Quarantine Crush Read online

  He’s here.

  He’s really, truly here. After all this time.

  “Stop moving halfway across the world, and you’d see what I look like during the daytime hours more often.”

  The words are barely out of my mouth before I feel Knox’s strong arms wrap around me. My breath whooshes out of me as I’m lifted off my feet. Knox presses his face to my neck, holding me against his chest as he crushes me in a hug. The hard planes of his body feel like they’re made for the softer curves of my own, and my heart pounds painfully against my ribs. I say a quick prayer that this FlipFlop won’t...well, flop, then I wind my arms around his neck and breathe in the smoky sandalwood scent that smells like home.

  2

  Embry

  “I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” he says, pulling back. A lazy smile spreads across his face, and I know what he’s thinking right now. Our mutual love of this song is an homage to an innocent kiss we shared when we were kids. Unfortunately, even the mere hint of a kiss is enough to send me spiraling right now, so I duck my head as I usher him inside.

  “This shirt has been through almost as much shit as we have,” I say, and he laughs as he grabs his bags from the floor.

  My eyes land on the smaller of the bags, and I grin.

  “Did you bring the goods?” I ask.

  Knox grins a wolfish grin. “You know it. Be prepared to go down, Hess. I’ve got some particularly terrible entries for this contest,” he says as he follows me into my apartment.

  His scent trails after him like a superpower, and I force myself to breathe through my nose. It’s just Knox. He’s been your best friend since you were kids. Play it cool, I remind myself.

  “Cool place,” he says, looking around.

  I shrug, watching him take in the warm reds and soft grays of the furniture and artwork. The sliding glass door that opens to a balcony off the living room faces west, so the room gets good afternoon light. The view from the balcony is one of my favorite things about the place. “It’s nothing fancy, but I’ve had fun decorating it over the last year. You’ll probably recognize a lot of it,” I say, motioning toward the bookshelf, throw pillows, and other knick-knacks he’s given me over the years. “It’s nice to have something that’s mine.”

  Rent in New York is hella expensive, but I’ve managed to scrape by with the graphic design work I do for our dads’ company.

  He meets my eyes, and there’s a note of apology in his relaxed expression. “I’m sorry, Emy. The bookcase looks great. I knew you’d love it. Still, it shouldn’t have taken me a year to see your first place in person. It’s been way too damn long.”

  “Kind of a long commute for movie night, though,” I tell him, and he laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders. We’ve had movie nights before, watching the same movie while Facetiming, but being in his presence again for the first time in years makes me realize how much I’ve missed him.

  “Good point. Now that I’m here though, maybe we can make up for some lost time?” His grin is the same lopsided smile that sent butterflies through me at sixteen, but there’s a magnetism behind it now that makes me weak in the knees.

  “Definitely,” I say, the words far huskier than I’d like. “Let me take that from you.” I reach for one of his bags, but he steps back, his arm falling from my shoulders.

  “Nice try, Emy. You’re trying to get a leg up on the competition. It’s killing you not to know what kind of delicious torture I have in this bag, isn’t it?” He grins nefariously, taunting me with his bag and pulling a laugh from me.

  “Damn. Foiled again,” I joke, snapping my fingers.

  “I knew it,” Knox exclaims. “Sorry, Hess. Not gonna happen. So, why don’t you just point me in the direction you want me, and I’ll put it up. Besides, I can’t have you telling the dads that I made you do all the heavy lifting.”

  Our dads have been best friends for so long they’ve simply become “the dads” to the rest of us. I laugh and shake my head before pointing to the couch.

  “The apartment may be amazing, but its one downside is the lack of a guest bedroom. I’m afraid you’re couch surfing while you’re here.”

  He looks at the red sofa dubiously, and I bite back a grin, knowing he’s thinking there’s no way his massive body will fit comfortably. Knox has always been tall, but gone is the gangly teen of my memories. Time has been good to him, and he’s finally filled out his over six feet tall frame. I watch the muscles bunch across his back and arms as he tosses his bag next to the couch.

