Page 48 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
“Must be one hell of a conversation.” He laughs.
“Something like that.” But even as I talk to my brother, my mind drifts back to Kade.
Hours later, the neon “Open” sign flickers before dying out, the last call for alcohol already a distant memory. I'm wiping down tables, the sticky residue of spilled cocktails clinging to my hands. The laughter and music that fueled the night now just echo as the final patrons stagger into the darkness outside.
My phone buzzes against my thigh, jolting me from my thoughts. Kade's name flashes across the screen, sending a shiver up my spine. Can we talk? His simple text shouldn't mean much, but it does. So much.
“What does he want to talk about?” I whisper, chewing on my bottom lip. Alex's probing earlier makes my stomach twist. Is this it? The talk?
With my heart hammering, I thumb a shaky Yes and slip the phone back into my pocket. I keep moving, keep cleaning, trying to look busy, normal. But some small part of me is sure I’m not fooling anyone.
Footsteps approach, and I don't need to look up to know it's him. There's an intensity to his presence that's always been undeniable. Kade's eyes find mine, then scan the bar and empty tables. “Are you alone?”
I nod, tossing a damp rag onto the counter. “Someone's got to lock up.” My attempt at casual falls flat.
Without a word, Kade rolls up the sleeves of his dark shirt, revealing his powerful forearms as he steps behind the bar. He grabs a sponge and starts scrubbing glasses.
I’m touched; he’s helping me so I don’t have to do this alone.
“Alex should be helping you,” he says over his shoulder as I continue cleaning, comfortable with him and this moment.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unsure how to tell him that I appreciate his help and that he’s thinking of me. The sweet gesture melts something in me, and I can’t help but smile as I toss empty bottles into the recycle bin, the clinking glass failing to drown out the pounding of my own pulse.
I break the silence, my voice soft. “What did you want to talk about?”
Kade's hands never still, and suds swirl around the glass he’s washing. “I've been thinking,” he says, and something in his low, growling tone snags my attention. I stand still, gripping the edge of the counter like I’ll fall without something to hold onto.
“About us, about last night, and...” His words hang unfinished between us and makes my heart pound harder.
He looks up suddenly, our eyes locking, and I see it—all the unguarded emotions he usually hides. “You mean a lot to me,” he says in a rough voice.
My breath hitches, and the room feels ten degrees warmer. “You mean a lot to me, too,” I say, the truth rushing from my lips.
The concern etched into his brow deepens, and for one terrifying moment, I think he might be pulling away.
Chapter Twenty
Kade
I don’t know how to say what I want to tell her, so instead, I focus on washing the tumblers and cups and other alcohol ingestion devices. The clinking of glasses, the dull squeak of the cloth against the sudsy insides, and the loud silence aren’t enough to drown out the riot in my mind.
Hot water sloshes over my knuckles, but I still feel oddly chilled and overheated all at once - it’s the same feeling I get when I’m about to hurl, but I’m not feeling particularly sick.
“Hey,” Emma says, her gentle voice cutting through the delicate noise, soft but more powerful than a scream would be. I glance over at her, trying to forget the look on her face, the beautiful way she looks as though she’s been poured into the dress she’s wearing... everything about her makes it damn hard to think straight.
“Hey yourself.” I’m trying to be playful, despite how I’d trailed off and hadn’t completed my thoughts. I know she expects me to say more - and I’d intended to say more - but I don’t think I can force the words. I manage a half-smile as my grip tightens on the glass in my hand, because if I let go, I might reach for her instead.
She leans her hip against the counter beside me, watching me work. Her eyes are wide and search my features for something. “You're quiet tonight. More than usual.”
I shrug, placing another spotless glass onto the drying mat. “Just thinking.” The truth is a grenade in my mouth, and I'm not sure I should pull the pin.
“About what we said a little bit ago?” she asks, her shoulders rising a few inches. She crosses her arms under her breasts, which does absolutely nothing to ease the tension tying knots in my muscles.
“Us.” The single word slips out before I can stop it. Her eyes widen slightly, and I curse myself internally. That was too much, too soon.
Emma tilts her head, and I can smell her shampoo, something floral and sweet that makes my head spin and takes me back to the night we shared together and the following morning in her shower. The memory instantly has an effect on me, and I’m glad I’m facing the sink or she’d know exactly what’s on my mind.
“What about us?” she asks softly.