AN:
I am so excited to finally be posting my ideas for my story following Embry! I have had so much fun posting my Seth story, that I had to write something for one of the other guys, and Embry was the most highly requested when I asked.
The OC in this story is basically going to be the complete opposite of the OC in the story I've been writing following Seth, so while I think it's going to be a challenge to switch back and forth between the two of them, I'm excited for it.
The second chapter will be up within the week, and if you are a reader of my Seth story, I recommend reading any new chapters of that one first, as this will contain some pretty huge spoilers.
Hope you enjoy!
I wasn't normally one for trying too hard for attention, but my day had left me frustrated and annoyed beyond belief, and I dragged my flat iron roughly to the ends of my dark hair, satisfied when it hung that little bit neater than it normally did.
Mikayla threw a black eyeliner at me as she ran her fingers through her hair, spraying it into a permanently disheveled look, and grabbed her keys without asking if I was ready.
The bar was crammed full when we arrived, people our age talking loudly over the sound of the live music, and I followed her to order our first drinks, throwing back my shot and gasping against the burn of the liquid, then taking the cocktail the bartender sat in front of me.
She dragged me to dance as soon as our glasses were emptied.
"We're not thinking about him, we're not worrying about him, we're just here to have a good time," she told me loudly, smiling enthusiastically when I rolled my eyes.
"And then I can get in big trouble when he finds out about it tomorrow," I reminded her.
She twisted her lips in agreement, but lifted my hands enough to force me to dance with her. "You need to sort out your issues, girl."
She didn't have to tell me twice. I was getting sick of coming to her with my problems, and I had no idea how she hadn't told me to stop concerning her with the drama of my day-to-day life. I guess that's how friendships worked when they'd been established over twenty years ago.
I was definitely feeling the affects of the alcohol by the time she finally became distracted with her flavor of the night. I knew the look in her eyes all too well. Before I'd tied myself down, we used to do this together; go out looking for someone to entertain ourselves with. It had been almost two years since I'd gone home with someone I didn't know. My nights out with my best friend, though they were few and far between in the last couple of years, meant I was definitely catching a solo ride home once our partying was over. I loved her, in despite of it all. She was carefree, and living out her twenties to their full potential. We couldn't all decide to settle down in hopes it would make everything easier.
"Well, hello there," she grinned, nodding her head over my shoulder. I turned to investigate who had caught her eye.
I couldn't be sure which one in particular she'd focused on, or whether it was an individual. She'd probably be happy with any one of them, they were all similar enough.
They stood about a head taller than anyone else in the bar, and were built about twice as wide. All matching shiny black hair cropped short, and russet skin not unlike ours. I didn't recognize them, which meant they weren't Makah. Not to mention we were in Forks, which almost definitely painted them as Quileute.
I'd heard the stories of the Quileute boys, seen a few of them in my time as well. There's something in the water in La Push, girls had giggled in high school. They were bred differently here. No boys on our reservation filled out the way they did, had the grace they did as they walked through the crowded room and ordered drinks at the bar.
Mikayla raised her eyebrows excitedly, and before I could protest, she was dragging me away for another drink.
She wasn't too inconspicuous, but then again, she never had been in the past. She got close enough she was almost brushing the guy on the outside's arm as she leaned over the bar and placed an order for two more cocktails.
"Hi," I heard her call over the sound of the music. I felt myself flush at her forwardness, embarrassed by the reminder I'd been just as in a past life. I couldn't imagine myself acting that way now.
"Hey," a deep voice answered. "Having fun?"
"The most fun," she answered with an airy laugh. "Are you guys in that Quileute gang we hear so much about?"
There was a chorus of amused chuckles from them, and I thanked the bar tender for our drinks, paying for them so I didn't have to bear witness to my best friend's drunken conversation.
"I'm Mikayla," she continued.
I finally turned, holding out her drink as I found my straw with my lips, sipping it slowly. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I ignored it until it rang out. I didn't want to deal with that just yet.
"Brady," the boy closest to us held out his hand and Mikayla shook it gently. "Who's your friend?"
"This is Neka," Mikayla told them, wrapping her free arm around me and grinning widely.
"Neka," Brady repeated with wide eyebrows. "There's a name you don't hear every day,"
"My mother wanted to stick to remotely traditional names, no matter how hard it made life for me," I explained bitterly, putting my straw back to my mouth to indicate I was done talking.
