Page 87 of The Golden Scoop

“I’ll figure it out.” She shrugs. “How’s that going by the way? Any news on the mystery role Jennifer was grilling you about that first day?”

“No news on that front yet.” I sigh. “What about you? Golden treating you right? Let me know if I have to get anyone fired.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Emma says with a chuckle. “Same routine, long hours, but I enjoy it.”

“I’m guessing, from having read your blog, you’ve always wanted to write. What took you so long?”

Emma stiffens. This time, her answer doesn’t come as easily.

“My blog’s always been a hobby.”

“The entries are excellent, Mills.”

“Yeah, well… regular people don’t always get to choose what they want to do. We find something that pays the bills and roll with it until we can move onto other things.”

“You know, Jennifer has tons of contacts in the journalism world here. I’m sure she could connect you if Golden’s dumb enough not to bring you on as a full-time writer.”

She shrugs again. “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll work out.”

The shift is still there. It’s nothing she says out loud, but I’ve been around her enough to know when something is eating away at her.

I don’t call her out.

If I want her to keep letting me in, I can’t force the door open.

With every switch of the boxes, we inch closer. By the time we reach the churros con chocolate Ben suggested, our legs are pressed together. I turn to face her as she finishes the last bite.

“This was delicious, but if you keep feeding me this much, we’re going to have to actually take up hiking,” she groans. “How do you feel about roller skating?”

“I think either we’ll be great at it, or someone’s going to end up with scraped knees and a broken tooth.” I laugh. “But hey, I’m in. I’ll wear a mouth guard.”

“That would be a sight.”

“Don’t move. You’ve got something… here.”

My thumb grazes the corner of her mouth, catching a small drop of chocolate. I wipe it away—then pause a beat too long before licking it off my finger.

The air shifts. It’s not sudden or loud. Heavier. Everything has narrowed down to the exact space between us. Tension sizzles.

“Careful there, Matthew. You’re showing your cards a little too much,” she whispers.

“Honey, I fold,” I answer, voice low, steady. “I’ve been dying to kiss you again.”

She leans in, her breath brushing mine, stopping just short.

“Then why don’t you?”

That’s all the confirmation I need.

I close the distance, and she’s ready. It starts out slow, tugging, biting, moaning into each other’s mouth. I can still taste the chocolate on her tongue. My hand comes up to brace her cheek, tilting her head backward to get better access.

Emma shifts. She growls at the awkward position, before swinging a leg to straddle me, settling into my space like she’s claiming it.

And just like that, I’m in trouble.

Her shorts leave very little to the imagination, and it takes everything in me not to let my hands wonder. Instead, I grip her waist, grounding myself. I’m holding on but not taking.

I try to slow it down, but Emma is full steam ahead, making it clear I’m now hers. Lips trail down my neck. Her hands find them hem of my shirt until they disappear inside—they don’t roam, but the contact’s there.