  He turns back to me, stretching, and I stifle a groan as his shirt lifts, revealing a small line of muscled abs and a tantalizing trail of hair between thick muscles that make smart girls stupid.

  “What kind of bed are you rocking in there?” he asks, nodding toward my bedroom door. “Maybe we can share. You know, for old times’ sake?”

  He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and all of the saliva dries up in my mouth, causing me to choke.

  “Pretty sure the dads banned us from sharing a bed when I turned thirteen,” I wheeze.

  His brows furrow, and he crosses the room to pat me on the back.

  “You okay, Em?”

  “Huh?” I ask, having a hard time concentrating with his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I’m fine. Just need something to drink. Can I get you anything?”

  He grins, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

  “It’s like you can still read my mind. I was just going to ask what a jet-lagged guy has to do to get a drink around here.”

  “Well then, you’re in luck. Bar’s this way,” I say, motioning for him to follow me into the kitchen. “Milk stout still your favorite?”

  “Hell yeah, it is.” He takes the beer I offer, looking impressed. “What did I ever do to deserve such a badass bestie?”

  I flip my hair, doing my damndest to joke with him like the old Embry would, and feign modesty. “Guess you got lucky.”

  My words ring in my own ears, and my cheeks heat at the innuendo because damn if that’s not exactly what I’m hoping for. Knox laughs and takes a swig of his beer while I pour myself a glass of wine.

  “Now that we have our beverages, are you ready to taste some truly despicable snacks?” Knox asks.

  “You’re on, Jacobs,” I laugh, moving farther into the kitchen to where I stashed my bag earlier today. I pull it from the cabinet and dangle it in front of his face. “I’m feeling awfully optimistic about this round.”

  Knox laughs and follows me into the living room. I pull one of the throw pillows from the couch and toss it onto the floor next to my coffee table before hiding my bag next to me. Knox grabs his bag before plopping down on a pillow of his own across from me.

  “Same rules as always?” he asks.

  I grin and nod my agreement. When Knox first moved to London, he had a hard time adjusting to the different foods and snacks there. I, of course, used that knowledge as an opportunity to hassle him. He’d retaliated by sending me a care package of the worst British snacks he could find. Never one to be outdone, I’d scoured Chinatown for weird treats of my own, and our game was born.

  “I think you’re in for something truly interesting with this one,” Knox says.

  The sound of a bag crinkling reaches my ears seconds before Knox hands me a potato chip. It doesn’t look like anything spectacular, so I shrug and pop it into my mouth. The artificial fishy taste coats my tongue, and the disgusted look on my face has Knox howling with laughter.

  “Why?” I cry, taking a giant gulp of my wine. It does nothing to remove the taste, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Who would want fish-flavored chips?”

  “I believe you mean Prawn Cocktail,” he says, placing the pink bag of chips on the table. “You should know that they also have roasted chicken and Worcester sauce flavors.”

  My brows rise as I take in the words 100% British Potatoes! written on the front of the bag. I shake my head before pulling my own offering from my sack.
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  Knox looks at the offered chip with equal parts amusement and distrust, but he pops it into his mouth without hesitation.

  “Holy hell,” he coughs, reaching for his beer.

  I laugh as he downs half the bottle in one pull.

  “Why is it both disgusting and hotter than the devil’s balls?”

  I pull my chip can from the bag and place it next to his. “Probably because it’s spicy beef flavored.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Knox says with an exaggerated shudder.

  I laugh as he pulls a small sushi looking candy from his stash and holds it out to me with an evil grin.

  We spend the next hour torturing each other with all manner of disgusting snacks before I finally call mercy. Knox grins triumphantly before handing me the bag of candy I actually want. This is how we always play. First, the worst snacks we can find. Then, our rewards for making it through.