His friend beside him burst into laughter and nudged the leaner guy in the middle. "This guy knows how that feels, don't you, Embry?"
He'd been doing his best to mind his own business until then, but as I looked up at him, his eyes fixed on me, and he froze, his mouth falling open and staying open. It suddenly looked like he was having a bit of trouble standing, and his wide hands reached for the bar, long fingers straining against the deep wood as he half-turned his upper body toward me.
The guy behind him, the one that hadn't said anything yet, murmured something I couldn't hear, and Embry, or whatever his name was, shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
Mikayla's new friend Brady looked over his shoulder, then turned back to us quickly with wide eyes. "Dance?" he asked, looking at my friend and sweeping her away in one fluid movement.
And there she goes, I watched her leave with a small feeling of disappointment. I wasn't about to interrupt her time with Quileute Wonder Boy, deciding against the third wheel approach. Which left me with the other three, who quickly became two as the guys on either side of the weirdo gave each other suspicious looks and wandered into the sea of dancing bodies.
I had two options: to find myself a way home now, cutting my night short and walking into the firing line way earlier than I was ready for, or to go to the bathroom and hide out until I was feeling brave enough to sit at a table by myself and wait to see if Mikayla was going home with Brady, or whether I still had a place next to her in her small bed when she was done.
I was thinking all of this over when he spoke, still leaning against the bar as if his legs depended on it. I wasn't oblivious to the fact he still hadn't looked away from me since reopening his eyes, but I wasn't feeling forward enough to stare back at him.
"Did you want a drink?"
I held up my glass, still mostly full, in answer, and when I looked up at him he was nodding awkwardly. He reached for the beer in the glass in front of him, and pulled his eyes away from me long enough to scan the room.
"Want to find a table?"
My brain told me no, but a weird, probably tipsy part of me said that yes, I definitely wanted to find a table. I was nodding despite myself, and he led me from the noisy room to another space separated by a narrow hall. It was still loud, but less crowded, and I didn't have to yell to be sure he could hear me.
He pulled out one of the tall stools, but didn't sit down, and it took me a second to realize he was offering it to me.
"Oh – thanks," I said awkwardly, using my heels as an advantage to fall onto the cushioned seat.
"Neka, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Embry," I nodded at him when he smiled in confirmation, like I'd said the greatest thing in the world, and I sucked back another long sip of my drink.
"Do you live in La Push?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
I swallowed my drink and shook my head. "Neah Bay," I told him.
"Oh, you're Makah?" he suddenly perked up. "So is my mom."
"I think that makes you half-Makah as well," I reminded him. "And your dad's Quileute?"
"Uh, yeah," he shifted his eyes to his drink and pursed his lips, and I watched two guys talk drunkenly together over his shoulder to avoid his gaze as he lifted his head to watch me again.
"What brings you out tonight?"
"I was feeling rebellious. I think I'm in the mood for self-sabotaging." I said honestly. "And Mikayla wanted to find someone to burn off some sexual energy, so I used her as an excuse to get out."
"You're not looking to burn off sexual energy?" he asked. There was something in his tone that hung over me, that I wasn't completely sure of. He sounded a little…protective? Annoyed? I wasn't sure why he felt the need to judge me, when he must have been out for the exact same reason. I smirked and found myself looking back at him without making a conscious decision to.
"No, I put that to bed a couple of years ago."
"Ah," he took a long sip of his beer and put the glass back on the table without making a noise.
"What about you?" I asked him.
"Hm?" he raised his eyebrows, not asking me to repeat myself, as I knew by his tone he'd heard me, but asking me to elaborate on my question.
"Did you come out to pick up girls?" might as well let him down early, so he could get back to the hunt.
"Uh…no." He was lying, but I didn't know him, and I would never see him again, so that was okay. "No, I'm the world's best wing-man."
"You're not doing a very good job at helping your friends." I scoffed.
He grinned and leaned over the table. "They can take care of themselves."
"Yeah, I'm sure you guys have no issue getting attention from the ladies."
He suddenly looked very proud of himself, and he straightened his shoulders a little. "Like what you see?"
The drinks had caught up to me at this point, which is what I used as my excuse when I half-shrugged and smirked flirtatiously. "You're not unattractive."
