by Meghan Quinn
“I’m sorry. I should have text you we were going to have pizza.”
He waves me off. “Nah, you do your thing, Emma. You don’t have to worry about me.” He inhales a deep breath and takes one last look at my room and taps the doorway. “All right, I’ll let you two get back to the books. I’m heading upstairs for the night. See you later. Logan, good to see you, man.”
“You too.”
Tucker shuts the door, leaving me once again with Logan but this time, it feels awkward. I’m not used to accounting for another person since Adalyn was always doing her own thing when we lived together. I never even thought about asking Tucker if he wanted to join us. Such a dick move.
Twisting my hands in my lap, I say, “God, I feel bad. I should have called or text him about dinner.”
“He doesn’t seem torn up about it,” Logan answers, now flipping through the book in front of him.
“You’re a guy, you don’t notice things like I do.”
“Hey, I’m perceptive,” Logan replies.
I stare at the door, wondering what’s going through Tucker’s mind, why he briefly had a look of anger in his eyes. Was he mad I invited Logan over without his permission? Is that something I need to do? Ask for permission to have someone over to his house? I never even considered it.
Shit.
I know he said we’re adults and are decent human beings who don’t need roommate rules, but I feel like I need a basic outline of the rules for his house, especially since he’s letting me live here for a dollar a month. I want to make sure that if I can’t pay Tucker for giving me a place to live, that I’m at least making sure I’m not making him uncomfortable.
Chapter Eight
TUCKER
I don’t like him. Nope. Not one fucking bit.
Logan.
What a . . .
Fuck, I can’t call him a douche because he really hasn’t been a douche. I can’t call him an asshole because it doesn’t seem like he possess asshole type-qualities nor does he seem like a dickhead, asshat, scrotum face, or tool bag. But there is something, something I don’t like about him. I can’t fucking place it, but I will.
No, Logan, I don’t want your fucking leftover pizza. And hey, who fucking wears a polo shirt to study? And your laugh? Fucking irritating.
I wish I could have worn earphones while showering because I kept hearing his deep chuckle come from Emma’s room and with every laugh my skin crawled. What the fuck is so funny about studying? It’s nursing shit; nothing should be funny about nursing shit. I don’t want my nurse laughing while tending to me. All his laughter tells me is he’s going to be one fucked-up male version of Nurse Ratched at this rate.
Congrats, buddy. You belong in a psycho-thriller with Jack Nicholson.
Shaking thoughts of Logan out of my mind, I remove my towel, letting the rest of my body air dry as I pick out a pair of boxer briefs and some comfy sweatpants. Standing naked in my room, I run both hands through my hair and stare down at my peanut butter sandwich. The same thing I have almost every night if I’m not full from Little Debbie snacks, but this time, it makes me feel more pathetic than usual.
She has company. She has her own fucking life. I realized this after a few days of living with her. This isn’t a surprise, and yet, when I was driving home, for some fucked-up reason, I kept thinking about what we could have for dinner. The thought of not being lonely at night appealed to me.
When I pulled into my driveway and saw a car parked by the front yard, I knew Emma wasn’t alone. And I shouldn’t fucking care. I don’t have claim on her, she’s living in my house for a few months. That’s it.
But breakfast has been . . . fuck. It’s been nice to not be alone. To not sit in an empty house, the echoing of my every movement filling in the silence, reminding me of the shitty way my life has turned out. But tonight I made a mistake. I got ahead of myself. I pumped myself up for dinner, not eating alone, when I know I shouldn’t have.
Christ.
She’s here until she graduates. That’s it. Not to fill the empty void of my house. Of my life. She’s not . . . she’s not someone who will ever fill the gaping hole of Sadie’s spurning.
