The Bold and the Bullheaded by Willow Aster

Chapter Seven

Spence

It’s been a helluva day and when I walk into Mean Mug and see the brothers and Mya already hanging out by the darts, looking like a live freaking Hallmark movie, the one where the guy and the girl are new to the city and hilarity ensues when the girl acts like she can’t play darts in front of her new boyfriend but totally can…

Anyway.

I head straight for the bar.

I don’t want to nosedive their mood with mine.

Caden sees me from across the room and lifts his beer with a grin. I try to smile back, but it must be more grimace because his grin falters. Damn.

Just then a cheer erupts when Mya centers a dart. She does a little strut dance thing that is so cute, I do smile for real this time.

“Ah good, I was afraid you were still in the funk you’ve been in all day,” Caden says. Dude got over here fast.

I turn and level him with a glare, just as Allen slides my beer over.

“Shit, still foul as ever.” Caden laughs and puts his arm around my shoulder. “What’s got you so—?”

My attention is drawn to the door behind him, and he turns around to see who I’m staring at. She looks worse than I feel. Emma does the same assessment I did when I walked into Mean Mug, and she ends up next to me without realizing it, her eyes still on the clan. Gus is now singing some song about a target and a ghost of a smile lights Emma’s lips.

But she looks defeated.

Her vibrance faded.

Caden squeezes my shoulder before he moves away, heading back to the group. He’s always had a sixth sense about how to deal with me. Pretty sure he can read my mind, that one.

“I need to change it up tonight, Allen,” Emma says. “I’ll take the strongest martini you can make.”

“Not a Chardonnay night?” I ask softly and she jumps, her eyes closing for a few beats.

When she opens them, she still doesn’t look at me. “Not tonight, Spence. You’re the last person I need to see right now.”

My dick usually feels a healthy dose of fear and awe when she uses my actual name, but even it seems to know tonight’s not the night. And I thought I had a buffer where Emma is concerned, but her words sting nonetheless.

I’m silent, watching as she gets her drink and downs it faster than a nun at Christmastime. I have no idea if nuns drink quickly, or at Christmas especially, it’s just something Uncle Pete always says.

“Another, please,” she says to Allen. She glances over at me for the first time and the sadness in her eyes is like a slap to the face. I feel the strike. “You can stop staring anytime.” Even her voice is subdued.

“Emma—” I notice she seems to have the same reaction when I use her real name and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing … probably the worst thing. “Are you—”

Mya walks up behind her then and hugs her and Emma leans into it. “I’m so glad you came. I want to hear every—”

“I’ll be right over,” Emma interrupts, turning to face Mya. “Just enjoying this drink first. It’ll calm me.” She smiles wider now, but her knuckles are white against her glass. “Keep playing. I want to see you nail those G.D. Taylors to the wall.” She glances at me and smirks, but I don’t believe it this time.

What the hell is going on with her?

“Are you sure?” Mya asks, glancing at me and comes in for a hug. “Hey, Spence.”

“Looking good over there,” I tell her. “I especially like your victory dance.”

Mya laughs and looks at Emma again. “We can go sit in that booth over there.” She motions to the quiet booth in the corner, past the high-top tables.

“Soon,” Emma says, holding her drink. “I’m preparing.” She points to Jesse. “Let me see you whip that boy.”

Mya nods and squeezes Emma’s arm before heading back to Jesse. “I’ll give you five minutes and then you’re mine, Emma Kingsley,” she says over her shoulder.

“Always knew you wanted me, Mya Whitfield,” Emma sings back. “I’ll take one more, Allen.”

Jesus. I’ve never seen her drink like this. Allen sets the martini down in front of her and glances over at me to make sure I’m aware and I nod.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about this morning. You know, for pissing you off. I was only kidding about the croissant,” I say, keeping my voice low so only she can hear me.

She downs her third cocktail and stares down at the empty glass.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That was on me.”

“You want to talk about it?” I ask, because suddenly I need to know what’s going on with her. As much as we give one another shit, I don’t like seeing her like this.

“You would never understand, Grumpleton. Trust me.” She runs her long, slim fingers over the stem of her glass.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you have the perfect family. You have what everyone wants. The parents who were probably at all of your sporting events, and I’m guessing you all sat down to eat dinner together every night.” She shrugs, and her gaze locks with mine. Her words are slurring a bit, and I hope she’s not going to order another because I know it will be a fight when I tell Allen to cut her off.

“I have a great family. But that doesn’t mean life is perfect. It doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days. And I’m a kickass listener.” I scoot my barstool closer to her, needing to comfort her in a way I can’t explain. “So talk.”

“When’s the last time you had a bad day?” She raises a brow at me and my dick goes hard.

There he is.

“Today. When you took my croissant,” I say, and she chuckles just a little, and my shoulders relax. “I’m kidding. But I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“So, you had a bad day because you pissed me off? You must have a lot of bad days then.” Her lips turn up in the corners. Making her smile when she’s upset actually feels good. Emma is a stone wall most of the time, but clearly now that she’s three martinis deep, she’s less guarded than usual.

“It usually doesn’t get to me. Hell, I know you hate me, but I didn’t mean to dig a deeper grave.”

“I don’t hate you, Spence.” She holds her hand up in the air to let Allen know that she wants another drink.

I reach for her hand and pull it back down to rest on the bar. “Tell me why you’re having a bad day.”

She looks up at me, her small hand still covered by my large one and I can see the struggle. She wants to get angry, but she doesn’t have the fight in her tonight.

“I just saw my mom for the first time in six years.”

What the fuck?

I clear my throat. “You two aren’t close?”

