Only With You Page 9

  She flopped down in a canvas chair next to Knight. They hadn't spoken except for her barking orders at him all day, and now he eyed her warily, as if waiting for her cue on how to proceed.

  Her legs ached from standing all day in heels, and her cheeks stung from the sun. It was a good, bone-deep tired that camouflaged the ache beneath her breastbone. Now that it was just her and Knight, it resurfaced. She had to figure this out. She and Knight couldn't tiptoe around each other for the rest of the year.

  They were friends. They had plans. Their weekly movie night and study sessions. Knight was graduating this year, too, and she'd promised to show his parents around town. That was the other thing—Knight was leaving her. They didn't have much time left together. Did she really want to spend it drifting apart?

  No. She wanted Knight in her life. Which meant she had to take the first step.

  "Thanks for your help this weekend, Knight. I know you think I'm an awful person and I had you down here for awful reasons, but this—" She surveyed the park. "This was always part of the plan."

  "I don't think you're awful," he said quietly. "I think you… What you did here, Emma? This was amazing. All those animals have homes now. You even raised money with your naming idea."

  "Oh, it's nothing." Emma was certain it was less than a trifle of her parents' success.

  "Not to the shelter."

  She shrugged. "There are better ways to raise money."

  "Who are you?"

  Emma frowned as she turned her face to him. "What do you mean?"

  Knight raised an eyebrow. He reached out his hand and laid it on her cheek. "You aren't the girl that turns down compliments. You're the girl who tells me why my compliment is just scratching the surface."

  Emma blushed, recognizing herself easily in what he said. She turned her face so his hand fell away. "If you'd like to compliment my perfect hair, or this bracelet, or my shoes—"

  "Emma." He palmed her cheek again and forced her to look at him. In that moment, Knight became more than Knight by being very Knight. By being warm, brown eyes and dark, tousled hair. "Emma, you are more than hair and wardrobe. You're all heart." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Although he'd only touched her in the smallest of places, she felt his touch everywhere.

  He dropped his hands and stood up. They studied each other in silence then Knight cupped the back of his neck and walked to the other end of the park where Josh and Anne were playing with a giant mastiff.

  Emma swore she was a miracle of science, because watching his retreat made her feel warm and cold, anxious and certain.

  She didn't just want Knight. She saw that now.

  She needed Knight. She needed him to be the first person she saw at breakfast so she could get excited for her day. She needed him to tease her so she laughed at herself. She needed him to turn a critical eye to what she was doing so she tried harder. She needed his praise. She needed the way he always seemed to be there. She needed him.

  All of him.

  His flirty smiles. His intense stares. His laughing fits.

  His hands. The stubble on his cheeks. His mouth.

  Him.

  Knight!

  Today, without their usual banter, their usual style, their usual arm-in-arm closeness had made her realize.

  She needed Knight. She needed it all.

  Emma Greene was in love, and she hated it.

  * * *

  Knight. Knight!

  Emma paced her room, wringing her hands.

  When had it happened? What had changed? His kiss on her forehead?

  No, it couldn't be so simple. Besides, she had kissed Knight's cheek on two prior occasions.

  One: at the beginning of the year she had lost her phone, and he had found it. Or actually his roommate, Tran, had found it by using some locater program, but Knight had been the one to wake Tran up at what he'd felt was the godawful hour of 2:00 PM on a Sunday to make him do it. She'd actually planted wet ones on both of them.

  Two: last month, she had really, really wanted a donut. He had brought her a donut. She'd kissed him on the cheek.

  Neither kiss had yielded such turmoil within her. Or any turmoil. Maybe a flutter of something but that was to be expected. Knight was tall, warm, and he smelled nice. She'd be dead not to feel a delicious flutter of awareness at kissing him.

  But this? What she was feeling now?

  This was no mere flutter of awareness. This was the rapidly beating wings of Hitchcock's birds.

  What could she do? What should she do?

  How did Knight feel about her?

