Fresh Meet Read online

  Then I take off like a rabbit being chased by a lion.

  I need to be alone so I can think clearly. I need to figure out what to do with this information. My head feels like it’s about to explode from seeing my brother-in-law cheat on my sister.

  And now I have to face her in a few hours, and him probably too.

  With Jace in tow.

  Why does this feel like a total clusterfuck about to happen?

  Twelve

  Jace

  One thing is blatantly clear when it comes to Emilia. Whether it’s her extravagant clothing choices, her eccentric behavior, or the fact that she pretty much fondled me against that tree trunk earlier with her delicious curves, things are never boring when she’s around.

  Now we can add another one to that list.

  Family drama.

  From the sounds of it, shit might just go down at dinner today.

  Possibly even worse than either of us imagined.

  After I picked her up from her place—searching for the right words to tell her how stunning she looks, even though words could never do it justice—she clued me in on what happened this morning.

  To say I’m speechless is an understatement.

  The biggest part of my life, I’ve been an only child with a mom, and most of it has been devoted to swimming. Sure, sometimes there’s drama in the swim community or with the press, but I’ve always been able to avoid it.

  Family drama is on a whole different level, and definitely nothing that’s averted easily.

  From the sounds of it, my mom couldn’t be more opposite of Emilia’s. From the second she learned about Tanner—after the initial shock wore off—she welcomed him with open arms, adjusting her busy professor schedule however she could to get to know her grandson. And they adore each other. When she came over to babysit Tanner tonight, it was hard to tell who was more excited.

  What would my life have been like without that kind of love and support growing up?

  I can’t even begin to imagine what Emilia’s childhood must have been like.

  She’s been quiet for most of the short drive to her family home, not that I blame her after the bomb she dropped on me.

  Regardless of what’s going on, I’m unable to keep from looking at her. Not just to make sure she’s okay, but also because she looks incredibly beautiful. She always does in her own way, but tonight, she looks like she stepped straight out of a dream.

  Her copper hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, and my fingers have been itching to touch it, to see if it’s as silky as it looks. Her makeup is heavier than usual without being overdone. She paired her black slacks with a golden blouse.

  The outfit is formal, proper even, the total opposite of everything I’ve seen her in so far, as far as clothing or behavior goes. It’s undeniably sexy.

  One reason is because it’s formfitting, accentuating both the mouthwatering curve of her breasts and the delicious curve of her ass. But more than that, she looks like a badass, like she’s ready to face whatever is going to go down at dinner.

  From the glimpses I’ve witnessed of her family life so far, it might just feel exactly like that.

  Thank fuck I had the sense to dress in slacks and a button-down shirt, throwing my suit jacket in the car as almost an afterthought.

  Emilia has been fidgeting this whole time, but it gets worse the closer we get to our destination. Does she go through this every month?

  When we roll up the driveway, she looks like she’s ready to jump out of her skin. I turn off the car and get out to walk over to Emilia’s side. Of course, she’s already out, brushing over her outfit in a measured motion.

  I’m battling between wanting to push her back into the car and get her out of here and pulling her into my arms to tell her it’ll be all right. Not that I’m sure it actually will be.

  Both options fly out the window when the front door of the decent-sized two-story house opens, and an elegantly dressed woman pauses in the doorway.

  At the woman’s appearance, Emilia snaps into action, straightening her back and putting on a smile. It almost looks like a real smile—almost—but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes look dull and unhappy, making a hardness form in my stomach at the sight of it.

  I don’t like it at all. I fight my instinct, trying to be a good friend and follow her lead.

  Since I’m here as a favor to her, I swallow my own judgement and opinions, and put up the front I’ve perfected over the years. I’ve had to attend plenty of sponsors events I could have cared less about. But that’s part of the big game. And boy, am I ever ready to play.

  At first, I thought the woman looked like an older version of Emilia with dark hair, but the closer we get, the more obvious it is how wrong I was.

  Even though it’s obvious they share some similarities in their features, the older woman looks like a sad caricature of Emilia, the woman I’ve seen more of in the last three weeks than any other woman in the whole last year, including my mom probably.

  “Hey, Mom.” Emilia sounds like she has to force the words out of her mouth, and the urge to pick her up and run comes back with a vengeance.

  “Emilia.”

  Her daughter’s name flows from her thin lips like a verbal whipping, and reminds me of the moment Emilia said only her family calls her by her full name.

  Until now, I didn’t understand why she’d prefer Millie since Emilia is a beautiful name. After witnessing this, I’m beginning to understand why.

  And I kept insisting on calling her Emilia this whole time. I’m such an idiot.

  “Mrs. Davis, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Jace Atwood.” I stretch out my hand and shake her delicate one. “Emilia’s told me so much about you.”

  She gives me a tight-lipped smile, her gaze bouncing back and forth between me and her daughter. “Mr. Atwood, please come inside. Everyone’s already waiting in the dining hall.”

  The atmosphere has dropped about twenty degrees, and the welcome couldn’t have been much more unpleasant had she tried.