  “Yours are in the kitchen,” I tell him, rising from my place on the floor.

  “Perfect. We can get some refills while we’re in there,” Knox says, following me.

  I reach into the cabinet and pull down the bags of candy while Knox refills my wine and gets himself another beer.

  My phone buzzes in my bra, and I pull it out, grimacing when I see it’s a text from Hadley.

  Hadley: Are you pregnant yet? Please tell me you jumped him as soon as you opened the door.

  Her words send heat into my cheeks, and I quickly tuck my phone away and change course.

  Time for a little more liquid courage, I think and go to work, pouring myself a shot.

  “So, how was your flight?” I ask.

  “Long and tiring,” Knox says. When I look over, he smiles. “But worth it. How long has it been, anyway? Two years? Two and a half?”

  “Twenty-seven months.” I bite my lip. “But who’s counting,” I mumble under my breath then lift the full shot glass to my lips.

  Knox whistles as he takes in my drink choice. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, huh?”

  I answer by knocking back the drink and then pouring another.

  “Whoa there, Jack Sparrow, did your liver do something to piss you off?”

  I knock back the second shot and breathe through the burn.

  “Nope. Merely trying to celebrate right.” I flash a smile as the burn in my belly begins to spread to the rest of my body.

  “Uh-huh. Well, the way I remember it, you seem to have a knack for overshooting the celebrations.” He plucks the empty shot glass out of my hand before I can pour another.

  I scowl. “Are you calling me a lightweight?”

  He shrugs. “If the shot glass fits…”

  “Right. And who was the one praying to the porcelain gods for almost four hours the night of his high school graduation?”

  He groans. “Don’t remind me. And don’t ever mix Cognac with Gatorade. The smell of either of them gives me PTSD to this day.”

  I shudder, remembering how terrible he’d looked the night I picked him up from that party and snuck him into my room so his parents wouldn’t kill him. He’d puked all over my favorite rug, and I’d had to throw it away. Nothing could get the smell out of it. No matter how many times I washed it.

  “Don’t worry, that’s one night I definitely don’t want to repeat,” I joke. “Speaking of which, are we going to get Christian wasted on cheap liquor as a rite of passage or what?”

  Knox winks. “Oh, I plan to make him suffer for sure.”

  Christian’s high school graduation is the reason Knox is here. Knox is supposed to move back home this summer, but for now, he’s wrapping up the startup of our dads’ first international office. Our dads own the company, fifty-fifty. Knox and I both have places in the company when the dads are ready to retire, but my interest has always lain elsewhere, which is why they sent Knox to get things off the ground in London these last few years. Still, Christian’s big moment isn’t something Knox would miss for anything. Our families are close–and that’s something I’m grateful for. Even if Knox himself has been distant these last couple of years, I’ve been in regular contact with the rest of his family. Especially his mom.

  I lost my mother when I was ten, and it still hurts like hell. However, Gloria has become like a surrogate to me.

  I laugh. “I think it's part of the bro code. You have to corrupt him. So, what’s the game plan anyway?”

  The alcohol has numbed me just enough that I push past the weird fluttering in my belly and focus on my own plan. While Knox talks, I maintain eye contact, doing my best to nod along while sliding my phone out and casually queuing up FlipFlop for a video.

  This is it. Now or never.

  “I told my parents I’ll spend the first couple of nights here. I thought maybe we could catch up and see the city together. Do the touristy thing or hit some of our old haunts. Then, you and I can drive up to the lake house after the graduation ceremony on Saturday, and we can spend the rest of my visit with the whole family.”

  I nod and offer an “uh-huh” at all the right spots, but inside, I’m freaking the fuck out.

  It’s time to “nut up or shut up” as Hadley would say.

  “I can’t get over this,” he says, motioning to me.

  “Huh?” My brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “When the hell did you grow up, Emy?”

  His words catch me off-guard, and I look up, frozen like a deer in headlights at the way he’s looking at me. Not my face. My body. Specifically, my tits.