With a fresh perspective on my living situation, I step into my boxer briefs and sweatpants and flop on my bed, where I lean back on my pillows and place my plate of depressing dinner on my stomach and then one hand behind my head. I turn on the TV, which hangs on the opposite wall of my bed, and go straight to ESPN to watch some hockey. Racer’s friend, Hayden Holmes, who I met a few months ago, is now playing for the pro-team, Philadelphia Brawlers. He just made it big, so following his career has been fun. I like rooting for the newbie, but knowing him makes it that much sweeter.
Relaxing into my bed, I take a bite out of my sandwich and listen to the announcers prep viewers for the game, running over stats for both teams and the key players to watch. Since Hayden is the center for the Brawlers, his face is plastered across the screen, and unlike all the other players, he’s actually smiling in his picture, but that’s Hayden. The guy’s full of life.
Reaching for my phone, I shoot a text to Racer.
Tucker: The announcers seem to be jacking off over your boy’s stats.
Two more bites and my sandwich is done. Shit, I should have made another one. Normally I’d go downstairs, but with Logan down there, laughing like a fucking nimrod, I won’t.
My phone beeps back with Racer’s reply.
Racer: That text made me sound a little gay, but shit, with the salary Hayden is getting paid, I’d be gay for him.
I chuckle to myself and take a sip of my water.
Tucker: Why doesn’t that surprise me?
Racer: Maybe because I’m sick of working fucking side jobs to pay for my damn house on top of the workload I’m already doing.
Fucking Julius. I’ve been trying to get him to give Racer a raise for a few months now but he won’t budge, even though Racer is putting in extra work around the job site. Julius is a stingy bastard.
Tucker: I’m working on him.
Racer: I know. In the meantime, I’m working my way through Vestal Hills—Richville—feeling like Kurt Russell in Overboard, fixing rich bitches’ closets. Good times.
Tucker: Still doing that on the weekends?
Racer: Yeah, if the strip clubs weren’t one step away from handing out STDs when you walk in the door, I might consider taking my pants off for the ladies, but my dick is my best friend and I don’t want him to get any kind of venereal shit up his pee hole. What kind of friend would that be?
Fucking Racer and his dick. The man worships it. Pretty sure he writes a thank-you note to it every night, two if he gets laid.
Tucker: Life isn’t always about your dick, man.
Racer: Life is my dick.
Tucker: Did I mention I’m not friends with douche bags?
Racer: You’re too far into this relationship to drop me now.
The game starts and Hayden immediately takes control of the puck, breezing through the opponents, passing to his teammates, and making the game seem so easy, when in fact I know it’s not. Racer and I shoot the shit the entire time, talking about the game, about work, and about the bitchy women he’s been working for on the weekends. It’s a normal night for me, a night I’m settling into after my earlier unrealistic expectations.
My eyes start to drift shut as I hear the distinct sound of someone creeping up the stairs. Lazily, I look over to see Emma reach the top step and knock on the wall. Since there’s no door to my bedroom, it’s just a big open space.
“Come in.”
Wearing a matching blue pajama set with little pink hearts scattered over the fabric, hair tied up on the top of her head, and her face devoid of makeup, Emma approaches, hands twisting together in front of her.
When she spots me, her eyes temporarily go wide as they scan my naked chest. Normally I wouldn’t care about a girl seeing me without my shirt on, but I don’t want to make Emma feel uncomfortable. Although, from th
e way she’s looking at me, the heat passing over her eyes, I would say she’s less than uncomfortable.
I sit up on the edge of my bed, facing her, hands braced on the mattress beneath me and say, “Hey Emma, everything okay?”
She takes another step forward and nods. “Yeah, I, um, I wanted to say sorry about earlier.”
My brow pinches together in question. “Sorry about what?”
With her fingers, she starts to twist the bottom of her pajama shirt. It’s kind of cute how nervous she is. I’ve never seen this side of Emma. She’s always been very confident, never scared. Do I scare her? I sure as hell hope not.
“I should have asked if it was okay if Logan came over. It was inconsiderate of me. And then I got pizza without asking you if you wanted any. That was real shitty too. So basically, I’m a terrible roommate and I suck, and if you want to try to twist my nipple off as punishment, please do so. I accept the punishment.”
