Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

10. Emmett

10

emmett

She’s here. The woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about is here. She tried to beat me with a shoe.

And she’s the little sister of my best friend.

Fucking great…

I remember thinking the night we met that I needed to get my mind out of the gutter because of her vulnerable state. Now I need to quit because Simon will kill me.

Well, he’d pay someone to do it, because God forbid the pretty boy get his hands dirty. Either way I’d end up dead.

But at least my final view would be one of absolute beauty.

After the shoe incident, each of us declared we needed to get our bearings. I went back to the house I’m staying in, which is right next door, to splash some cold water on my face. I told myself no less than twenty times that I needed to make sure all of my thoughts about her stayed friendly and platonic.

Maybe I needed to say it twenty-one times, because as I walk into her house, where she’s currently standing over a pot of pasta she insisted on making, my thoughts are definitely not platonic. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head. She’s wearing a matching tank top and short set that is so tight it might as well be painted on. I wondered what her body looked like under all that fabric the night we met, but even my wildest thoughts didn’t do her justice.

As I take a step closer, I realize just how short she is. Is she even five-foot-three? She was short when she had her heels on, but the closer I get to her, the shorter I realize she is. Where would she come up to on me? How would it look if she looked up at me with her gorgeous blue eyes?

Shit. Maybe I needed a twenty-second time. Clearly I didn’t get the message. Stella Banks is off limits.

For so many reasons.

“Emmett?”

Hearing my actual name from her lips startles me. “Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?”

Shit. How out of it was I? “Sorry. What’d you say?”

“Just wondered if you wanted tomato sauce or Alfredo?”

“Oh.” Yup. I didn’t hear any of that. “How about both?”

She scrunches her nose in the most adorable way. “Both?”

“Have you never had the two together?”

She shakes her head. “No, because that’s not allowed.”

“Says who?”

“Normal people.”

I chuckle. “Oh, Tiger, not only is it allowed, but it’s going to change your life.”

I head to the pantry and take out the bottles of sauce I picked up earlier today. Actually, I was putting away the groceries when Stella arrived. Simon had sent me a detailed list this morning and asked if I could pick them up. Which again, I thought was odd. And that was on top of his message for me to check on her.

It all makes sense now. Then again, it could’ve made a lot more sense if he just would’ve fucking told me she didn’t get married. Would I have pieced it together that his sister was Tiger? Who knows. But still, you’d think since Simon tells me everything from his newborn’s diaper changing schedule to what he thinks about the Roman Empire, he would’ve told me his sister didn’t get married and was traveling to her honeymoon alone. Instead I got the news from Stella jumping on my back, ready to beat me to death with a tennis shoe.

I laugh at the memory, which gets her attention when I put down the jars of sauce next to the stove.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking back to when you thought you were going to take down a home invader with a Nike.”

A blush creeps over her cheeks. It’s also adorable. I really need her to stop being so damn cute. “In my defense, I wasn’t left with a lot of options. And it had a platform to it. Gave a little extra weight.”

“Whatever you say, Tiger.”

“You don’t have to call me Tiger anymore. We can go by our real names.”

“What if I want to?”

Stella turns to me with a small smile. “So I can still call you Cap?”

“I kind of like having a nickname only you use.”

Her blush heightens as she grabs the sauces and puts them in pans to warm. “I’m sorry,” she says. “About the shoe. And the jumping on your back thing.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t know I was here, and you were scared. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“I’m going to kill my brother,” she says. “He could’ve told me that someone might be here.”

I walk to the freezer to get the garlic bread I bought. “Can we do it together? Because it would’ve been good to know that it was just you and you weren’t on your honeymoon.”

“Yes!” she yells, slamming down the plastic spoon she’s been using to stir the pasta. “How does he not tell either of us this? The man has no filter or sense of when to stop talking any other time!”

“Maybe we should fuck with him when we’re home,” I say.

“Oh! Maybe you kicked me out and I had nowhere to stay.”

“I like the way you think,” I say as I preheat the oven. “But that might not work since you’ll be here for two weeks. Maybe we could just tell him we burned the house down.”

“That’s good,” she says, tapping a manicured finger to her lips. “Or maybe we go with that you walked in on me in the shower. Then one thing led to another and now we’re dating. Thank him for playing matchmaker.”

