It just so happens that this year, the torch was passed down to us from our parents. So of course, the first year we’re responsible for throwing the damn party, we end up in jail over a fucking nutcracker.
But honestly, me?
I don’t give a shit about the stupid feud with the Worthingtons. Not really. The only thing that matters to me is Ma, and unfortunately, she does care about the stupid feud and our epic parties, which in turn makes me have to pretend that I’m so bothered that we’re not included in their uptight, lavish cocktail party where the champagne alone costs more than what my company makes in a month.
If my family wasn’t so invested, I wouldn’t give a shit about any of it. But I have to admit, I love messing with Emma Worthington, to drive her as crazy as she does me. I want to push every button she has just to get a rise out of her.
I’ve always liked this… game between the two of us. This delicious tension that makes my dick hard.
She just thinks it has to do with our families hating each other. But the truth is, I don’t actually hate Emma Worthington. I just want to shove my cock between her lips to shut her up.
“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking I care that much. Not everything is about you. I know it’s hard to think of the world not revolving around you, but it doesn’t,” I tell her, ignoring the sneer she throws my way as I walk past her to the concrete bench and take a seat. I cross my arms over my chest, lean back against the bars, and shut my eyes.
As much as I like fucking with her, I don’t particularly like being stuck in a jail cell that smells like mildew and faintly of piss.
“This is going to be the longest night of my life,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, I think.
I hum in response but keep my eyes shut. “I’m stuck in here with you too, Emmie.”
“Emma.” I can hear the annoyance in her tone, and it makes my lips tug up into a smirk. “God, you’re a pain in the ass.”
Cracking one eye open, I see her shuffling from one foot to the other, and my gaze flicks down to her feet. She’s wearing ridiculous black heels that make absolutely no sense with the amount of snow that’s currently on the ground outside.
“You know there’s another side of this bench for you to sit on, right?” I say, gesturing to the spot next to me. “I don’t bite. Well… depends on who you ask.”
“You’re disgusting, and this entire place smells like pee. I’m not sitting on any surface in this place.”
I shrug, dropping my head back. “Suit yourself.”
Silence hangs in the air between us for a few minutes, even though I expected her to have a smart-ass reply to what I said.
“Are you really going to sit there… and not offer your shirt or something for me to at least sit on? That’s what a gentleman would do, Pearce.”
Sighing heavily, I sit up as I drag my hand through my hair, then stand from the bench. In two short strides, I close the distance between us, my hand finding a spot on the cell wall next to her head as I peer down at her. “And whatever gave you the impression that I’m a gentleman?”
The wide, shocked look in her eyes makes me deliriously fucking happy, and her plump lips open, then close. As if she might say something, but she’s trying to find the right insult to throw my way.
For the first time, maybe ever, I’ve shut Emma Worthington up.
Unfortunately for me, it’s not with my cock, but a win is a win.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“And you’re a pretentious ice princess, but I think it’s a waste of time to talk about the shit we already know, isn’t it?”
Her lips flatten and then twist into a scowl as she looks up at me through her thick lashes. She’s short, but thanks to her ridiculous heels, there’s only a few inches between us. My head dips lower to respond to whatever insult she’ll spew, and she rises ever so slightly on her toes to reach my height.
Call it what you want, but I think she just might want me to kiss her as badly as I want to kiss her right now.
Thick tension fills the air. A beat passes with neither of us speaking. Moving. Breathing.
Then, I lean in a little further, but right before I meet her lips, I turn toward her ear to murmur, “I am an asshole, and I’m sure as fuck not a gentleman, so let’s not pretend that I am.”
With that, I push off the wall and walk back over to the bench. Before I sit down, I unbutton the flannel I’m wearing and shrug it off, leaving me in my white T-shirt decorated with holes. I spent the majority of the day on a jobsite, so it’s the best I have.
Looking directly at Emma, I smirk as I spread it out on her side of the bench. “I’m only doing this so I don’t have to spend the next eight hours listening to you complain about how bad your feet hurt in those things.”
My gaze drops to her feet, and she huffs, “These are Valentino.”
“And this is Ariat. Now, sit the fuck down before you get blisters. Some of us want some peace and quiet around here.”
The daggers her eyes are shooting my way tell me just how much she wants to hit me, and I’m honestly a little surprised. It takes a lot to push her buttons this far, so she must have really wanted that damn nutcracker for her to be this angry.
She chews her lip for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, wincing as she does.
“God, I hate you so much,” she mutters, stomping over to the bench and sitting down gracefully next to me on top of my shirt. It’s comical how prissy she is.
Her spine is rigid straight, and her hands are resting in her lap as she scoots to the very edge of the bench, as far as she possibly can away from me. Like being in such close proximity to me is going to cause her to catch whatever asshole funk I have.
We sit in a stiff silence for a while until she speaks. “Thank you. You’re still a dick, but… thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I won’t, ever again. But I figured what happens in jail stays in jail, so maybe we can call somewhat of a… ceasefire? At least until we get out of here, and then I can go back to hating you with everything I have, and you can go back to annoying me to the ends of the earth.”
Opening my eyes, I look over at her, her posture much more relaxed than when she first sat down, whether it be because she’s exhausted or because she’s tired of acting so damn uptight.
“Fine with me.”
“Good.” Her blonde curls bounce as she gives me a stiff nod.
I sit back again, crossing my arms over my chest, the cold metal of the bars biting through the thin T-shirt.
Fuck, it’s cold and drafty in here.
My gaze travels to the clock, and I see that it’s almost 10:30 p.m., which means we’ve been here for almost four hours after booking, with at least another eight hours to go if we’re lucky.
That means another eight hours of pretending that I didn’t almost kiss Emma Worthington and another eight hours of pretending that I still don’t want to.
emma
Santa tell me… that this is a joke.
Jackson Pearce is haunting me, even in my dreams. Go figure, I can’t escape him in the one tiny sliver of time that’s solely mine and mine alone. He invades my thoughts and makes them his own.