She shifts from foot to foot while glancing up at me, her face looking so regretful, it’s almost comical.
Fucking Emma.
Not saying a word, I stand and close the distance between us. Before she can react, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her. For a second, she stands stiff as a rod until she slowly melts into my embrace and wraps her arms around me, her head gently pressing against my chest.
“No need to apologize, babe. This house is yours too. Do what you want in it. You don’t have to ask me permission to have a friend over and don’t feel like you have to include me in on anything. You do your thing, and if our paths cross, great.” I pull away for a second and lift her chin, those brilliant eyes staring up at me. I can’t help it, I add, “And twisting your nipple wouldn’t be punishment, it would be sweet gratification. Quote me on that.”
Surprised, maybe a little shocked, her mouth forms an O as I pull away and head back to my bed where I pat the other side for her to sit on. “Come on, have a seat.”
“But,” her voice is shaky as she continues, “what if I want our paths to cross? I want to spend time with you, too, Tucker. I’ve missed you.”
My lips twitch to the side, and I start to feel brighter, or something. Something I haven’t felt for a long time. “I missed you too, Emma, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to include me. I’m used to doing things on my own. Don’t let me get in the way.”
“You’re not, I promise. I’d like to include you, unless you don’t want to hang out.” She puts her hand to her head in distress. “Oh God, I didn’t even think about the fact that maybe you don’t want to hang out with me, that I’m actually encroaching on your space. I’m a dumbass.”
“Emma, get your ass over here, now.” My voice is stern, commanding, and without skipping a beat, she does as she’s told and sits next to me on the bed. I force her to look me in the eyes. “I’m not going to repeat myself when I say, I want you here. I’m glad you’re here, and I’m looking forward to spending more time with an old friend I lost touch with. Got it?”
She nods, a smile playing on her lips.
“Good. Now,” I shift on the bed and turn the TV down, “are you ready for our sex talk for the week. Might as well check off another rule for the week.”
“Sex talk, now?”
“Yeah, now.” I stand from the bed and go to the little attic closet right next to the stair landing and open the door. I reach for the box that hasn’t been touched in quite a long time and grab the first magazine from the top. Before I turn around, I swipe my hand over the top to give it a quick dusting and then walk back to my bed where I sit next to Emma and hand her the magazine.
“Playboy?” I rest my head against the wall and take in her innocent shock. It’s fucking cute.
“It’s time you looked at one, don’t you think?”
“How does this coincide with talking about sex?”
I chuckle. “Babe, there are sex tips and shit in there. It really isn’t just about the bare breasts. Go on, open the old girl up. Let’s see some tits.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me look at a nudey magazine.” She starts flipping through the pages as she talks. “Guys are so weird that they subscribe to . . . oh wow, she has some nice areolas.” She brings the magazine closer to her face for a more detailed glance, which causes me to laugh out loud, the kind of laugh I haven’t laughed in a very long time. “What’s so funny? Look at her areolas, they seem so perfect for her breasts.” She lifts the magazine for me to see.
Still chuckling, I nod. “Very nice tits.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because. Most people who look at a Playboy don’t immediately compliment the areolas on a woman.”
“I don’t see why not. This woman sitting in a soda shop, wearing nothing but a cut-off apron, deserves the praise. It’s a very bold outfit for a public place.”
“Fucking hell.” I chuckle some more. “You’re not going to be one of those people who tries to make sense of every picture and what the girl is doing, are you?”
“I don’t know what that means, but what I do know is this woman is super bendy. How . . .” Emma sets the magazine down, open to the page she’s looking at, and gets on all fours on my bed.
Oh. Fuck.
She starts popping her backside in the air, her pert, little ass shaking before me and asks, “How is she doing that? Am I bending like her?”
I swallow hard, really fucking hard, as I glance at the picture Emma is trying to recreate on my bed and then back at her. Her shirt is starting to move up her back, exposing a small patch of skin. “Uh . . .” No fucking words, none. All thought has quickly disappeared as the blood in my body starts to pool uncomfortably in my crotch.
