Emma
Jake came home looking like he’d spent the afternoon fighting ghosts.
I was sitting on the clubhouse couch when he walked through the door. His shoulders were tense, his jaw covered in dark stubble, and he hadn’t even bothered removing his sunglasses.
Nash followed him inside, took one look at me, and headed toward the kitchen.
“Raven got any beer?”
“Refrigerator,” I answered.
“Perfect. I’m suddenly thirsty.”
Coward.
Jake stopped in front of me.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey, yourself.”
I stood and slipped my arms around his waist. He held me tightly, burying his face against my hair.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I leaned back.
“You smell like motor oil.”
“That’s usually considered attractive around here.”
“Really? Because I was thinking you smell like somebo