Our conversation flowed smoothly from there. He ordered me a few more drinks as we talked, and I found myself leaning across the table toward him. After an hour or so, I'd unfolded my legs and re-crossed them, causing my left knee to press against his. But he was warm and there was something in that minute movement that left me flushed and jittery, so I left it there. He seemed just as shaken by it as I did, but neither of us commented on it.
"Why do you come to bars in Forks, if you work at bars in Forks?" he asked me with an inquisitive frown after he'd let me talk for way too long. That was odd for me. I wasn't usually a talker.
"I don't drink where I work," I told him. "Forks is the most exciting place for us to go that isn't going to be a mission to get home from."
"Do you like being a bartender? Do you think you see yourself doing that for a while?"
I tossed my hair in thought as I wondered how to answer that. No one else had questioned me about it before, so I came up short with a good enough explanation, but I wanted to prove myself to this man, who I reminded myself, I didn't know and I would never see again.
"It's not something I want to do forever," I said honestly. "But I'm pretty, and I've got good boobs, so it pays well enough for now."
He choked on his drink, and I didn't miss the way his eyes flicked from my face to my chest for a split second and back. "You're humble."
"You learn to be honest when you have twenty guys a night asking for you number."
There was a darkness in his eyes again, and he twisted his glass in his fingers as he thought over my words. I spoke first, an odd part of me wanting to hear him continue speaking.
"What do you do?"
"I'm an accountant," he told me, and I smirked. He didn't look like an accountant, and I wondered if it was something he said so he didn't have to go into detail about something else he might have done. He must have seen where my mind was travelling, because he continued quickly. "A few of my friends and I started a construction company a few years back, and I keep track of the paperwork and finances for them. I help out with my hands every now and then as well, to keep myself busy."
"Can't let all that muscle go to waste," I agreed, and I think I saw him flush at my comment.
I hated myself for it, but I pressed my leg closer and closer to his, not backing down after my leg began cramping from its lack of use, because I didn't want to stop touching him. I liked his voice, and I liked his smile, and his kind eyes. His leg was warm through his jeans against my bare skin, and since I'd been sitting with him the chilly air of the night hadn't worried me.
I was finding myself brave through my alcohol-induced stupor, catching his arm with my hand as I laughed at a joke he'd made and finding out that, yes, his bicep was as hard as it looked, and as warm as his leg. Mikayla stumbled her way to our table, grinning widely when she found us together, and leaned out of Brady's arm around her waist to wrap her arms around my shoulders.
"Oh, you're still here!" she cried, slurring her words a little.
I grinned up at her, having more fun than I'd had in a long time. This was good. Mikayla was happy, I was happy, Brady looked very happy, and Embry was…hot. I knew why she was here, and I wasn't looking forward to her telling me she was heading off, because that meant I had to head off, and I definitely didn't want to do that.
"Are you guys having fun? Isn't Neka just the greatest? What was your name, again?" her dark eyes looked up at my companion, but they were glassy and not completely focused, and her smile was wide as she waited for his answer.
"Embry," he said simply.
"Embry," she repeated, looking pleased with herself as she straightened and smiled at Brady. "Neka is just the greatest."
"How much have you had to drink, Kay?" I asked with a giggle, that was very unlike myself.
"Don't know," she mused thoughtfully. "I'm having a good time, though."
"We're going to take off," Brady suddenly said, reaching out to rest his hand on Embry's shoulder. "Leo left with a blonde about an hour ago, and Nate's still dancing. He knew not to wait for you if you were going to leave."
Embry's eyes found mine, and I didn't look away as he pondered his friend's words. "Drive safe. I'll see you at work?"
"Yep," Brady wrapped his arm securely around my best friend and walked her out the front door. I watched them go, feeling comfortable with the situation, but knowing I should look out for my friend, because that was the right thing to do. She'd been in this position so many times since we'd turned twenty-one that I'd lost count, but a girl couldn't be too careful.
"Your friend isn't going to kill her and dump her body, is he?" I asked, trying to sound uneasy, but not worrying in the slightest.
"Nah, he's cool," Embry grinned. "Did you want to hang around for a while?"
"I'm enjoying myself," I said quickly. The crowd had started to thin, and the live music had finished up a while ago, popular songs playing over the speakers now in place to keep people dancing and drinking. "It's loud though, isn't it?" I suddenly said. I had an overwhelming urge to be alone with him, and my subconscious told me I was going to regret that when I was sober, but drunk me didn't care right now.
"It is loud," he agreed. "Did you want to go for a drive?"
