by Meghan Quinn
His lip quirks to the side in confusion. “Sorry for what? The makeup?”
“No.” I shake my head and press my hands against his chest lovingly, hoping I can convey how sorry I am. “I’m sorry for not being there for you, for choosing sides.”
Understanding crosses his features. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me.” I reach up, and grip his face so he has no other option but to look at me. “I shouldn’t have chosen sides—”
Sternly he says, “Rule number six, Emma.”
“I know.” I let go of him and turn around, my hands braced on the counter, my mind going a mile a minute. Can’t he just let me get this off my chest. “But—”
“Rule number six,” he grits out, frustrating me more than anything.
Irritated now, I fling the bathroom door open and mutter under my breath about his stupid rules. I make my way into my room and like the “adult” that I am, I slam the door shut.
“Impossible man,” I say under my breath. “Can’t even let me freaking apologize.” I open my dresser drawer and start changing into my pajamas. My pants are the first to go, replaced by a white pair of flannel pants decorated in owls. Removing my shirt, I quickly toss my bra in the hamper and put on one of the camisoles I like to wear under my matching pajama shirts. Digging back in my drawers, I search for the matching top when my door opens.
Startled, I stand tall. Tucker walks in, his hand in his hair. He goes to open his mouth when his eyes travel down my body, stopping a few seconds longer at my chest. His gaze sharpens on me, on my outfit, and the way my camisole rides high and tight on my stomach, showing a few inches of skin. When his eyes meet mine, they’re not full of anger, or irritation, or frustration.
No, they’re full of heat.
Everything in me freezes and when he takes a step forward, my body ignites, and sweat breaks out all around me. What is he doing?
Nervous and unsure what to do, I pull the first thing I feel out of my drawer and try to cover my hardened nipples that are poking through my thin camisole. His eyes widen for a second before a grin spreads across his face. I look down to see I’m holding my purple lace bra over my chest.
“Goodness.” I shake the bra to the side and stand tall. “You’re supposed to knock before barging in here.”
“Was that on the rule list?” His voice is sultry as he takes another step forward. Yes, sultry.
What the hell is going on here?
One second he’s pissed that I’m breaking his precious rule number six and the next he’s closing in on me like a lion to its prey.
“No.” I take a step back. “It falls under being a decent adult. Remember that conversation we had? Oh, and do you know what else falls under being a decent adult?” I cross my arms over my chest. Of course, that draws Tucker’s attention back to that area. Good grief, his eyes feel like laser beams heating me up from my toes to my ponytail.
Another step, so now he’s only a foot away. “What else falls under being a decent adult?”
Not letting his eyes, smirk, or handsome personal-bubble-breaking self affect me, I poke him in the chest, hard. “Allowing someone to apologize even if you don’t want to hear it. I get it, no talking about Sadie, noted. But at least let me apologize for being a shitty friend when you needed someone by your side the most.”
“Emma—”
“No. You listen here, mister.” I try to stand taller but I’m no match for his towering height. “I’m saying I’m sorry and you will accept that apology or I’ll . . .”
Errr . . .
What will I do? Kick him in the crotch? Give him a noogie? Purple Nurple to the rescue?
Although they’re all viable options I’m not afraid to do, I don’t think they’ll get the point across.
Leaving no space between us now, he presses his hands on my hips and with his lowered voice, he asks, “Or you’ll what?” His breath mixes with mine, the smell of my makeup wipes fills the space between us, and the firm grip he has on my hips is weakening me second by second.
Why is he so touchy? And why the hell do I like it so much?
AND why do I want him to touch me in other places?
Shit, this is your friend, your best friend’s ex. Focus!
“Or I’ll . . .” I look around and finally say, “Move out. Yeah, I’ll move out, leaving you without a tenant. Say goodbye to two dollars a month.” Crap, I wish I paid him normal rent right about now.
