Page 27 of Jesse

“For non-employees,” she says.

But then I glance over and catch her shaking her head and then notice I can see her face in the reflection of the window and see her mumbling something.

“Something wrong?” I ask. “You’re not mad because I kissed you, are you?”

“No,” she says, turning to face me. She touches her lips unconsciously, then catches herself and puts her hands in her lap.

“No, there’s nothing wrong? Or no, you’re not sorry I kissed you?” I ask, teasing her for more information.

“The kiss,” she says, smiling at me.

“So there is something wrong. But not the kiss.”

“No, I meant—”

“It’s fine,” I say, reaching over to grab her knee. That makes her jump and squeal a little and I have a flashback to another girl I did that to once. Long time ago. Can’t remember when, and don't really want to. Back then, all those girls I dated—shit, ‘date’ isn’t even the right word. ‘Fucked’ is more like it—I don’t want to think about them and Emma in the same breath.

She brushes my hand off, but I can tell it’s not a rebuke. She’s ticklish.

I just grin and grin as we weave our way along the dark Lake Road.

Finally, we arrive at the gate to our property. “Shit,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hope I can remember the code. Totally fucking forgot about this and I haven’t been up here in years.” I pull up next to the intercom and start punching numbers. None of them work. I look over at Emma and say, “I’m gonna be so fucking embarrassed if I can’t get in.”

She laughs, and then there’s a crackle on the intercom. “Mr. Boston,” a man’s voice says.

Emma and I look at each other with raised eyebrows.

“Mr. Boston?” the voice says again. “Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah. Who’s this?”

“I’m Stan. Joey’s butler for tonight. He told me you might not have the new code. I’ll let you in. One moment.”

“Butler,” Emma says, waggling her eyebrows.

I point at them. “More innuendo.”

She laughs again. And damn. That laugh comes out easy now. “You’re funny, you know that?”

I grin, then pull forward as the gate opens for us. “I do my best.”

Our driveway is long and winding because most of our acreage is out here between the house and the road. The house is right up alongside the lake and when we finally come around that last bend and see it all lit up and pretty, Emma and I both say, “Wow.”

“What are you saying ‘wow’ for?” she says, pushing me on the shoulder. “It’s your house.”

“I know,” I say, pulling up in front, underneath the huge porte-cochère canopy of massive wooden beams. “But I forgot how amazing it was.”

Fucking Joey. He must’ve been taking care of this place all these years because it wasn’t me. And it sure as fuck wasn’t Johnny.

There’s no valet—not that I expect one—but when we get to the front door it opens automatically and Stan, wearing a typical butler face frown, stands aside and says, “Welcome home, Mr. Boston.”

“Thanks, Stan. This is my date for the weekend, Ms. Emma Dumas.”

Stan bows at the waist and says, “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Dumas. Would you like to start with champagne on the back patio, Mr. Boston?”