Her eyes go wide as the last words come out of her mouth, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Maybe we should go with the house fire,” I quickly say.

“Yup. House fire. Good call.”

Stella doesn’t say anything else, instead becoming very focused on the pasta. I do notice the blush creeping from her cheeks down to her neck. God, I love that I can tell when she’s bothered. It also makes me feel better that I’m not the only one affected by the thought me seeing her in the shower. Just the thought of it makes my cock ache.

I busy myself with getting the table set and drinks poured. Anything I can do to take my mind away from the image of a dripping wet Stella.

Fuck, I need out of here. I came here to give myself some space from thoughts of my mysterious Tiger. Now she’s not a mystery. And she’s going to be next door for the week I’m here. All because I’m the asshole who was trying to be economical and stay at one of the houses instead of getting a hotel.

Great move, Emmett. How’s that working out for you?

We each make a plate of pasta in silence before going to the dining table. When we’re seated, I look over to see just the red sauce on top of her angel hair pasta.

“Didn’t want to try the mix?” I say, taking a sip of my beer.

“Alfredo gives me bad breath, so I don’t eat it anymore.”

“Anymore?”

She shrugs like she’s embarrassed. The fact that she’s staring at her pasta confirms that suspicion. “Duncan didn’t like when I ate it, so I stopped. He said my breath was horrible after and he didn’t want to kiss garlic breath. Actually, I grabbed this garlic bread without thinking. If you want it you can have it.”

Another tally to the reasons I want to kill the man Stella was going to marry.

Garlic breath? Really? Does he not know there are things called mouthwash and it’s not permanent? Also garlic is lovely and flavorful and an ingredient you should use while measuring with your heart.

I bet Duncan thinks salt and pepper is spicy.

Fuckwad.

I stand up and walk around the table, pulling an empty chair right next to Stella. I don’t sit though. Instead I go back to the kitchen and make another plate of pasta, making sure to put an ample amount of Alfredo on the angel hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you options,” I say as I sit next to her. “Now, if you truly don’t like Alfredo, or don’t like the lingering taste it gives you, then by all means, don’t eat it. It’s your world, Tiger, and I’m just visiting. But, if you want to eat the sauce, then eat the fucking sauce. Pour it on your pasta. Dip your garlic bread into it and go double garlic and make vampires scared of you.”

That makes her laugh. It’s a sound I’ve never heard from her, but one I want to hear all the time.

“I know you’re still processing everything that’s happened. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But he’s not here anymore. He’s not here to control you, or tell you what to do, or what you can eat. You’re Stella fucking Banks. You attack home invaders with shoes. You hold your head high when everyone else would be crumbling. And you eat the fucking Alfredo sauce.”

She looks at me, a smile slowly forming on her face. “I’m Stella fucking Banks.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “Damn right you are.”

With a nod she takes a piece of the garlic bread and rips a portion off, gently dipping it in the creamy sauce on top of the pasta.

“Oh, come on, Tiger. Get in there.”

With a giggle she does, coating it fully before dropping it into her mouth.

“Ermygod,” she says. “That’s sooooo good.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say with a smile, pride swelling in my chest as I watch Stella dip the rest of the bread.

Pride? Over someone eating food? What the hell is wrong with me?

Just as I’m about to shake away that feeling, I watch as Stella tilts her head back and drops the bread into her mouth before letting out the most sensual moan I’ve ever heard in my life.

Fuck…

Does she know what she’s doing? She’s not making eye contact with me or making any other movements to indicate that she’s doing this on purpose. She’s just genuinely enjoying her meal.

And I hate to admit that I’m enjoying the show.

“Want some?” she asks, dunking another piece in the sauce and holding it out to me.

I shake my head. “I’m good. That’s all yours, Tiger.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

She takes a bigger bite, which leaves a small trail of the white sauce at the corner of her mouth.

Head out of the fucking gutter. You aren’t a fourteen-year-old boy.

Apparently my dick doesn’t get that message, because it’s starting to stir again as I watch her slowly swipe it away before sucking it off her finger.

Fuck my life.

What is this woman doing to me? She’s eating bread, for fuck’s sake. Nothing about this is supposed to be sexy. Or any sort of emotion-stirring. Between this feeling and the thoughts earlier of Stella in the shower, it’s abundantly clear that I need to get the hell out here .