"Probably shouldn't," I eyed his beer.
"Nah, I'm fine," he insisted quickly, already standing from the table. "I feel completely sober."
"Really?" I asked incredulously, but his eyes were clear and void of any worry. "Jeez, I feel like I can barely walk straight."
"I'll help you," he smirked, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we exited the building, his smell and warmth washing over me like an intense wave of peace I didn't want to say goodbye to.
He drove an old silver thing I didn't know the name of, and he opened the door to let me settle myself into the passenger's seat, getting himself in place and turning up the heating before he pulled onto the road.
"Where are we headed?" he asked, his eyes glancing to me, then back at the road.
"Wherever, as long as it's not home." I said. I worried for a split second that he'd been lying to me about his friend being cool before, and he was going to get ideas about killing me and dumping my body, but there was an irrational part of me that figured that would be easier than going back to my house and walking into whatever was waiting for me there. Life was fun.
"Do you like coffee?"
I giggled, again focused on how bizarre it sounded coming out of me. "Yes, but I doubt any cafes are open at this hour."
"I have coffee at my house, if you wanted to head back to La Push?"
"Sounds good," I smiled gently, and twisted the rings on my fingers so I would look busy enough to not have the excuse to look at him or make small talk.
He must have been driving faster than I realized, because we pulled up outside a small, run down looking house not ten minutes later. The road was dark with the absence of street lights, and the neighboring houses were scattered along the road, only a couple of them glowing from inside with any indication that the inhabitants were still awake at the late hour.
He opened my door for me again, and I tried my best to stand and straighten myself without stumbling. I followed him to the front door, and he opened it without unlocking it. Perks of living in a small town.
"Cute," I commented, walking in behind him and eyeing the small kitchen, and the little round table with four chairs. There was a long couch against the main wall, and three doors in a short hallway opposite us. It was small, but cosy, and it was a typical house for a man living alone. No art on the walls, no rugs or pillows on the couch. A television and gaming set up was the most interesting thing in view, and I looked around quietly as he made two cups of coffee, handing one to me when he was done.
I took a small sip and swallowed it quickly. Nothing fancy. Instant coffee with too much sugar. He drank his silently, watching me as if he was waiting for me to say something.
"You weren't meant to bring someone home with you." I reminded him with a coy smile.
He grinned and shrugged halfheartedly. "You broke your promise to yourself, as well."
I shook my head, grinning and knowing I was wandering into dangerous territory. "I said I wasn't out to fuck anyone, I never said anything about going home with someone."
He swallowed his sip of coffee heavily, and frowned, looking over my head to the blank wall.
"Why don't you want to go home?"
"It wasn't in my plan of self-sabotaging." I told him. "Mikayla said I could stay at her house, but I should have known that wasn't going to happen."
"Did you want me to drive you to her place?"
"I don't have a key," I lied. This was exciting. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to the feelings he was producing in me, and I knew I would hate myself for it later, but I was too caught up in the moment and the alcohol in my blood to care.
"Did you want to stay here?"
"If I wouldn't be intruding."
"Movie?"
"Sure,"
He put some romance-comedy thing on, starring people I'd seen in several other things that worked their way through the corny script, which had probably made them way too much money. We started off a reasonable distance away from each other, but when I yawned for the tenth time and sank into the worn-in cushion beside me, he wrapped his arm around me and tugged me against him, like it was something he'd done a million times before.
He was comfortingly warm beside me, like a huge hot water bottle, and I moved enough to tuck my feet under his thigh, letting myself drop my head to his chest with a relaxed sigh.
"I lied before," he said, seemingly out of no where, and I raised my head, shooting him a questioning look that asked him to continue.
"I did go out to find someone to bring home." He explained evenly, staring me down in a way that said he wanted me to keep listening, because he wasn't finished. I suddenly felt very nervous. "I don't come home alone often, but I want you to know I've never put a movie on for someone before."
"You just walk them through the front door, straight to your bedroom?" I asked, not feeling as brave as I sounded.
"Yeah," he replied honestly. "I don't want to lie to you."
"Thank you," I said genuinely. I should probably come clean now, but he was nice and I simply didn't feel like it. "Why didn't you try to take me straight to bed?"
He answered after a short, thoughtful pause. "I want to get to know you. I want to see you again, and I didn't want you to think I was after one thing."
Abort mission, Neka. Get out of here. Tell him the truth and let him get on with his life.
