Chapter 1

A Dangerous Attraction

Ryler

Emery, Emery, Emery,

a song in my head,

stuck on repeat.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I barely know her,

yet I can’t stop thinking about her.

How her lips felt,

so hot and soft against mine.

How amazing she tasted,

like untouchable sunlight.

Emery, Emery, Emery

My attraction to her is dangerous.

Beautifully dangerous.

The kind of danger I don’t necessarily mind,

yet I have to.

God, what I would give

for things to be easy,

for Emery to be the Emery I first met,

for her to be touchable,

instead of so far away,

even when she’s sitting right across from me.

My hand stops moving across the page as I glance across the room at Emery sitting on a barstool, writing. We’re supposed to be working together on a Creative Writing partner project that was assigned today in class. The instructions were to interview your partner and then write a poem about them. But since we hardly talk to each other, Emery and I silently decided to complete the project solo. Instead of writing about Emery, I ended up writing about my feelings for her.

“What’s wrong?” Her soft, tentative voice interrupts my thoughts.

She’s wearing a short pair of shorts that make her ass look fucking amazing every time she bends over and a thin-strapped tank top that shows off her bare shoulders. Her long, brown hair is curled and runs down her back. Her lips are luscious, and her gorgeous eyes are locked on me and filled with curiosity.

“Ryler, what’s up?” She chews on her pen with her head tipped to the side. “You’ve been staring at me for, like, the last ten minutes. Do I have something on my face?” She self-consciously runs her fingers across her cheeks and forehead.

Another thing I’ve learned. For such a beautiful girl, Emery is extremely self-conscious.

I shake my head and check the time in the clock. Realizing how much time has drifted by since I started staring at her, I set my pen and notebook aside on the sofa and stretch my arms above my head.

“Sorry,” I sign to her. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind and spaced out.”

She studies me intently, and then her lips part, but she quickly closes her mouth, changing her mind on whatever she was about to say. She presses the tip of her pen to her notebook and starts scribbling in it again.

I want to tell her I’m sorry again. Sorry things turned out this way. Sorry for everything. Sorry that I took away the peace she felt whenever she spent time with me. But doing so could risk blowing my cover. So, instead I focus back on the paper.

I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry

that I’m a liar.

If I had my way,

I would tell you everything.

If I had my way,

I’d have you unconditionally.

But life isn’t that simple.

Never has been.

We continue writing for what feels like an eternity, only stopping to take a break when Emery puts her pen down.

She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back. “I wish we had some music to listen to,” she says through a yawn. “I’ve always wanted to listen to music while I’m writing.”

I drop the pen onto my lap and flex my fingers, which are stiff from gripping the pen for the last three hours, then elevate my hands in front of me to sign, “You’ve never listened to music while you were writing?”

“No, I wasn’t really allowed to listen to music back at home.” She stares out the window, coiling a strand of her hair around her finger. “I probably should get an iPod or something, but I haven’t really had the chance to since I’ve been under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

I tap my foot on the floor, restless and unsure what to say since I’m part of the surveillance. Ever since Doc, her father, hired me to be her bodyguard, Emery has been cold and distant.

She turns back to me with a heavyhearted sigh. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For complaining.”

Always so apologetic. Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing. Emery has lived her life in fear, that much I’m sure of. I’ve seen first hand what kind of a monster her father is, seen him kill someone with my own eyes. I’ve also picked up on little details of Emery’s traumatic childhood through the few stories she’s told me. That was before she found out I worked for her father, even though I technically don’t. Really, I’m working as an informant for the police, have been for over eight months. My main goal is to find Doc’s boss, Donny Elderman, one of the most dangerous mobster/drug lords in the country. To do so, I have to find the location of his main warehouse, which happens to be located in a hidden town no one seems to want to speak of.

Stale, the agent who gives me orders, is positive Emery knows where the town is and wants me to use her to find out its location. While I think he might be right, the idea of using Emery to get information makes me feel like an asshole. Doesn’t really matter, though, since Emery barely speaks to me anymore.

She collects her pen again and her hand flows across the paper, tracing letters with such passion. Whenever she writes, she looks so relaxed and into it, and I find it fascinating to watch. She’s so calm, so at peace, so unlike the Emery I see during most of the day. She deserves to feel this all the time, and I wish I could make that possible for her.

A sudden idea clicks in my head. Setting my journal and pen down on the coffee table, I rise to my feet and walk toward the front door.