Page 26 of Ruthless Edge

I type: The proposal can wait until Monday if you need the weekend.

I send it. Professional. Leaves the door open.

I put my phone away.

She lives six blocks north. I know this because I walked her home twice freshman year, both times finding reasons to make it last longer than it needed to. I start walking north.

She smiled at me tonight, but then she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

And I have no idea what I did.

Chapter Seven

Emma

I'm three blocks away before I let myself think.

That's the rule I set freshman year when Knox first started making everything complicated: don't think until you're moving. Thinking while standing still is how you let things reach you in ways you can't take back. So I walk, fast, and I don't do anything except put distance between me and that bar and the image of Laura Prescott's arms around Knox Carter's neck.

I let my guard down.

That's the whole thing. That's the entire problem. Three hours of being exactly who I promised myself I wouldn't be around Knox, and now I have to rebuild everything I spent all week reinforcing. He made me laugh and I laughed. He held me up so I could see the stage and I let myself lean into it. He said he hadn't been to a Hacksack Blues show since freshman year, since our show, and I said me too like that was just a harmless detail.

And Laura walked in wearing that a mini skirt and wrapped herself around him and looked like exactly what she is, a possessive, mean, manipulative, bitch.

What gets me isn't Laura. I knew about Laura. I've known about Laura for three years. Girls like her don’t cling to guys like Knox unless they’re sleeping with them, even if it’s just casual between them, which I’m sure it is. And even if I’m sure she doesn’t want it to be casual between them. What gets me is that I forgot. For a few hours I genuinely forgot what I know, and I can't blame Knox for that, I can't even blame Laura, I can only blame myself for being foolish enough to let a good concert trick me into thinking the situation was something other than what it is.

Footsteps.

I don't turn around. I know the stride. Somehow I still know the stride.

"Emma."

I keep walking.

"Emma, stop."

I stop.

Not because he said so. Because I'm not going to be the person who runs from Knox Carter down a sidewalk, and it’s not like I could outrun him anyway. I turn around. He's closer than I expected, and he looks frustrated, his jaw tightens and his eyes have a directness to them in a way they don’t usually.

"What happened?" he says.

"I was tired. I said so."

"You weren't tired an hour ago."

"People get tired, Knox."

"That's not⁠—"

"I'm going home. I'll send you the proposal Sunday like I said I would."

"I don't care about the proposal right now."

"I do. It's why I was there."

He looks at me like he's trying to find something and keeps coming up empty. Then he reaches out and catches my arm. Not hard, just a stop, and I look at his hand and he sees me looking and lets go immediately.