I’ve now spent in total two days with her. The wedding day and today. And in those two occasions, she’s sparked feelings I’m not at all comfortable with.

Desire. Pride. Want. Contentment. Happiness.

And I might not know much, but when you put those together that seems like feelings you’d have toward someone you’re in a relationship with.

And I don’t do those.

Especially with Simon Banks’s sister.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” Stella groans.

“You do know there’s ice cream, right?”

She pops her head up from the couch where she was laying, a hopefulness in her eyes. “Birthday cake?”

I’d never heard of that flavor until it was on the list Simon sent me. I’m now very glad he put it on there. “Along with vanilla, chocolate, and my personal favorite, cookies and cream.”

“Okay, maybe just a little bit. Since you went to the trouble of buying it.”

I crack a smile as Stella falls back onto the couch in the living room. I finish loading the dishwasher and scoop us each some ice cream, adding some toppings to both.

I mean, what’s ice cream without some syrup, whipped cream, and a cherry on top?

Boring. That’s what.

I take our two bowls over to the couch where Stella’s lying, scrolling through one of the streaming services on the television.

“One birthday cake sundae.”

She sits up on the couch, but doesn’t take the bowl from me right away. She’s staring at it like she’s unsure what to do next. I swear to fucking God if she says that her fucking ex didn’t let her eat ice cream, I’m going to drive to Nashville tonight for the sole purpose of killing him .

“Please tell me you also didn’t give up ice cream for that asshole?”

She shakes her head. “You made me a sundae.”

Her reaction is one of surprise. It’s throwing me. “Yeah? I hope that was okay.”

She nods, and I think I see a tear forming in her eye. “You put away dishes and made me a sundae.”

Am I missing something here? “Well, you cooked. So that means I clean. And as for the sundaes, I was making myself one, and thought that your birthday cake needed some fixins. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is.” She pauses for a second then turns her eyes from the ice cream to me. It breaks my heart when I see the sadness behind them. “We’re…friends. Are we friends? Acquaintances? Random people who keep running into each other?”

“Friends,” I quickly say. “We’re absolutely friends.”

I see the hint of a smile forming at the corner of her mouth.

“Okay, friends. Friends who have seen each other twice. In that time, you’ve done more for me than Duncan did for me in the entirety of our relationship.”

“Really?” Surely not. I mean, I know what she’s told me. And I’m remembering back to the one time I met him at Simon’s baby stag party. Duncan felt slimy. He was asking about strippers and details of other people’s sex lives. I didn’t like him then and I sure as shit don’t like him now.

“Really,” she says. “Maybe not at the beginning. You know, during the stage where everything is great and you want to be around each other all the time. The sunshine and rainbows stage.”

“Sure.” I don’t mean to have a sarcastic tone, but I hear it slip it out. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“Duncan and I had that stage for about three months. Three blissful months of no fights, cuddling on the couch, and doing the small things for each other. Surprise flowers. Lunches. Those kinds of things.”

Stella trails off for a second, but I don’t fill in the silence. Like I told her earlier, this is her show. I’m just along for the ride.

“That leaves roughly three years and nine months of slowly losing myself in our relationship. Gradually giving up some of the foods I liked. Making sure I always woke up in the morning before he did to wash my face and brush my teeth because of one comment he made about how I looked in the morning. This? What we did tonight? We used to do that. Cook dinner, have a drink, laugh about stories from our day. Clean up and curl on the couch together to watch television. By the end it was me being his cook and maid before he retreated to his booze room as soon as dinner was done.”

My heart aches listening to her talk about him. I swear every story she tells me about their relationship just makes it worse. “Can I ask you a question?”

She nods as she takes a big bite of the sundae.

“Why did you stay? Why did you want to marry this guy?”

I’m probably out of line for asking. I might have said we’re friends—and we are—but I’ve also known this woman for less than forty-eight hours in totality. She doesn’t have to tell me shit.

Yet, I want to know. I want to know why this woman—this beautiful, brave, strong, woman—would want to be tied down to what sounds like the most insufferable and dickless man on the planet.

“Just jumped right to the million-dollar question?”

“I like to aim high.”

My response doesn’t brighten her mood. If anything, I watch her slip deeper into the couch, her eyes drifting down.