He bites his bottom lip, holding back a smile, and presses me into his body. Okay, I’m not an expert on friendship or anything, but this hold right here, with the way he’s looking down at me, like he’s about to gobble me up, I don’t think this is how friends act. Although, I might be old school. Who knows with my generation? We’re always switching up everything. Who knew you could eat chili from a Fritos bag by just dumping it in there? Millennials knew, that’s who.
But seriously, why does he look like he’s about to kiss me?
Ah, is he going to kiss me?
He can’t kiss me, that has to be against the rules, right? It’s against girl code at least, that’s for damn sure.
“You’d move out if I don’t let you apologize?” he whispers in what I can only say is a gravelly voice. I nod, my throat starting to clamp shut. “Well, I can’t be losing out on rent.” With another smirk, he nods at me. “Go ahead, babe, apologize.”
Is this some sort of trick? I don’t understand. Is something going to pop out of me if I apologize? Is this a hidden camera show? Punk’d for regular people?
Instead of apologizing, I really want to ask him why he’s holding me tightly, and why he’s casually licking his lips like I’m his second supper, and why for the love of all pheromones does he smell so freaking good?
“Uh,” I clear my throat and try to get my brain to formulate some kind of coherent sentence. “Thank you for this opportunity.” Thank you? You’re thanking him right now? No, don’t thank him, you idiot, he didn’t just present you with a royal scepter and make you queen of the night. He said you could apologize. Gathering my wits, well, what’s left of them, I try to recall how to form words. “On this day, this wintery day . . .” Why am I making this a speech?
Wait, is he . . . oh my God, he’s making small circles with his thumbs on my skin and wait a second . . . Yup, the results are in, my panties are getting wet. Christ! This is not happening. I am not becoming aroused by Tucker. No. Way. Not me. Not Emma Marks. Not turned on . . . oh shit, that feels so good. It’s been way too long . . .
“On this wintery day . . .” he presses, as his hands move up my sides. I swear to the cheese on my pizza last night, if he touches my boobs, there will be no stopping the feral howls that escape my lips.
Just finish your damn apology and get out of this little touch-and-feel play-by-play you’re having with Tucker Jameson.
“On this wintery day,” I continue, “I would like to apologize for not being a good friend when you needed me the most.” There, I said it, in one quick swoop, with no inflection in my voice whatsoever, but I said it and that’s all that matters.
“You’re sorry, huh?”
I gulp and nod.
“How sorry?”
Oh God, is this one of those questions where a guy asks you a question like, “How horny are you?” And they say, “Horny enough to eat my dick” while pelvic thrusting their jean-clad hammers in your face? Would Tucker ask me to eat his dick? Would I want to eat his dick? Why is relish popping up in my head from the thought of eating Tucker’s dick? Relish and celery salt, no, relish, celery salt, mustard and onions. Mmmm.
“Relish,” I mutter.
His brow pinches together. “What?”
Errr . . . how would he respond if I said relish dick? I’m going to lean on the side of thinking I’m crazy.
“Umm, relish in the moment,” I cover with a fist-pump of glory into the air. “I don’t apologize often.” Sheesh, that was close.
“Uh, okay.” Leaning forward again, he ask
s, “You didn’t answer my question, how sorry are you?”
Big moment right here.
Do I say sorry enough to relish your cock and munch down? Nom. Nom. Sorry enough to twist your nips if you like that sort of thing? Sorry enough to try my best at an oil painting of him stroking his erection while a parrot sits on his shoulder?
Probably not.
His thumbs continue to stroke my sides, making everything in my brain fuzzy . . . if you haven’t noticed already. I look him in the eyes, his gorgeous, smoldering eyes and say, “Very sorry.”
“Very sorry?” Okay, here it comes, the lewd question I’ve been waiting for. The suck-my-cock apology request. I cringe inwardly, waiting as he leans over to my ear, his lips mere millimeters away as he says. “Okay. Then I accept your apology on one condition . . .” Get the ChapStick ready, we’re turning into a phallic sucker tonight. “You have to do the dishes for the next week.”