  The accusation is also easy to read between the lines, but I know that we're on time. A few minutes early, actually. From the looks of it, that’s considered late in this household.

  “Of course.” I take a step forward and practically push Emilia inside with me.

  We quietly follow her mother as she leads the way, her head held high, not a hair out of place.

  When we enter the dining room, Emilia stops so abruptly, I run into her. My hand goes around her waist on instinct, wanting to keep her steady before she topples over from the impact. All eyes snap in our direction, particularly on my hand still securely around her midsection.

  “Emilia brought company.” The words come out of Emilia’s mother’s mouth like an accusation, sharp and short.

  Emilia’s body tenses under my fingers. “I told you I was bringing Jace.”

  “I’ll let Amy know we need another place setting.” Her mother turns on her heels without another glance and leaves the room.

  Since I haven’t let go of Emilia, I feel rather than hear her deep inhale before she clears her voice. “Everyone, this is Jace Atwood. Jace, my dad, Jeff; my sister, Ashley; and my brother-in-law, Shane”—she stumbles on that introduction for a moment but I don’t blame her—“and . . . Marcus? What are you doing here?”

  A snooty-looking guy, who seems to be in his mid-to-late thirties, rakes his eyes up and down Emilia’s body like she’s a tasty treat. Who the hell’s this guy?

  Emilia clearly knows him, and from the way his nostrils flare and his gaze keeps flickering to my hand, I’m not sure I actually want to know.

  I already felt tense when we arrived, knowing I’d have to deal with her difficult family. Also having to deal with a potential ex, and/or admirer, puts my teeth grinding to a whole new level.

  Of course, Marcus has to be the first to jump out of his seat, making a show of straightening to his full height—which I’m guessing is close to my six fou
r—extending his hand toward me, and therefore, forcing me to let go of Emilia.

  That seems to immediately lift his spirits, because he can’t contain his smirk.

  Fucker.

  “Marcus Smith. A pleasure to meet you.” He shakes my hand, trying to make ground meat of it. Classic. Just like I expected. “What was your name again? I was distracted by this beautiful lady.” He lets go of my hand and bends down to kiss Emilia on the cheek.

  No. I will not smash his face in. I will not stoop to his level of idiocy.

  Fucking asshole.

  Emilia’s mom chooses that moment to re-enter the room, a red-faced woman chasing after her with a place setting in her hands. She gives Emilia a big smile before catching herself by placing everything on the table.

  That must be the woman who helped raise Emilia. Talking about Amy was the only time Emilia smiled when she told me about her family.

  “Thanks, Amy.” Emilia reaches out and squeezes the middle-aged woman’s arm before she scurries out the room.

  Emilia’s mom calls out after her. “Amy, make sure the children stay in the kitchen and do not disturb our meal.”

  I think I can hear a faint, “Yes, ma’am,” as the tension in the room settles like a dark rain cloud.

  She seems . . . lovely.

  Emilia’s mom, Regina, gestures to the table. “Emilia, we saved you a seat next to Marcus.” Pointing to the other side of her daughter, and also directly next to her dickhead of a son-in-law, she gives me a look down her nose. “Mr. Atwood, please take a seat.”

  Emilia shoots me an apologetic side glance as we both lower ourselves onto the plush dining chairs. I grab her hand under the table, wanting to reassure her that I’m here. With her. For her. She’s not alone in this mess, and never should have been in the first place, but that’s a whole other issue.

  Her father clears his throat. “Mr. Atwood, I’m not sure I’m familiar with your name. What do you do for a living?”

  Wow. Straight to the point.

  Depending on which way this conversation goes, I can respect that.

  I intertwine my fingers with Emilia’s under the table and place them on my knee. “I swim.”

  His crystal tumbler pauses halfway to this mouth. “As a hobby?”

  “No, as a job.”

  “Oh. I’ve worked with a few football and baseball players before. Does swimming pay a lot?”

  Emilia’s hand tenses in mine. “Dad.”

  He doesn’t look at her, and I squeeze her hand in reassurance to let her know it’s okay.

  Rude, but okay.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity that this conversation has leapt to in less than two minutes. Not only do they seem clueless about my field of sport, which is not a big deal, of course, but they clearly don’t have their priorities straight either.

  And I do not feel like playing into their hands.

  Not one bit.

  Everyone’s eyes are on me, clearly trying to gauge if I might be worth their time and attention.

  How those people could have ever raised someone so bubbly and warm like Emilia is beyond me.

  I shrug. “It pays okay. Puts food on the table, clothes on my body, et cetera.”

  “I see.” He lifts his glass to his lips and guzzles the contents.

  Emilia squeezes my hand so hard I barely keep from wincing.

  That woman could crush Marcus in a fight. Somehow that thought satisfies me greatly.

  My interrogation seems to be over with my unsatisfying comment. It looks like I didn’t pass the first question. Too bad.

  I’m quickly forgotten as conversations around me pick up, us excluded. Emilia’s father and brother-in-law talk about possible investment partners while Marcus keeps trying to get Emilia’s attention, disregarding the fact that she ignores him.

