Between the Pages: A Novel (15 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Finley

I did it. I just blurted it out in the middle of the most intense moment we’ve ever had, and now he’s looking at me like I stabbed him in the ribs with a hidden knife.

Betrayal.

But what does he expect? We’re seconds away from kissing. I think we both know that if we’re alone in that immense, dark house, the inevitable will happen.

So what
? my subconscious asks, making me rethink everything. So what? So fucking what? I reach out and place my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down to my lips.

He lets me.

As soon as our lips connect, my body collapses against his fully. He supports me by wrapping one arm around my waist, and the other drops to his side. I feel my insides tighten, constricting blood flow to my brain. All I want are his lips. And when his tongue parts them, I moan. His herbal cologne makes me moan.
He
makes me moan.
Sensory overload.
I grab a fistful of his hair and pull his body impossibly close with my other hand. He’s warm and hard, and I love everything about it.

His tongue continues to swirl in my mouth, and with every flick, I push myself harder against him. He lowers his hand and cups my ass, and then I cry out as he grinds into me once.

Jesus.

“Finley,” he rasps. “We need to stop. Otherwise, I’m going to fuck you against this wall.”

Fuck.

I’m not sure what to say. Does he expect me to stop because he said 
that
? Doesn’t he understand how much I want this?

“So?” I ask, my voice pleading.

He drops his hands and takes a step back. My heart cracks as he runs his hand through his hair and looks away.

“So?” he answers, glaring at me. “Do you think you deserve a quick fuck against the wall of a bathroom in a dive bar? Is that really what you want? From 
me
?” His voice breaks on the last word.

I whimper. “I want 
you
,” I plead, reaching out for him. Every part of my body is screaming for him.

“But I 
need
 you, Finley.” His eyes search mine. “I need you to stay. I need you to write for me. Please don’t leave. I don’t want to give you another reason to leave.”

“Can’t we have both?” I ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

The finality in his words cracks my heart wider. The blood pools in and flows back out again, and in two heartbeats, I feel shattered.

“Okay.” I walk past him, embarrassment seeping into every part of my body. I don’t say goodbye to Isaac. I don’t say goodbye to Sylvanna. Instead, I walk straight out into the night. I walk quickly, hoping I can get far enough away from the bar. When I look back a few minutes later, nobody is chasing after me like I’d hoped. No cars are pulling up. No scruffy faces. No brown, messy hair. No honey-colored eyes.

I pull my phone out and call a cab. Now more than ever, I wish I had a damn data plan. Two minutes later, a yellow taxi pulls up, and I head to the house alone. When I get upstairs, I contemplate packing and leaving tonight. I even pull the small rolling suitcase down from the closet. But Emerson’s words keep replaying in my head.

But I need you, Finley.

Need is a strong word. It’s stronger then 
want 
or 
crave
. It evokes necessity, like food, water, and air. I am Emerson’s air. And now, he is mine.

Even if we can’t act on our feelings, we need to continue writing this book. I put the suitcase back. I walk to my dresser and slip my clothes off, throwing on a silky negligee to sleep in. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I fill up a glass with some water, gulping it down so I’m not deathly hung over tomorrow.

When I hear the front door close, I flip my light out and climb into bed. I hear Emerson walk up the stairs. My heart races. I can hear him pause in front of my door. And then, the handle turns.

I keep my eyes shut, my body turned away from him. I hear him walk quietly to my bed. He reaches a hand out and brushes my hair away from my face. I make my breathing even—I want him to think I’m asleep. He walks away, and I hear him click on my nightlight. He turns and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

A single tear falls down my cheek and onto my pillow.

Happy birthday to me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Finley

“Finley.” I groan and turn over, away from the thing making the noise. It repeats itself. “Finley.” My eyelids flutter open, and Emerson is standing over my bed with a cup of coffee. Unsteadily, I push myself up onto my elbows and tilt my head. The motion makes my head pound.

“What?” I whine, looking around the room. It’s not even light out yet.

“We have to leave in twenty minutes.”

I push myself all the way up and glare at him. “Am I dreaming? What are you talking about?”

He chuckles. “Drink this,” he says, handing the warm mug to me. I reach out and take it, sipping it slowly and looking up at him through my eyelashes.

“Where are we going?” I ask, once I’ve had a couple of sips of the delicious, perfectly made coffee.

“I promised you a birthday present, didn’t I?”

I shrug. “Yeah, but—”

Reliving the tension from last night is painful. Did I really say I couldn’t write for him anymore? And did we really kiss?

“Finley,” he says sternly. “We drank too much. Let’s let it go today and just be friends. I have somewhere I want to take you.”

I swallow. His words are tender, and they weave their way around my heart and bones.

His use of the word
friends
is amusing. Usually that word might turn me off, but today, it’s lovely.
Friends.
It certainly takes the pressure off. Also, I like being friends with Emerson. I like having him in my life in general, in whatever capacity.

“Okay,” I say, feeling more awake now my coffee is almost gone. I throw back the rest, and Emerson takes my mug.

