone. “I keep hoping I’m going to call you one day, and you’ll have eloped with someone you met in a rainstorm with a flat tire.”
Emma shook her head pityingly. “You are so weird.”
“Subject change?” Eva offered.
“Definitely,” Emma agreed. “When are you coming in for the wedding?
CHAPTER FIVE
On Saturday nights, Cheryl the bartender had fallen into a routine of kicking Emma out by ten or eleven if the brewery crowd was manageable. Emma didn’t mind putting in the hours, but she also understood the value of not working fifty-hour weeks.
She’d watched her father struggle with the impossible work-life balance of a single parent. He’d had three young daughters and a restaurant to run. Growing up, she’d spent more hours at her father’s restaurant than the family home.
To this day, every time she smelled simmering marinara and fresh basil, she felt awash in childhood memories.
Emma wrestled her gym bag from the backseat of her Escape and swiped her badge through Fitness Freak’s card reader. In Blue Moon, one’s options for late night entertainment were limited to drinks at Shorty’s or sweating it out at the twenty-four/seven gym. Inside, the gym was empty. No one else had decided that Saturday night was the perfect time to work up a sweat within the lime green walls lined with weights and machines.
She changed, cued up her workout playlist, and packed up her work clothes. She moved quickly, not that she was in a hurry to get on the rower, but it was just how she lived. Emma did everything at high speed. On busy nights at the brewery, it was a full shift of adrenaline. Even a finely tuned food service machine such as herself could be pushed to the limits on busy nights. No two shifts were ever the same, and that was what she loved about it.
While she ordered the rest of her life around measurable, timely goals, her desire for excitement and chaos, her own dirty little secret, was met in the restaurants she ran.
Emma pushed through the locker room door pulling her hair into a tail when she became aware of another presence.
Nikolai Vulkov’s leanly muscled frame was ruthlessly banging out pull-ups on the rig across the room. His gaze met hers in the mirror, and he muscled out five more reps before hopping off the bar and turning to grin at her.
“You just made my night,” he said in that throaty voice that served to both irk and arouse her.
Emma didn’t like the flitter of excitement that raced through her at being all alone with the wolf. She debated ignoring him but decided that would only make him try harder. And it was already impossible to ignore him. Dressed in dark mesh shorts and a gray sleeveless tee, he offered a view even Emma couldn’t help but enjoy.
“What brings you to Fitness Freak at this time of night?” She kept her tone polite, but the curiosity was real. If anyone should have Saturday night plans, it was the man before her. She was staring too long, pretending not to admire the sweat-slicked biceps and the hard-muscled thighs.
“My kind and generous hosts have been in bed since nine-thirty. I’m not used to such quiet, early evenings. Especially on a Saturday,” he confessed, swiping his arm over his forehead.
“Ah, the charming culture shock of small town life,” Emma nodded in understanding. “I bet they cooked dinner tonight instead of going out.”
He grimaced. “I’ve never seen anyone in New York use their kitchen for anything other than wine storage and catering space.”
“It’s a whole other world here,” Emma agreed with a half-smile.
Niko took a swig of water and grinned. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What wasn’t?”
“Having a friendly conversation.”
