Part of the compromise I made with my mom last month when I started moving things slowly into Emerson’s house was that we had to uphold the Taco Tuesday tradition. She hardly had to twist my arm, especially since Emerson always drives and pays, which means bottomless margaritas for us.
It makes it more bearable since Sophie always has to sit next to him, and tonight, she’s stealing all of his attention by showing him her design for the anime she’s been drawing for months now. I guess I’d be more annoyed if he wasn’t so fucking adorable, acting all enthralled by her sketches.
We’re still on our first basket of chips and salsa when my mom wraps her arm around my shoulder and whispers, “Don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t help myself.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, but then I see him walking across the room.
“I had to invite him. It’s family night.”
My eyes widen as Beau waves awkwardly at me. I glance toward Emerson, but he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised, which means he already knew about this.
“Why doesn’t anyone tell me what’s going on?” I ask, but no one answers me as my mom gets up to hug Beau. Then Emerson claps him on the shoulder and scoots in so he can take the seat at the end of the table.
Is it awkward having my ex-boyfriend and current boyfriend at dinner together? Of course. The elephant in the room is bigger than this margarita bowl. But this is Emerson’s son, so I guess he’s technically family now, and families are weird anyway.
“What’s going on?” Beau asks awkwardly, and I just keep sucking down my drink, looking for the waiter, so I can have him on standby when I reach the bottom of this one.
“Sophie is showing me the comic book she drew,” Emerson answers casually.
“It’s called manga,” she corrects him with a roll of her eyes, and my mother laughs.
“Cut him some slack, Soph. He’s old,” Beau says with a smile. And when she nudges her drawings toward him, he looks as amused as Emerson was, and it warms my heart.
Although that could be the tequila.
By the time the waiter is setting the fried ice cream in front of my little sister, I’m spacey and buzzed and all the awkwardness of the table doesn’t feel so weird anymore. My mom and I can’t stop giggling, and Emerson looks mostly amused by our drunkenness. He, my mother, and Beau are swapping embarrassing stories about me, and I’m focusing too much on the ice cream to care.
While they’re all talking, I nudge my little sister with my foot and she looks up at me with a smile. Silently, I mouth the question, “Do I seem happy?”
Her smile is fighting to take over her whole face when she bites her lip and glances at the people at our table then back at me. She nods eagerly, and I have to swallow down the emotion building in the back of my throat.
And just like that, it’s not weird or wrong or uncomfortable. It’s just family.
When the check is paid, we all hug Beau goodbye, and Emerson drives my mom and sister home. On the drive back to his place, I’m staring out the window as he reaches across the seat and clutches my leg.
Looking over at him, I bite my bottom lip. “You’re real smooth around my family, but if they only knew the dirty things I’m sure you’re thinking…”
The wicked smile he’s wearing morphs into something much more sinister. “You have no idea.”
“So, why don’t you show me?” I ask.
He laughs. Then as we pull up to a stoplight, he reaches across the seat and pulls my face to his, gripping me hard under my chin. With a wicked whisper, he says, “Red light fire drill.”
A second later, he’s out of the car, and my eyes widen. A laugh bursts through my lips as I jump out of the car and run around the back of it, but he’s already so far ahead of me that by the time I reach the driver’s side, he’s already there. Snatching me by the waist, he presses me against the side of the car. We’re both laughing and breathless, and it’s a far cry from the brooding man I met four months ago.
With his mouth near mine, he mutters, “Baby, every second I’m around you, I’m thinking of all the dirty things I want to do to you, and you can rest assured I’m going to live out each and every one of those fantasies. Do you think you can handle that?”
My mouth falls open as he licks across my top lip, teasing me with his tongue. “Uh-huh…” I gasp.
A deep chuckle echoes through the dark night as someone behind us honks their horn. “Use your words, Charlotte.” He groans, sliding his hand between my legs.
“Yes, Sir.”
That sinister smile of his returns as he rests his forehead gently against mine. “Good girl.”
The End
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you for reading Praise. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to devote myself to a book again, and this one was like a warm, kinky hug. It was everything I needed, and I have so many people to thank for helping me through this process.
First and foremost, a huge thanks to my readers Amanda and Adrian for helping me write the coolest little sister I’ve ever written. It means the world to me to have your support and input. Sophie and I thank you.
A HUGE love-filled thank you goes out to my publicist, Amanda Anderson, for walking beside me this year. There aren’t enough words, girl. I couldn’t do this without you.
I could not do this without my team:
The breathtaking cover photo from Wander Aguiar.
My editor, Rebecca’s Fairest Reviews, and my proofreader, Rumi Khan.
The Sweetest reader’s group in the world.
And my beautiful Sinners.
My best friend, Rachel, for listening to every neurotic message, crazy idea, and twelve-hundred versions of this cover.
Thank you to everyone who paved a way of love and support for me this year. Writing a 95,000 word story after such a tragedy seems unfathomable, but thanks to every word of encouragement I received this year, I proved to myself that I’m nowhere near done.
Saying thank you just isn’t enough.