“I thought I loved him,” she begins. “And I did. At least at one time. But love made me blind. Or stupid. I haven’t decided which one. All I know is that I wanted to be married so bad that not only did I lose myself, but I made excuses for his shitty behavior. ”

She trails off, and I give her ankle a squeeze. It’s all I can think to do to show her that she can take her time. I’m here as long as she needs me.

“I wanted the fairytale,” she continues. “Devoted husband. House with the wrap-around porch. Maybe a porch swing? Two-point-five kids and a husband who would dance with me in the kitchen. I think as time went on that’s what I was in love with—the idea of that life. I had felt like all my friends had it, and I wanted it too. I loved Duncan because he was the man I thought was going to give me that life. And I wanted the life. Some part of me still does. But when you catch your fiancé getting flogged with his dick out, wearing nothing but a tie and black dress socks, that’s one red flag you can’t ignore.”

I don’t mean to laugh, but I can’t help it. “I’m sorry, Tiger, I know that situation isn’t funny.”

“Don’t feel bad. The flogger thing is funny.”

“You’re right, the flogger thing is funny. But the rest? Don’t feel like you have to put on a brave face. Grieve the loss of the relationship. Take the time you need. And for the first time in a while, be completely selfish. You’ve earned it.”

She nods. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to. My sisters helped me see that before I left.”

“That’s good.”

“And I’m getting a little better each day, at least with coming to terms of how we got here. Though now I’m getting angry. Which is great.”

“Great?”

“Oh yes,” she says, a wicked smile coming across her face. “I want to break shit.”

“Breaking stuff is fun. I’m always down to do that.”

“Really?” The excitement in her tone is a one-eighty from where it was a minute ago. “Because I want to find one of those smash rooms.”

“Smash room?” I echo, suddenly feeling like I’ve walked into something I might regret .

“Really? You’ve never heard of a smash room?”

I shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Oh, we’re going to one.” Stella puts down her bowl of ice cream and grabs her phone from the coffee table, her fingers flying as she brings up a picture for me to see. “They give you a sledgehammer and baseball bats and goggles and a padded room where we can just break shit.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. Aren’t you in town for the week?”

“Yeah.” I swallow the admission that I was going to move up my exit date. “That was the original plan.”

“Original? Are your plans changing?”

Yes…no…I don’t fucking know anymore.

“Undecided.”

She sits up a little straighter and slaps her hands to her lap. “Well then let me decide for you. You’re staying. And we’re going to a smash room. Along with the beach and to dinner. Oh! I bet they have mini golf here. Duncan would never mini golf with me because he said it was for kids but I love mini golf. He was just pissed I always beat him.”

“Stella…” My voice trails, because I hate to be the one to take the excitement away. As I try to figure out how to tell her gently, and only lying slightly, of why I need to go back to Nashville earlier than expected, she reads my face and fills in the blanks for me.

“Oh.” I feel the proverbial knife go through my heart as I watch her shoulders slump. “I understand. You have work to do. This wasn’t a vacation for you. It was stupid of me to ask you to stay and do all that stuff with me. Forget I brought it up.”

I reach over for her hand, needing her to believe what I’m about to say. “Hey. Don’t talk about my friend that way. I don’t think she’s stupid at all.”

The shy smile she gives me when my words register makes my chest swell in a way it never has.

And make me say the words I didn’t intend to .

“I can stay.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“I’ll stay,” I say with a sigh. “I was only going back because I’m, what my sister calls, ‘not fun.’ I’m not much of a beach guy. Or a vacation guy. So I was going to head back early. But I don’t have to.”

Was that a lie? Partially. My sister does call me a stick-in-the-mud. “Plus, Simon told me to stay and take some vacation time. The fucker owes me after taking the world’s longest paternity leave. So let’s go smash some shit and let me beat you at mini golf. I’ll even sit on the beach with you, but I won’t be happy about it.”

Her smile lights up the room. “Really?”

“Really.” I give her hand a squeeze before I release it. “And I’m being serious. I’m not letting you win. I play for keeps.”

“Noted,” she says. “And thank you. Truly. Though, I was ready to play the single-girl-alone-after-I-just-ran-out-of-my-wedding card.”

“Really, Tiger? Sweet and innocent? Woe is me? That was your ace in the hole?”

She faux-innocently shrugs. “Would it have worked?”

Of course it would’ve. Because I’m quickly learning that when it comes to Stella Banks, I can’t say no.

And that’s a very, very, big problem.