  The little whores stand right up at attention too. I might have crossed my arms if I had control of my limbs. Or my heart.

  “Probably around the same time you did if I had to guess,” I say, the words throaty.

  He chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes lifting to mine. “That shirt makes you look fifteen though.” He pushes to his feet and heads toward the kitchen.

  The words are a gut punch. Or at least a shove. I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult, so I smirk, forcing myself to consider it the former.

  “So my look matches your maturity level,” I shoot back.

  He snorts. But it’s clear I need to stop fucking around and do this. One more weird-ass comment like that, and I’ll lose my nerve forever.

  “Hey, grab me a beer while you’re in there, would ya?” I ask.

  He arches a brow, looking ready to refuse, then turns toward the fridge anyway.

  The moment his back is turned, I hit the button to record my FlipFlop and prop my phone on the bar. After a few seconds, the counter blinks with a number as more and more people tune into the live video.

  When Knox hands me the beer, I angle my body so we’re both facing the camera. Knox is oblivious to it and simply looks at me weird, undoubtedly for the way I’m standing like we’re posing for awkward prom pictures.

  “Thanks, bestie,” I say.

  “No problem.”

  “Hey, how long have we been best friends now?” I ask, loud enough I hope the phone picks it up clearly.

  “Uh, ten years? Longer?” Knox says, scratching the back of his head. He looks confused at the math I’ve just made him do. “Hell if I know. I don’t really remember a time when you weren’t my best friend. Why?”

  The words give me the last boost of confidence I need. I swoop in, closing the distance between us, and press my lips to his.

  The warmth of his mouth and the surrealness of this moment make my head spin.

  Holy shit, I’m doing it! I’m shooting my shot with Knox Jacobs! Hadley is going to lose her shit!

  I know because I’m losing my shit too.

  All at once, strong hands land on my shoulders, pushing me back. At the same time, Knox backs away, breaking us apart. He stares at me, eyes wide and mouth open in shock.

  He looks at me like I have three heads. “Uh, what are you– I mean, we’re not– Embry, we’re just friends.”

  I stare at him for a full beat, mortification paralyzing me and honestly maybe even freezing ti
me itself. Oh, if only I were that lucky.

  3

  Knox

  What the actual fuck?

  My brain feels broken.

  Every time I try to ask what that was all about, my jumbled thoughts get stuck in my suddenly bone-dry mouth.

  “Em?” I croak.

  Her expression is pure horror, and as the moment stretches, her cheeks flush crimson.

  Even though I’m not sure what the hell just happened, I am absolutely certain that it can never be undone. Shit just changed forever, and I feel like a complete asshole for reasons I can’t yet put into words.

  “Emy, I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head and fully prepared to grovel until she forgives me–for what, I’m not sure, but I need this girl to remain my friend.

  She’s been the one constant in my life, my anchor, and without her, I’d be adrift at sea.

  As if in slow motion, she blinks, and her expression transforms. The shock and embarrassment drain away, replaced by the fakest smile I’ve ever seen her wear. It’s so forced, my chest aches.

  “Gotcha!” She grins, and I wince because I can tell this effort is costing her.

  “Uh, what?” I blink, unable to think past the fact that my best friend actually kissed me. I want to run. Or hug her. Or turn back time.

  “Oh my God, you should have seen your face.”

  My face? What about her face?

  “It was a total joke. I was messing with you.”

  My eyes dart to where her phone is propped up on the counter. “You recorded us kissing as a prank?”

  “Part prank. Part dare, actually,” she says, her cheeks turning pink. “Hadley required video evidence that I actually did it or she threatened to cut all of my thongs as revenge.”

  “That’s–” I break off, shuffling awkwardly on my feet. Hadley. The name is familiar. I’ve heard Emy mention her before, but this is crazy. My jet-lagged brain can’t keep up.