  Friendly, of course. They were good friends. Despite his ire, his disappointment, he was always there for her when she asked. And she'd asked a lot. Far more than reasonable, now that she considered it.

  Was it possible that Knight liked her, too?

  No, if he had, why hadn't he done anything about it? Knight wasn't the type to sit idly by if he wanted something. He had the roommate he wanted, the class schedule he wanted, the friends he wanted. He didn't have a girlfriend, though. Hadn't expressed interest in anyone. That was something at least. Maybe he didn't want her, but he didn't want anyone else, either.

  Well, suppose he didn't like her…yet.

  She could fix that, couldn't she?

  She was Emma freaking Greene. Of course she could.

  She had the hair, the body, the smile.

  And that wasn't all. What had he said?

  She was all heart.

  More importantly, she felt all heart when it came to Knight. And all thumbs and odd toes and garbled tongue.

  She shook herself.

  Think, Emma.

  What if she were just another person, a friend? What advice would she give herself to snag a boyfriend?

  Dress it. Flirt it. Flaunt it. Wait for it.

  What dumb advice. She couldn't possibly have thought that would work. No, not with Knight. She needed the big guns.

  * * *

  Emma flattened the scarlet-red wrap dress against her frame, twirled once in the mirror, and threw it, hanger and all, onto the waist-high heap of clothes next to her. While it was a curve-hugging dynamo, she remembered Knight had seen her in the dress when she had worn it bowling. He had seen her in all these outfits! The flowing Pucci prints and form-fitting Roland Mourets. From sleek sophistication to edgy rocker.

  Sometimes Knight would whistle low when he saw her outfits. Sometimes he would make a snarky comment. But he'd seen them all, and none of them had solicited even close to a knock-him-off-his-feet moment.

  She needed to make Knight see her, see her in a way he hadn't before. She needed to make Knight reconsider everything about Emma Greene.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror. The perfectly red pout. The shimmering trio of eye shadows. Her finger drew along the blush/bronzer line at her cheekbones.

  Maybe she was going about this completely the wrong way. She didn't need a makeover to make Knight see her. Knight already knew perfectly prepped Emma. She wanted him to see the real her.

  She jumped in her shower and turned the water piping hot so steam rose as thick as a sauna. With a cloth, she scrubbed down every inch of her skin in small circles. Freshly clean, she stepped out into the cold tile of her bathroom. She wiped her hand against the mirror with a squeak to see her face. A swipe of toner to clean off the last of her makeup. She didn't blow-dry her hair; she let it hang.

  Emma had to dig deep into the bowels of her drawers to find a soft, comfy pair of jeans. They had a mid-waist fit—not entirely flattering—and they were frayed at the ankles and knees. A little tight since she hadn't worn them in years. Next, she found her mother's Brown University alumni sweatshirt. She pulled it over her head, reveling in the softness of the sleeves.

  She looked down at her feet—bare. After a few minutes she'd wiped off every trace of that perfect pedicure.

  Emma took a deep breath and went back to the full-length mirror to look at her reflection. She flinched
at what she saw. She could too easily hear what her mother would say.

  Emma, make an effort. It's the least you could do.

  Presentation, Emma!

  If you look competent then people will trust you.

  Her hair had just begun to dry as it hung in blond strips over her shoulders. The sweatshirt failed to show off her neck or waist. It hung there, keeping her warm. Her eyes, usually so vibrant and eager, seemed foreign to her. They were still a startling shade of green, but she could see the fear and uncertainty.

  She was afraid.

  Not just of losing Knight or him leaving or not wanting to be her friend.

  She was afraid of him rejecting her.

  Chapter Seven

  Emma must have climbed down the stairs to the kitchen a dozen times, each time running back up to her room to change, only to tell herself she was being stupid. She finally made herself walk all the way to the kitchen, the sensation of tile floor unfamiliar beneath her bare feet.

  She found Anne, dressed in a nautical-blue striped jumper, sitting at the kitchen counter digging into a container of kale salad.

  Anne's eyes widened at the sight of her, and she coughed hard, beating her palm against her sternum.