Fuck, do not have a boner right now.
“I don’t understand how she can bend her back like that. She really has to drop her stomach, but I don’t know how that’s accomplished.”
This is fucking torture. She continues to stick her ass in the air, her shirt really starting to ride high now. I know if I fucking glanced down, if I really took a look, I might be able to see her breasts from the way her shirt is dropping in the front, but I keep my eyes trained on her ass instead. It’s the lesser of the two evils. Although, fuck, all I want to do is spank it.
Christ. Where is this coming from? The girl is in a matching pajama set for fuck’s sake and she’s your goddamn friend. Note to self: get laid soon because my mind is starting to go crazy from lack of sex.
“Oh well.” She sits back up on the bed, as if she didn’t just put me through the guillotine. “Oh, look at this girl. She looks nice. She has a great butt, but look at those melons.” Emma puts her hand over her mouth and giggles while looking at me. On a whisper, she says, “They’re huge. Like two tetherballs dangling from her chest.”
Well, there goes tetherball for me. I’ll never be able to look at them the same anymore, but I hate to admit it, Emma has a point. Her boobs are huge. Very ill-proportioned for her body.
“She does know how to pose though. I wonder if I posed like her if my boobs would seem bigger.”
Just when I thought I was out of the danger zone, Emma faces me, kneeling on my bed, legs spread, she leans forward and with her upper arms, she squeezes her breasts together in my direction. The buttons that are undone at the top of her shirt give me a flash of cleavage as she looks down at herself. I really shouldn’t be looking down her shirt, I should seriously look away, but fuck me. I can’t seem to train my eyes to look away.
I’m a guy and there are boobs facing me.
“Maybe they look bigger.”
Emma has curves. She doesn’t have the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen, but they are just big enough to fill the dresses she wears, and that ass? Let’s just say I might have seen it in a new light tonight.
Glancing up at me, she asks, “I wonder what guys do to enhance the look of their penis. I mean. You can’t pump up your pelvis and look natural at the same time. We can lean forward and squish our boobs together and voilà
, mega tits. But what is there for mega dick? Lifting your scrotum up to the air?”
Chuckling, I shake my head and say, “Erections, babe. Erections make dicks bigger.”
And I’m trying to hide my fucking aching cock right now.
She tilts her head to the side and gives me a pointed look. “I know erections make dicks look bigger. But what if your dick isn’t that big?”
“Then you’re not posing for a camera, that’s for damn sure.”
“Aw.” She pouts her lips. “Poor petite penises. Their dreams of being a dick model forever vanished. It’s like models; you can’t be one unless you’re taller than five eight. There is discrimination everywhere. Maybe I should start a small-dick magazine, to help all the little shrimpies get a shot at glory.”
“No one is going to want that magazine, babe. Sorry to say.”
“Well, I would look at it.”
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at her. “You would look at dicks so small that you would have to use a pair of chopsticks to sift through the pubes to get to it?”
“They are not that small. And no pubes allowed. If I have to keep things pretty, so do men.”
I sit back again. For obvious reasons, my legs propped up and I rest my arms on my knees. She keeps things pretty down there. Perhaps I should re-evaluate this rule. Sex talk with Emma may be dangerous. “Keeping things straightened up down there, Emma? In case you happen to have that one-night stand?”
She shifts on the bed and flips through the pages. “You never know when you’re going to find a pretty meatus you can’t turn your vagina away from.”
“What the fuck is a meatus?” The urge to puke in my mouth is strong.
“You don’t know what a meatus is? You have a penis, don’t you?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Do you not know the anatomy of your own dick?” Her voice sounds exasperated, as if I really should know the technical terms of every part of my penis. Sorry, but I know everything I need to know.
“I know what needs to be known. Balls, taint, dick, pee hole. What else do I really need to be aware of?”