Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(27)

“Julia, be real. I wouldn’t use them for blackmail. I’d keep them for personal use.”

“Wow, you are something else. You know—”

“Turn around,” he cuts me off with a smirk. “I’ll help you.”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t.”

He sighs now, running a calloused hand through his dark golden curls. “Julia, I’ve seen women’s legs before, okay? I’ll quit teasing you and get straight to business, but let’s get this done so that we can both get to work.”

I sigh heavily, resignation sweeping through me. “You can’t help me because I lied. They’re not on my legs.”

His brows lift in silent question as he stares back at me.

“They’re on my ass.”

For a beat: nothing. Then his bright blue irises widen in shock as he lifts a fist up to shield his lips.

Which only serves to annoy me because I know that behind that big fucking hand he’s laughing at me. But he covers it up in seconds, dropping his hand as he shoots me an earnest expression. “You’re in luck, because I’ve also seen a lot of women’s asses. Seeing yours will be just another day in the life. So, the offer still stands.”

I groan and drop my face into my hands.

“I promise to be a complete gentleman about it. I’ve removed porcupine quills from a horse’s nose, so this should be a walk in the park. I know I run my mouth a lot, but I would never—”

“I know,” I say, waving him off. Because I do know. I may not be all that familiar with Emmett, but he has seen me at my most vulnerable, and he was nothing short of saintly.

Plus, I can’t fathom spending hours with these prickles torturing me. So, with an exasperated sigh, I say, “Fine. But don’t get a boner.”

He scoffs at me and I shoot him a withering glare. Then I turn around with flaming red cheeks and plant my palms on the linoleum counter. “Okay. Get it over with.”

“Oh god. I love it when women say that to me,” he quips, stepping closer.

“Emmett.”

“Sorry, sorry. It slips out sometimes.”

“Well, lock it down. I’m not one of the contestants. Save it for later.”

He’s a respectable distance away, but I can still feel the heat of his body as he crouches a bit to inspect me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can disassociate from the level of mortification this entire thing is causing me.

“Julia, I don’t know how to tell you this without pissing you off.”

“Just say it,” I grit out.

“I’m going to need you to bend over.”

“Fuck my life,” I groan, staring at the worn floorboards beneath me and silently praying that they might open up and swallow me whole.

“In the least sexual way possible. Obviously, because it’s you.”

I bend over, propping my elbows against the counter as I toss back, “Okay, there’s no need to be insulting about it.”

He chuckles, and I can feel his eyes on me. Knowing he’s looking his fill stirs something inside of me that has been dormant for over two years now. Wearing only my shorts and sports bra, I’m exposed but not uncomfortable.

“You really did a number on yourself. There are… a lot.”

I swear I can hear him wince.

I glare at him over my shoulder, refusing to answer that question with any words. He grins back at me, and it’s hard to maintain my frown because this is objectively kind of funny.

Still, I turn back to analyzing the counter. It has brown veining in it, like it was trying to imitate marble while keeping to a very seventies color scheme. Hell, even the oven and fridge are a yellow-gold color.

Silence stretches between us as he moves, assessing the damage or coming up with a plan of attack. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock that sits above the woodburning fireplace in the small adjoining living room.

“Okay, can I touch you now?”

My heart stutters in my chest at the tenderness and respect in his voice. For a guy who was just joking about bending me over, he has pivoted into dutiful territory very quickly.

“Y-yeah. That’s fine.” I nod as I respond, but I don’t risk looking back at him.

“Okay, I’m going to start down here.” He presses a single finger to my upper thigh to demonstrate the location. “And then I’ll work my way up. But I’ll let you know. I might have to… lift the fabric a bit to get at a few of them.”

“Sure. Whatever,” I say. Because what do I care? Any shred of pride I had has dissolved into this retro vinyl countertop.

This hideous mustard tone is officially the shade of humiliation.

And all that’s left for me to do is grin and bear it.





CHAPTER 13


Emmett


JULIA IS EMBARRASSED. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that much out.

A pink flush spreads across the skin on her back, and she’s holding her neck straight and stiff. She’s pretending these hideous mustard-colored countertops are the most interesting thing she’s ever seen just to avoid looking up at me.

“You got performance anxiety or something, Bush? All that talk about seeing so many women’s asses, and you’re standing there like a starstruck virgin.”