What The Heart Knows (9 page)

No,
she wasn't, absolutely was not scared.

But
there was a little voice in her mind that sounded suspiciously like
Devon's that suggested the lady doth protest too much.

She
charged back into the gym and right to the drinks. If she couldn't
have a good time sober, thanks to Mr. Fancypants and his stupid, sexy
face... well then she was going to have to find a good drunk.

James
left the dance floor to go sit next to Lena and Eric, who had another
shot for him at the ready.

“You
got under her skin,” Eric said, his gray eyes looking amused.
“I don't think I have ever seen Em so flustered over a guy
before. Don't get me wrong,” he said, holding up a hand at
James' worried expression. “I am enjoying it immensely. She
needed someone who was more of a challenge.”

James
snorted a little. “I'm afraid she's the one who is the
challenge,” he said, watching Emily drink her fourth Widow
Maker of the night. Lena had only had one and she claimed she was too
unsteady to walk. Apparently it was a really toxic brew of liquor.

“She's
pissed because you're stepping on her toes at work,” Lena said,
rolling her eyes. Were all men really that blind?

“I'm
not...”

“Even
if you're not, you are,” Lena said, smiling a bit at him. “It's
her inn. She takes pride in it. She's spent years devoting herself to
it. So you coming in and taking over is like a slap in the face.”

“But
I haven't even done anything boss like,” James said, shaking
his head. No one would ever accuse him of being even remotely
boss-ish.

“But
you will. And she knows that. And she needs to hate you for that. If
you were just some random guy who showed up in town, she would have
screwed your brains out ten times over by now. But she wont let that
happen because she will hate herself for that.”

“So
what you're saying is...” James started.

“You're
fucked,” Eric finished for him, smiling devilishly.

“Yeah,”
James said, watching Emily accept another Widow Maker and be led to
the dance floor by some other guy. “sounds about right.”

Eight

She
was trashed. Her cheeks felt wonderfully numb and she kept bringing
her gloved hands up to touch her face and giggling. The DJ had long
given up on playing Halloween-themed songs and Emily was on the dance
floor with a guy she had gone on one disastrous date with five years
before. He was average height and too thin. Brown hair, brown eyes.
Utterly plain and forgettable. In fact, she had completely forgotten
about him until he walked up and asked her to dance.

It
came back in bright, vivid, alcohol-infused dramatics. She had met
him two towns over when she had gone to pick up the salon quality
sample shampoo and conditioner they provided in the inn bathrooms. He
had been bumbling and overeager, but he was a fresh face and she had
decided to agree to going out with him. He had picked her up in his
beat-up car with a pizza light on top. Then took her out to get
sushi. But only after he finished his last two deliveries of the
night. He had made her split the check and tried to talk her into
coming back to his house (AKA his mother's basement) after.

But
he wanted to dance with her. And she was blissfully tingly. So she
had agreed. But as the songs changed, he got more and more handsy.
She kept swatting at him playfully, trying to ignore his childish
fumbling and enjoy the music.

“Mind
if I cut in?” a voice asked, sounding far away to her ears as
she swirled in slow, sensual circles, arms up, hips moving
suggestively.

She
finally made her way back to where she started, feeling like it had
taken her hours, to find James standing there, a flirtatious smile
playing at his lips. “Hey,” she said, her brows drawing
together. “where'd the pizza man go?”

James
watched her, the lines in her forehead as her brow furrowed, her eyes
seeming cloudy and uncomprehending with alcohol. “The... pizza
man?” he asked, almost laughing. God, she was gone.

“Yeah,”
Emily said, smiling, tilting her head up at him. “Pizza is
good.”

“Well,”
James said, laughing. “I am no pizza guy... but I can...
deliver if you want me to.”

Emily
laughed, a high, girlish sound and she reached out and slapped his
arm. “You're dirty.”

“You
like it,” James shot back, reaching out to take her chin in his
hands. “How many of Maude's drinks have you had?”

“Oh,
I don't know. Six or seven. They're called Window Makers,” she
said, her tone sounding haughty. “No. Wait. That's not it.
Willow Makers? W... w...” she looked up at the ceiling like it
had the answers, then looked around them with squinted eyes. “Why
aren't we dancing?” she asked, pouting at him and sounding
whiny.

James
turned his head to the side. “That's a very good question,”
he said, reaching and pulling her forward. She toppled into his
chest, bumping her chin off his collarbone in the process and
laughing. “And I think the word you were looking for was
'widow',” he said. At her blank look he added, “Widow
Makers.”

James
slowly started leading her off the dance floor, moving like they were
dancing still, getting closer to the door. If he didn't get her out
of there, she would end up falling all over herself. Or, worse yet,
going home with some random loser who didn't think she was too wasted
to consent.

“You
smell like... a new car,” she declared, taking an exaggeratedly
long sniff of his shirt.

“That
must be my new car scent cologne,” James laughed, prying her
arm from around his back so he could step away a little.

“We're
outside,” Emily observed. The cool air felt nice on her
overheated skin.

“Yes,
Sherlock, we sure are,” he said, watching as she stripped her
gloves off her arms and carelessly dropped them in the road. He
laughed, stooping down to retrieve them. Her red hair was blowing
around her face, cheeks pink from alcohol.