Of course he would want his balls massaged too . . . wait. Dishes?
“You want me to do the dishes?”
He chuckles and kisses me on the forehead. “Nah, I’m just kidding.” He separates himself from me so casually that I feel like falling over from the sudden lack of support. How can he just switch moods like that? As if he wasn’t just inches from touching my breasts. “I wouldn’t make you do the dishes for a week. Two tops.” He winks and heads toward my door. When he turns around, he nods at my body and says, “By the way, don’t wear that shirt around the house, please. Your tits look far too tempting. Have a good night, babe.”
My tits look far too tempting? What the what?
“Wait,” I call out, my mind all sorts of confused. “Are we, uh, are we okay?”
He grips my doorframe and genuinely smiles at me. “Yeah, babe. We’re okay. Your apology wasn’t necessary but I appreciate it. That time of our lives is over. I want to move on. I want to focus on the present with you, on our friendship and the time together we have before you graduate.” He pauses and then says, so freaking thoughtfully, “Asking you to move in was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Having you in my life again means the world to me.” With one last look, he bids me goodnight and quietly shuts my door.
Friendship. Our friendship. How can he act so casual when he’s burning up a wave of desire inside of me?
I fling myself on my bed, my hands on my heart, feeling the rapid beat of it as I stare up at the ceiling. Why is he the nicest guy ever? And why would I even think he would ask me to suck his cock? He’s not that kind of douchey. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to suck his dick . . .
No, that can’t be it, can it? I’m not a huge dick to the mouth kind of girl.
Oh God, am I crushing on my roommate?
Images flash through my mind.
Tucker shirtless.
Tucker smiling over his morning coffee.
Tucker’s deodorant that I’ve sniffed a few times . . . make that every morning.
Shit, I’m crushing on my roommate.
I’m crushing on Tucker Jameson.
This is bad. This is really bad.
Chapter Twelve
TUCKER
I don’t think I’ve been this enthusiastic in a really long time. And over a piece of furniture. No, scratch that, I’m not necessarily excited about the piece of furniture, more excited about the look on Emma’s face when she sees said piece of furniture.
When I heard our local furniture store was having a sale, I went down and took a look at what they had in stock. Lucky for me, I found a dark grey couch that would fit perfectly in my empty living room. The cost was reasonable, the delivery was free, well, besides the beer I owe Racer for helping me bring it into the house, but now, standing in my living room, looking at the piece of furniture, I can’t help but wonder if Emma will approve.
I’ve never picked out a piece of furniture from a store before. I have no decorating style whatsoever, so I picked a color I liked and made sure it was comfortable. The comfortable part was the most important factor. I hate stiff sofas. They’re meant to be good enough to sleep on.
Nervously, I pace the living room, occasionally looking out the window every few minutes. It’s past eight. She should be home by now. She’s never home this late. What the hell is she doing?
I pick up my phone to see if I missed any messages from her but there is nothing. I’m about to call her when I see a car pull onto our street and when the headlights flash down the driveway, my stomach flips and my nerves kick into overdrive.
She’s home.
Home.
Up until now, I haven’t considered this place my home. How is it that with Emma living here, it actually feels like home to me?
Maybe because she brings a certain light to the dreary dungeon I’ve created between these walls.
I go to the side door where I open it and stick my head out to greet her. When she sees me, her gorgeous smile lights up her face. That smile, that thick, lush hair, those kind eyes.
Emma.
The girl I grew up with, the girl who I’m now sharing a house with, temporarily at least.
“Hey there.” She shuts her car door, her nursing books are close to her chest, and her backpack is slung over one shoulder. “Is this a new rule? Must meet roommate at door?”
Yes, because you came home to me.
“No.” I take her books and backpack from her and step to the side so she can walk inside. “I have something to show you.”