“Be ready in twenty. Dress for the beach.” He stands, eyeing my barely there negligee.
Oh boy.
“I hope you’re hungry. I’m making pancakes.” He turns and leaves, taking my heart with him.

When did my heart start to become a part of this equation? I can’t deny the way my stomach knots when I’m around him, and the way my chest feels empty when he leaves. At this point, I can’t imagine my life without him. How did that happen so quickly? More importantly, how am I going to say goodbye in three months? It’s funny how just three months ago, he was nothing to me except a writer I admired. Now, he makes my heart hurt when he leaves.

I climb out of bed and text Hannah. I need her input, and pray she’s not asleep. Though by the looks of the sky, she most likely is. That girl was not designed to wake up early.

Sooo, Emerson and I kissed last night. It was very intense, and today he’s taking me somewhere for my birthday. Please tell me I’m crazy for thinking we could ever be a possibility.

I sigh and set my phone down. She doesn’t reply by the time I’ve thrown on cut-off shorts and a white tank over a bathing suit. I slip on my Vans and throw on a dark grey sweatshirt. I braid my hair off to the side, and though it looks extremely messy, it’s five in the morning. End of story.

I grab some beach essentials before chucking my phone and keys into a large tote and slinging it over my shoulder.

I’m done in eleven minutes. When I get downstairs, Emerson is drinking coffee and flipping pancakes. His back is to me. I smile and watch him for a second, admiring his fine backside. He’s wearing jean shorts, a white T-shirt, and Vans.

Matchy-matchy.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into a seat at the bar.

He spins around and eyes me invitingly. He doesn’t even try to hide it. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, handing a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes to me.

“Mmm,” I say, licking my lips, “I’m starving.”

“How do you feel today?” he asks, his back to me. The way he says it makes me think he’s gauging my feelings about everything last night and not my physical hangover.

“I’m good,” I answer, chewing. “Really. Just a small headache.”

He turns slowly. “I think I’m okay, too,” he answers, wrapping his arms around his chest and leaning against the counter. “Anyway, enough about yesterday. We’re going to Montauk.”

I’m about to reply, but my phone beeps once, twice, three times. I look down at my phone on the counter. Three texts from Hannah pop up.

WHAT?!?!?! FINLEY!!!!

To answer your question, YOU ARE OUT OF YOUR MIND. But maybe in a good way?

Was it good?!

I smile and ignore Emerson’s penetrating gaze as I respond.

It was fucking incredible.

When I look up, it feels as if Emerson can read my mind. He’s watching me with a sly grin, and his dazzling eyes are searching my face impishly.

“What?” I ask, nervous. Sometimes I feel like he
can
read my mind.

“You’re blushing,” he murmurs. His right brow is slightly arched.

“Am I?” I ask, fanning myself with my hand. I don’t even have an excuse.

“You told Hannah about last night, didn’t you?” His voice isn’t accusatory. Instead, it’s teasing and light. How did he know?

“Maybe.” I sigh. “How could I
not
?” I ask, looking down at my hands and twiddling my thumbs.

“Finley,” he says, turning to flip the pancakes. His tone has completely reversed—it’s no longer playful. It’s heavy. I see him plate a few for himself. As he sits next to me, his sad eyes wander across my face and then down to the floor. “I know I said we wouldn’t talk about it today. But I have to know—are you quitting?” I open my mouth to speak and he interrupts, suddenly acting very impassioned. “Because if you are, I’m begging you to stay.” He looks up at me, and I’m astonished to see his eyes swimming with fear. “I meant it when I said I needed you.”

I shake my head fervently. “I’m not quitting.” I have to bite my lip to keep from crying. Why does everything with him feel so intense all of a sudden?

He nods quickly and sniffs. “Good.”

We finish our pancakes in silence. I suppose emotional moments like just now will be the norm from now on. There’s no going back. We’re in, and even though we haven’t jumped in fully, we’re dipping our toes in and testing the waters. I have a feeling when we finally jump, it’ll be a cannonball.

*

Not much later, we’re in the Soob headed toward Montauk. Emerson made me close my eyes as we got into the car. He leads me to my seat, and I cringe to think what his sneaky plans entail because once we’re in the car, he says I can open my eyes. I file it away in the
Emerson is strange
file.

The sky is a glittering pink, as if the sun is about to burst over the horizon flamboyantly. It’s stunning. I pull my sweatshirt tighter around me. It’s chilly this morning. I’m fully awake now. The second cup of coffee has me buzzing, and I can’t stop thinking about last night. I’m like a giddy schoolgirl. I quickly grab my phone and text Hannah again.

More deets later.

“Why are we going to the beach so early?” I ask, eyeing Emerson suspiciously. He’s wearing a pair of aviators now that the sun is bright and beginning to peek out. I study his profile—his chiseled jaw, his messy hair. The way his baseball cap makes him look so artfully distressed.

“You’ll see.” I sigh and turn the seat warmers on. “It’s August,” he adds, his voice incredulous, “you can’t possibly be cold.”