“My
whole face is numb,” she said, pushing her hands against her
cheeks. “even my lips,” she said, rubbing her thumb
across her lower lip. “I cant feel anything. You could kiss me
right now, Mr. Fancypants, and I wouldn't feel anything. Nothing at
all,” she said, waving a hand out and almost slapping his face
by accident.

“Nothing
huh?” he asked, trying not to think about her mouth. Trying to
focus on how drunk she was. And how kissing someone so drunk would be
hugely inappropriate.

“Nope.
See?” she asked, grabbing the lapels of his trench coat and
tugging him forward, making him almost topple in the process. She
pulled him downward slightly and pressed her lips to his, a lingering
but chaste kiss. She pulled away, giggling, eyes bright. “Nothing.
I guess all I need to stop being attracted to you is alcohol. Who'da
thunk it?” she asked, walking into the middle of the street.
She saluted a man who was standing next to a car that was, thankfully
blocking the street from any driving through. “Sheriff,”
she said, trying to sound serious and breaking off into laughter,
bending slightly forward, hugging her middle.

“Emmy,”
the sheriff said, trying to hide a smile. “up to no good as
usual.”

Emily
smiled. “I feel nothing when I kiss him,” she announced,
pointing at James who bowed his head, rubbing his brow in
embarrassment.

“Is
that so?” the sheriff asked, nodding at James. “Get her
home before she tries to get you naked to see if she feels that,”
he warned.

“On
it,” he said, reaching out to grab her arm when she started to
fall forward as she tried to pull off her shoes, kicking them off in
different directions, leaving James to scramble after them. “Where
is home?” he asked, catching up with her as she stopped to
stare up at the moon.

She
looked over her shoulder at him, one brow lifted at him like he was
an idiot. “The inn... duh.”

“Right,”
James said, turning her and linking his free arm through one of hers.
His other held her gloves, and shoes, and one of the gold stud
earrings she had lost when she tossed her hair.

The
inn was empty when they went it. Almost eerily so. No one walking
around. No humming from the kitchen or cleaning staff. No movement
from the guest rooms upstairs.

“Alright,
Miss. Rabbit,” James said, massaging her arm slightly. “Where
do you do your sleeping?”

“Take
me to your coffin, vampire,” she yelled. “I've never had
sex in a coffin.”

“I'd
hope not,” James laughed, letting her lead him through a door
behind the kitchen. “And you're not having sex tonight either.”

“Sex
is good,” she said, distractedly as she pulled her bedroom door
open.

“Mmhmm,”
he agreed, searching in the dark for the light switch. “but
only when you are sober enough to remember it.”

Emily
reached up behind her back, trying to grasp the end of her zipper and
accidentally launching herself forward.

“Here,”
James said, pulling her back onto her feet. “Let me help.”

“You
just want to see me naked,” she said, twisting away from his
hands.

“Yes,
I do,” he agreed, putting his arms around her, grabbing the
zipper, and pulling it down until he felt the line of her panties.
“Just not tonight.”

“You
better leave now then,” she warned, pulling her dress down with
her back to him. He watched as the fabric pulled away, revealing her
bare back. Braless. Then the top of her panties, purple. Lace. To
match her gloves. Like she had planned on getting lucky when she
dressed for the night. “cause I'm getting naked.”

“Right,”
James said, shaking his head and moving toward the door. “Right.
See you tomorrow.”

“Mmhmm,”
she murmured, falling forward onto her bed with her arms stretched
out, seeming to fall asleep almost immediately.

He
closed the door behind him and went to take a long, cold shower.

Nine

There
was some kind of sledgehammer behind her eyes before she even woke
up. She groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows, surprised she had
managed to sleep that way. She felt dry from the inside out.

Oh,
alcohol.

She
sat at the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands. She had a
few vivid memories from the night before. Getting dressed. How the
gym looked. Dancing with James. Storming off. The conversation with
Maude. Then making her way to the refreshment table.

Oh,
those fucking Widow Makers.

Emily
made a dying animal sound, getting up and walking toward the bathroom
in search of water and aspirin.

There
were other dances. A lot of other dances. With men she mostly
couldn't place. Probably because they came from a town or two over.
She gulped two cups of water down with a few aspirin and got into the
shower, wishing her dehydrated body could just suck the water in
through her pores.

She
stood under the cold water for a minute, just enjoying the shock,
before she let her mind wander back toward the events of the night
before, forcing the memories to get clearer.

Something
about a pizza guy. Which made no sense because there was no pizza
places in Stars Landing. Why had she been talking about a pizza guy?

With
James.

Emily
whimpered, bumping her forehead against the cold tile.

Of
course. Of course James was there to witness her drunken escapades.
Alright. She needed to know what kind of fool she made of herself.
Was it cute? Or angry? Or, heaven forbid, flirtatious?

She
remembered James... dancing her out of the school? Then he had walked
her home. She vaguely remembered seeing Aiden, the sheriff.

But
that was all she could force to come back.

Emily
got out of the shower and quickly dressed in a pair of baggy blue
jeans and a ill-fitting tan sweater. She felt like crap and the idea
of skin tight clothes made her want to just crawl back into bed. She
left her hair down, wet around her shoulders. Pulling it up would
only make the headache worse.

And
then she was off in search of coffee. In an IV drip if at all
possible.