"If I told you I wanted you to take me to your room right now, would you still want to see me again?"
"Yes," he said, and I felt my heart speed up nervously.
There was a big part of me that wanted to climb into his lap and give myself to him, but there was something else that told me to slow down and go at his pace. I should have dismissed both of those thoughts, told him to take me home, and put an end to it. But that didn't seem like an option when he was staring at me like he was.
"And if I go to your room, tell you I had a good night, and fall asleep?"
"It wouldn't change anything." His gaze was strong, and honest, and I sighed heavily in thought.
"You don't know anything about me," I reminded him.
"I know some things about you, and I want to learn more," he told me. "I haven't felt like this around anyone before, and I think it would be stupid to ignore it."
I could understand that. There was something about him that intrigued me, past his kind face and tall, sculpted body. I liked the way he thought before he spoke, and the way he looked at me. It was like I was a teenager again, before I gave up on the idea that there was something more than comfort and ease in speaking to someone of the opposite sex.
I don't know what happened in the end of the movie, but suddenly the screen was dark and the credits were rolling, and it pulled us out of whatever was happening.
"It's late," I acknowledged. "We should sleep."
He stood immediately, his warmth leaving me in a way that felt as though I was struggling to breathe, and I followed him to the closest door in the hall. He held it open for me, and I walked in ahead of him, eyeing the group of pictures on his dresser, and the small pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
"It's a bit messy," he said, slightly embarrassed, and I smirked.
"You don't have to prove yourself to me, Embry."
He eyed the skin-tight dress I was wearing, and opened his wardrobe long enough to pull a large grey t-shirt from a hanger and hand it to me. "This might be more comfortable."
"Thanks," I was past worrying about what I should have been, and I unzipped my dress slowly, wanting to look at least a little appealing as I pushed the dress down my body and let it fall to my bare feet. I'd kicked off my heels somewhere in the living room, but I'd worry about them tomorrow.
I could feel his eyes on me, and I decided not to push myself too much, leaving on the black push-up bra Mikayla had insisted I wear as I pulled his shirt over my head. It was several sizes to big for me, and hung to my mid-thigh, swallowing me like a loose-fitted dress. He followed suit, ridding himself of his jeans and pulling on a pair of sweat pants without leaving the room, then pulling his shirt over his head.
I tried not to look, I really did, but the lines of his chest and stomach drew me in, and I felt like I was unable to advert my eyes. I couldn't have looked away, even if I'd wanted to. I'd never, in my life, seen someone so perfectly sculpted in the way he was. I itched to reach out and touch him, but my courage had worn thin, and he climbed into the side of the bed closest to the door and pulled down the blankets on the other side of the mattress for me to follow him.
His bed was probably the most modern and expensive thing in his house, huge to accommodate his height and size, and I sank into the mattress with an exhausted sigh. I knew I'd wake with a full face of makeup and unbrushed teeth, but I was still tipsy enough not to care right now. It was later than I was used to, and the nerves at being so close to him wasn't enough to have me still on edge after the night we'd had.
It felt unfinished though, despite us being so close to sleep.
The lamp was still bright in the room, and I looked at him as he stared back at me, neither of us brave enough to speak first. I don't know who, exactly, made the first move, but we inched closer and closer until his lips were against mine, and I sighed blissfully into his mouth, wrapping my hand around his neck so he wasn't able to move away from me.
He was too gentle with me, his hands on either side of my waist against the mattress as he lifted himself over me and pushed me back into his pillow, and my fingers shook against his skin as I was overwhelmed by the feel of him, his heat against my face. My thoughts were muddled as I kissed him back, and I forgot who I was, my situation in life, that I should definitely not be doing this.
I was so caught up in him, our lips moving together as if it was a perfectly choreographed dance and we'd done it a million times over, as if we were just simply meant to be doing this, and all I knew was him, and this bed, and this room, and there was nothing else in the world.
He was the one to stop us, releasing a long breath that was something between a gasp and a sigh as he rested his forehead against mine and lifted his hand to squeeze my waist once, gently, but enough for me to want more than he'd given me.
"Goodnight," he said simply, rolling over to flick the switch on the lamp before I had a chance to say anything in return.
My eyes were wide as I looked toward the black ceiling, the knowledge of what I'd done and the thought of the repercussions I was going to have to face if anyone was to find out about my night weighing down on me as I struggled to find sleep.