  Emilia’s sister keeps shooting me curious glances around her husband’s body, and I’m oddly fascinated with the way he’s affectionate toward her. Putting his arm around the back of her chair, absentmindedly rubbing up and down her back.

  The urge to make a snide comment about seeing him on the Bay Trail this morning is hard to ignore, but it’s not my place. As if Emilia knows my struggle, she intervenes my thoughts by pinching my thigh.

  My gaze zooms in on hers and she gives me the faintest headshake I’ve ever seen, her eyes pleading with me.

  I don’t know why she wouldn’t just bring it up, out him in front of everyone. That douchebag deserves that and much more.

  Emilia must have her reasons though, and I will respect them, even if it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

  One thing’s for sure though. I won’t be watching her family stomp all over her all evening. If it gets too much, I’m out of here. And I sure as hell won’t leave without her. Not a chance.

  Thirteen

  Emilia

  This might just go down as the worst day in history, and I’m not sure I can ever look Jace in the eye again.

  Maybe I should quit my job right now and save both of us from further pain that’s surely waiting around the next corner after this debacle.

  Never before have I been this embarrassed about my family. I’m not delusional and know how dysfunctional they are—we are—but today has definitely taken it to a whole new level. The blunt refusal to acknowledge Jace beyond the point of asking for his income, and the immediate dismissal thereafter, was only the start of this humiliating dinner.

  We’re not even through the main course, and my mom has already had several meltdowns, and even more glasses of wine. The moment when my sister’s kids “escaped” from the kitchen, and my mom tried to herd them back in like they’re cattle, screeching at everyone to help her, was so over-the-top ridiculous it was comical.

  If I wasn’t so embarrassed about this whole evening, I might have burst into laughter until I cried.

  Jace has been a trooper through it all, squeezing my hand or thigh reassuringly every few moments. Or at least he pretends to be. For all I know, he’s here out of some wrong sense of obligation and is going to fire me the second we leave the premises. Or worse, he might just up and leave me alone with this crazy bunch.

  Marcus has been an absolute pain in the ass too, poking at Jace whenever he gets a chance, and I’m about to push his face into the fancy mashed potatoes like it’s no one’s business.

  Why on earth my parents think we’d be a good fit is beyond me. This is the third time they’ve invited him to dinner as my quasi-date, and he gets slimier and more obtuse every time.

  No idea what his issue is that he keeps coming back. He’s good-looking, has money, and isn’t super old either. Is this a challenge for him?

  And there he goes again, leaning around me to look at Jace. “So, Jace, I’m guessing your professional career will be over soon too like most other athletic ones when you hit a certain age. Have you put any thought into what you’ll attempt to do after?”

  Oh, I hate his face. So much.

  He might have slight resemblances to a young Adonis, but there’s no outward beauty that could ever rectify his inner ugliness.

  And then there’s Jace . . . Jace. I could kiss his face. Not only because he’s still sitting next to me, like he promised, but also because he’s been simply amazing. Pushing his way through one ridiculous and offensive question after the other, and all of that with a smile on his face.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s enjoying this.

  He places his fork and knife on his plate, much to my mother’s wide-eyed surprise at exactly the “twenty-after” mark, and picks up the ironed linen napkin to wipe his mouth.

  Those lips. Full and so delectable, I might just promise to abstain from chocolate if I could nibble on them instead.

  And there goes my brain again. This day has officially short-circuited it, and it’s been all over the place.

  Jace puts on a polite smile and looks Marcus straight in the eye. “Not really. I have a few ideas, maybe d
oing some training camps, you know, teaching young ones, but I haven’t decided yet. Hopefully, I have a few more good years in me, building up my investments during that time.”

  Marcus doesn’t waste time to let the smugness take over his face. “Well, if you ever need help with those investments, let me know. I don’t normally handle small accounts, but I’d make an exception since you’re Emilia’s friend.”

  The dig couldn’t be more obvious had he tried. The whole room falls quiet, even my sister and my brother-in-law—who were happily ignoring us, as usual—perk up and stare at us.

  That’s the moment when I’m sure Jace is going to have enough and leave.

  And I’m going to punch asshole Marcus in the face. Straight in the mouth. I’m pulling my hand out of Jace’s, or rather, I’m trying to, but he doesn’t let go of me.

  I close my eyes, waiting to wake up, and all of this has just been a bad dream.

  Instead, Jace—freaking Jace Atwood—starts to laugh. Loud, unrestrained laughter flows out of his mouth. The world could have ended outside, and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  There was only one thing my brain could focus on right now, and that was this incredible man beside me. I don’t give a damn that my mouth is hanging open or that I probably look like a total idiot, because I’m enthralled.

  Utterly mesmerized.

  This moment.

  This is, without a doubt, the moment I become infatuated with Jace Atwood. I’m ready to have all his babies, the whole shebang, and I can’t even put into words why.

  Placing a hand on his chest, he takes several deep breaths and wipes at the corners of his eyes before looking at a stunned Marcus, who’s wearing the stupidest expression I’ve ever seen on his face. “Thanks for the offer, man, but I think I’m good. I’m happy with my team of financial advisors and investment managers.”