  "Do I look awful? I must look awful," Emma fretted. All her courage from earlier fled. She was stupid. Of course she should look her best. The way to make Knight see her was to go over-the-top, not under the table. What had she been thinking?

  "You look nice! I just wasn't expecting—"

  "Nice?" She groaned, dug her elbows into the island, and buried her face in her hands. Nice was the kiss of death.

  "Better than nice," Anne amended. "You look… Emma, look at me."

  Emma lifted her head.

  "There's nothing wrong with how you look. You are beautiful. A million girls would kill to have your perfect skin and that crazy cat eye color. You could dump a tub of mud over your head and you'd still be the best thing in ten counties. But you have to admit, it's a little weird. So tell me. What's up?"

  Emma glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting to see Knight appear in the kitchen. "Maybe we should go to my room."

  "It's just you and me."

  Emma furrowed her brow. "Where are the guys?"

  "Josh met a girl at the adoption event. Convinced the guys to join him and her on a ride." Anne's lips tilted at the corners. "He's pretty good at being heartbroken over Fanny."

  "Ugh, just…ugh!" Emma grabbed a fork and stabbed at Anne's kale salad. "Men! They have no idea what they want. They just twist all our feelings around. They're heartbroken when it's convenient for them."

  "He's still heartbroken," Anne insisted. "He just deals with it differently. In fairness to him, you tried to mend my broken heart by setting me up, too. He's doing the same thing."

  "No, he isn't. My plan had class."

  "No arguing there." They clinked forks. "It's nice with just the two of us, though. I like it."

  Knight rounded into the kitchen. "Sorry to disappoint." He was freshly showered, his hair still wet.

  Emma's fork clattered to the counter. She picked it up and put it in her mouth, realized there was no food on it, and set it back down.

  Knight stopped short as he saw her. He blinked twice. His mouth fell open.

  She'd wanted him to see her. She'd asked for it. Now she was getting it.

  She fought the urge to smooth back her hair. "What… Why… You're here. Not with them." She bit down on her tongue before she said something really dumb.

  "Uh, yeahhh…" Knight glanced from Emma to Anne back to Emma. "Is this some kind of girl's-night thing?"

  Emma blinked at him. She was standing in front of him, soul bared, stripped to basics, and he thought it was a girl's-night thing?

  "I can head back to the pool house," he said. "I just want dinner. Anything else in the fridge?"

  "You have eyes. Check," Emma blurted. She wanted to swallow the words as soon as they came out. Annoyed as she was, she knew better than to be a jerk to someone you wanted to like you. You were nice to people you wanted to be nice to you. It was a simple rule—the golden rule, actually.

  Before she could take back her retort, Anne stood up and opened the fridge. "There's some leftover roast chicken," Anne offered.

  "Thanks, Anne. I'd love some." Knight raised his brows at Emma as if to say, See, civilized behavior. Take notes.

  Anne took out the roast chicken , and Knight cozied up next to her, elbows on the counter. He reached over to squeeze Anne's right shoulder. "Looks delicious."

  "No night out for you?" Anne asked.

  Emma's tongue felt swollen and turgid. Where were her witty remarks? Her center stage presence? She was supposed to bring out the big guns, and instead of being larger than life and beautiful, she was a mute in a sweatshirt.

  "Looks like you guys are stuck with me for the night. Josh rented some fancy convertible. Bucket seats. Room for four. And Knight makes five."

  Emma quickly glanced to Anne to see how she was taking the news. Room for four meant there were two girls with them—one for Josh and one for Rick.

  Anne had stopped chewing.

  Crushing on Knight or not, Emma was annoyed he'd brought up Rick going out with someone else without realizing the effect it would have on Anne. Didn't Knight have a clue about anything? About Anne's feelings? About her own?

  "I'll be right back," Anne mumbled, shuffling away.

  Emma was torn before wanting to follow Anne to see if she was okay and wanting to make Knight see, once and for all, that they were meant to be together. Even now, watching him, she wanted to be next to him. Close to him. They were often like that. Her head on his shoulder. His arm around her waist. But the thought of it now that she knew her true feelings sent a flush through her body.