She chuckles, but it isn’t a happy or pleasant sound. I can feel the disappointment oozing from her body. “You could say that. She left when I was five years old. She’s been in and out of my life ever since. Mostly out. Never around for long. One or two days every handful of years.”

I squeeze her hand. The look in her eyes nearly takes my breath away.

Vulnerable.

Sad.

Devastated.

I can see it all there. Emma’s mask has slipped, and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time. I see all the pain. And I hate her mother for doing this to her.

“That had to be tough on you.” A lump forms in my throat when I think of a five-year-old Emma, wondering why her mom left. Hell, my mom is someone I talk to daily. The woman is my sounding board, my anchor. I can’t imagine my life without her.

I realize in that moment that I have misread Emma Kingsley. She isn’t a spoiled princess, she’s a fucking warrior. She keeps her shield close because she’s been doing it her entire life.

“I survived,” she says softly.

“Of course you did,” I say, as Jesse hustles over to us and Emma tugs her hand away. I forgot I’d been holding it, but I sure as shit miss it now that it’s gone.

What’s up with that?

I’m not one for touchy, feely bullshit. But somehow, comforting her feels like the only option.

“Hey, I think Mya has food poisoning. I’m going to take her home. She just got sick in the bathroom,” my youngest brother says, and Mya stumbles over to us.

Emma is on her feet, pulling her best friend in for a hug. “What happened? You were just killing it at darts?”

“I think it’s the shellfish we had for dinner. Do you want to come sleep over and you can tell me about your night?” Mya says, before covering her mouth and gagging into her hands.

“Uh, that’s a hard no. Love you. Call me if you need anything.” Emma pats her best friend’s back before Jesse helps Mya out of the bar.

“I’m going to head home. The pity party is over, Grumpelstiltskin.”

I snort with this latest name, but as she grabs her purse and reaches for her wallet, she sways into me and almost falls off the stool. I hold onto her as I scoot her hand away and drop some bills on the bar.

“I’ve got it. I’ll walk you home. I could use the fresh air.” I move to my feet and put my hand up when she tries to stop me. “You’re not walking home alone. End of story.”

I may be a moody bastard, but I’m not a complete asshole. My parents raised us to treat women with respect. She’s not walking home alone in this state on my watch. Plus, I get the feeling she could use a friend right now. And I may not be her favorite person, but I don’t need to be her enemy either. Not tonight at least.

I let Gus and Caden know I’m heading out while keeping a hand on Emma’s arm so she doesn’t bolt. It’d be more like a slow slide, but still.

Once we make our way outside, and she seems steady, we walk in silence for a few minutes before she speaks. I think this is the longest she’s gone without sassing.

“Thanks for listening tonight.” Her voice is soft and it has no edge.

“Of course. For what it’s worth, I think your dad did a really good job raising you.”

She smiles and pulls her coat closed at the neck. The temperature has definitely dropped since I walked to Mean Mug earlier.

“You aren’t going soft on me, are you?” She forces a smile and it doesn’t reach her eyes, and that bothers me.

“Never. Tell me, how was it seeing your mom tonight?”

She stares straight ahead but her jaw ticks, and I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far.

“It was a little weird, and it was the first time I’ve seen her sober, maybe ever. She brought her boyfriend along. They’ve been together a whopping two weeks and they basically asked if they could stay with me … until she heard where I lived, and then she lost interest.”

Huge red flags wave wildly and I wonder if she can see them too or if you’d ever be able to when you’re always hoping your mom is going to stick around this time. What the fuck is wrong with her mother?

“That sucks. Where do you live?” I suddenly wonder where the hell we’re going.

“In an illegal whorehouse. Apparently my mother is picky.”

My jaw gapes open and I turn to look at her. She bites down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but then her head falls back as she loses it.

I fucking love the sound of her laugh.

“You’re messing with me.”

“You think?” She looks at me and rolls her eyes dramatically. “You sure are easy,” she adds.

“I promise you, no one has ever called me that before,” I say, before shoving my hands in my coat pocket because I suddenly have the urge to reach for hers as she rubs them together to warm them up. “So, where do you live, wiseass?”

“I live in an apartment above my dad’s shop. It’s just on the next block over. Perfect location, and my dad let me renovate it.”

“What’s your mom’s problem with it then?”

“I guess she thought I’d live somewhere bigger and fancier, and she hates my father, so there’s that.”

The woman sounds like a selfish asshole, but I’ll keep my opinions to myself.

“Are you close with your dad?”

“Very. He’s the best. Taught me everything I know,” she says as she does this little half twirl with her arms held out to the side.

Sexy as fuck.

“That’s really all that matters, right?”

“What?” she asks, as she pauses in front of a building with an enormous sign that says Kingsley’s Auto Shop.

“That you and your dad love each other. You don’t need to be the perfect family to be a great one. Hell, mine is oversized and loud. Everyone is always in your business. And then there’s Gus. But I wouldn’t change a thing. And it sounds like you have that with your father.”

“Spence Taylor, that just might be the wisest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I laugh, and we stand there staring at one another. Closer than usual. But I can’t seem to move away.

“So this is it, huh?”

“Yep. This is it. Thanks for walking me home.”

“Not a problem,” I say, before leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead. “You’re going to be fine, Kingsley.”

What the fuck? Why am I being so nice to her?

“This conversation never happened,” she says. “Tomorrow, we go back to hating each other. Deal?”

“Deal. I hate you already.”

“Right back at you, Old Solemn. I never stopped.” She smiles before turning to unlock her door, and I wait there to make sure she gets in safely. “You can leave. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Are you always such a stubborn ass?” I shout.

“I believe I am.”

The door swings closed behind her and I’m suddenly in a foul mood because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

And that pisses me off.

Because when I wake up tomorrow, Emma and I will be enemies once again.