“I get cold easily,” I retort, smiling.

He smiles. “You’re going to hate your birthday present, then,” he says, shaking his head.

“As long as we’re not going in the water, I’m good.”

He’s quiet as we pull off the highway and toward the part of the beach I used to go with my parents. There’s no one around. The only people at the beach at this time are . . . suddenly it clicks.

“Oh, hell no,” I hiss, under my breath. “Surfing?”

“Come on,” he yells, laughing. “Please tell me you’ve surfed before.”

“Umm, no.” I scowl at him.

“I brought wetsuits,” he says, nudging his head toward the back of the car. “You’ll be fine.”

“No,” I say simply.

He pulls into a spot right in front of the water. The expansive beach is teeming with seagulls, and there are several bodies already in the water.

Shark bait.

“No? You’re not even going to try?” He looks at me with narrowed eyes, his hands firm on the steering wheel.

“No,” I repeat. I hold back tears. “I’m . . . scared of sharks.”

He stares at me. “What?
Sharks?
”

I shrug. “I had a close call the last time I went in the ocean. It was here, at this exact same beach.” I point to the ocean. “Chloe and I were boogie boarding, and I felt something brush up against my leg. I was thirteen. I never went in the water again. I consider myself lucky I wasn’t eaten alive. It could’ve been much worse,” I add, my voice unwavering.

“Finley,” Emerson starts, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “It was probably a small tiger shark. Or a fish. Or a seal. It’s very rare to see a great white shark.”

“Stop chastising me,” I say quietly. “I’m not going.”

“I’ll give you an additional twenty percent of my royalties,” he jokes. “Please. Try. Try for me.” He looks at me apprehensively. “Try for Chloe.”

I sigh and put my face in my hands. “That’s not fair,” I cry, shuddering at the thought of having to go in the water. Did he have to bring up Chloe? How can I say no to that? She’s my biggest weak spot. “Ugh, fine. You win. For Chloe.” I hop out of the car, courage fueling my veins. If Chloe were around, I’d do it for her. If Chloe were around, I’d do it
with
her. Just like old times.
I’d do just about anything to see her again.
I want to make her proud. “I want that twenty percent,” I add, reaching into the trunk for my wetsuit. “Also, whose is this?” I ask, holding the wetsuit up to him. God, I hope it didn’t belong to a previous girlfriend or something . . .

Emerson closes the driver’s door and meets me at the trunk. “I bought it. For you.”

I groan. “And I assume you bought me a surfboard too?” His eyes wander to the roof. I see a large rack with two boards. So
that’s
why he had me cover my eyes. When I look back at him, he’s grinning mischievously. If I weren’t so annoyed with him right now, I might find his eagerness endearing. “Way to guilt me into this even more,” I grumble. “I hope the shark eats you first.”

I take my jeans and tank top off. I smirk when I see Emerson’s eyes flick to my body automatically. They sweep up and down twice, and when I twist to look at him fully, he clears his throat and looks away. I pull the new wetsuit on. It’s extremely tight—he must’ve underestimated my size. It feels like I’m wearing a scuba body glove.

“I think it’s too small,” I say, straining to zip it up my chest. God, how embarrassing.

“It’ll loosen in the water. It fits perfectly,” he adds, scrutinizing me. He reaches out and adjusts the zipper near my neck, and the tugging motion brings me forward a bit, toward him. I automatically reach a hand out and place it on his bicep.

We both freeze. I blink and look up at him. His eyes search mine. He pats the spot he was fixing.

“Better,” he says softly. He clears his throat again and looks down, stepping away. “Ready?”

I gulp. “No. I think you’re underestimating my fear.” Emerson unlocks the roof rack and I see him pull two surfboards out. One is worn, with used wax all over one side. The other is shiny and . . . teal. “It’s so pretty,” I squeal, taking it from him awkwardly. I admire the gleaming body, and the pink cord I’m supposed to attach to my ankle.

“Let’s get you used to the water before we attempt anything. Just paddle. Follow me, okay?”

I nod. My heart is pounding, and I’m beginning to sweat underneath my suit. Emerson locks the car with the valet key and tucks it into a section of his suit. Well,
that’s
nifty. I wonder how often he goes surfing.

The closer we get, the more I realize how much better for surfing this beach is from the one outside Emerson’s house. The sand is pristine, and the waves are perfectly formed. At the house, the sand is rocky and the waves just lap at the surface due to the house being in a small enclave.

The second my feet touch the water, I yelp. “It’s cold,” I cry, hopping out and standing a safe distance away.

“Here,” Emerson says, reaching out for my board. I unlatch it from my ankle and he carries both boards to the sand. What is he doing? I thought the whole point of surfing was to . . .
surf.

All of a sudden, he’s sprinting toward me. I giggle and shriek, twisting around and running down the shore, away from him. I can hear him behind me laughing, and soon, an arm reaches around my middle. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I beat my fists against his back.

“Don’t you dare,” I yell, kicking and squirming, trying to get him to drop me.