  "Want some?" Knight asked, gesturing toward the chicken.

  Be brave, she thought to herself. Emma nodded and leaned closer, then opened her mouth and waited.

  Knight dropped his fork. Blinking quickly, his eyes on her mouth, he licked his lips then looked away and cleared his throat.

  Emma waited patiently. Each beat of her heart felt like an eternity as she waited for Knight to turn back and look at her. He studied her face then reached out his hand. He cupped her cheek with his palm. As he ran a thumb over her bottom lip, a hum lit up her insides. Her breath came in short, quick spurts.

  "You're not wearing lipstick," he said.

  "Do I need to?" She leaned into his hand as his thumb caressed her cheek.

  "No."

  This is where she should tell him. Knight was looking at her, really looking at her, in a way he never had before. She could see the signs of desire, the tightness of his throat, the way his dark eyes fixated on her mouth. But desire was easy. She'd probably always had that from Knight. But now he wasn't dismissing it, and she needed to make sure he never dismissed her again.

  "Knight—"

  He pulled away. "What's going on with you, Emma?"

  Why did he have to say it like that? YOU, she wanted to scream. You are what is going on with me!

  "It's like I don't even know you anymore," he said.

  Emma took a shuddered breath and felt her belly contract coldly. "You do know me."

  "I thought I did. But this weekend? You're hot and cold. Nice and mean. And now this?"

  "You think I look bad?"

  "No! Emma, God. I'd never— There's no way. It's not about that, but if there's something you want to say, if there's something you want to tell me. Just. Tell. Me."

  The words were there at the tip of her tongue: I love you.

  That should be simple.

  But Knight was looking at her, confused, and what if he just became even more confused? What if confusion turned to disgust? She could barely handle the disappointment of him not liking how she'd dressed.

  Before Emma could say anything, Anne returned to the kitchen. She didn't look like she'd been crying. She didn't seem to notice anything between them. In fact, s
he took up her spot next to Knight at the counter and dug back into her salad.

  When Anne reached for some chicken, Knight picked up his fork to stop her, and they engaged in quick fork fight, using them like swords.

  Emma watched the scene unfold, that coldness in her belly turning bitter. Knight was being nice to Anne. Really nice to Anne. Well, everyone was nice to Anne. But there was nice and there was nice.

  "Let's dine alfresco," Emma said. "It's gorgeous outside, and the sun is setting." Maybe if they moved outside, Knight wouldn't be leaning over the counter so the side of his body pressed up against Anne's and their shoulders rubbed together. Her kitchen island was the size of Manhattan; they didn't need to be falling all over each other.

  * * *

  Emma had never had the misfortune of trying to eat while she was in love.

  Tacos on the beach with Josh simply hadn't counted. That had been easy, exhilarating, and fun. But now she realized that had been the sensation of fame, of riding her first motorcycle, of sneaking out. It had nothing to do with the man himself. Whereas eating with Knight, now, was absolute torture.

  Chewing felt self-conscious. She was aware of every crunch, worried something might be caught in her teeth, or worse yet made its way to her cheek. Anne and Knight easily chatted about the people who had come to the adoption event. Had Anne noticed how that balding man and the pit bull he chose had the exact same facial expression? Had Knight seen the Chihuahua who managed to pull along her beanpole of a new mom? Every one of Emma's witty thoughts and observations came too late, so she mainly sat in silence, chewing, then wondering whether she was chewing too loudly.

  If you want to tell me something, just tell me.

  What could she tell him…and how? She couldn't say it first. She couldn't be the one. What if she ruined everything? She'd simply have to make him say it first. She'd have to make Knight realize how much he loved her so he declared it. But how?

  It wasn't as if Knight had done anything in particular to make her realize she loved him. It had felt rather like light switch flicking on. But now, as she thought back on their relationship, it all seemed so obvious. He had never been far from her thoughts. He must feel the same way about her.