Looking a little skeptical, she steps into the kitchen and turns around to face me as she takes off her coat. Underneath, she’s wearing her blue nursing scrubs, a pale blue that makes her eyes shine. “You have something to show me, should I be scared? It’s not a bunch of guys with small dicks for the magazine we talked about, is it?”
I laugh and set her gear on the counter. “No. And if that’s something you’re expecting me to do for you, find a bunch of mini wieners, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. Not my forte, babe.”
“Don’t know any small dicks?” Her smile practically reaches her ears.
I shake my head. “I know one dick, babe, and it sure as hell isn’t small.”
Her eyes quickly glance at my crotch, causing a little chuckle to come out of me. Oh Emma, the sweet girl.
“You got some X-ray vision I don’t know about?”
“What?” Her eyes snap up. “No, I wasn’t . . . there was a fly . . . I . . .” She sighs and then puts her hand on her hip. “I’m going to level with you.” Taking a deep breath, she continues, “You can’t just say something about having a not-so-small peenie weenie and think I’m not going to glance down.”
“Peenie weenie? I sure as fuck didn’t say that? What happened to medical terms?”
She waves her hand in front of her face. “I use those all day, so it’s nice to not have to be technical. Why? Do you want to talk meatus again?”
“Christ, no.” I grab her shoulders and spin her around. Leaning forward, my lips close to her ear, I ask, “Can I trust you to keep your eyes closed, or am I going to have to blindfold you myself?”
Shit, she smells so good. After a long-ass day of school and then working at the hospital, she can still small like vanilla and honey; how is that possible?
“Blindfold? Tucker, is there some kind of kinky orgy in the other room? I’m not sure I’m okay with more than four nipples in a sex romp.”
“Jesus.” I chuckle and wrap my arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind. “No orgy, now will you just close your damn eyes so I can show you?”
“Okay,” she breathes out, her chest hitching under my hold.
Moving my hands to her shoulders, I lean over to make sure her eyes are closed and carefully guide her through the house to the living room.
“You’re making me nervous. There aren’t going to be clowns popping out at me, are there?”
“No clowns, babe. Now stand here.” I move around her so I can see her reaction and hold my breath. “Okay, open your eyes.”
Her beautiful eyes open, blink a few times, and then fixate on the couch in front of her. For a brief second, I think she’s not going to care, but that’s quickly washed away when she brings her hands to her mouth in surprise and then jumps up and down.
“You got a couch!”
I nod, pride filling every inch of my body. “I got a couch.”
“Oh my God.” Quickly she runs over to me and hugs me from the side. “Tucker, you got a couch and it’s so stylish.” Looking up at me, she asks, “Can I sit on it?”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “That’s kind of what it’s for.”
She claps and hops over into position. Making a big deal of it, she turns toward me, puts her arms out and falls backward into the couch that sucks her into the cushions. She moans and sighs. Damn, I kind of want to hear her make that noise again.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “What do you think?”
Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted back on the cushion. Without looking at me, she pats the couch, calling me to come sit next to her. “Bask in the gloriousness with me, Tucker.”
I don’t sit on the couch as dramatically as she did, but when I sit down, my shoulder bumps with hers, our proximity on top of each other despite the size of the couch.
“It’s so nice.” She turns her head toward me. “Are you happy?”
“I am. It’s a nice couch. I feel so grown up.” I look around the empty room and smile. “It might be empty in here, but hey, we have a place to sit that’s not a counter, folding chair, or bed.”
“I can’t wait to study on this bad boy. Am I going to have to call dibs? Sign out the couch for the night? Take turns?”
“It’s all yours, babe, whenever you want to use it.”
Snuggling in close, Emma rests her head on my shoulder. “Oh, Tucker, you spoil me. You’re the best landlord ever.”
“I try.”
Together, we sit, stare at the ceiling, relax. Emma is snuggled into my side, enjoying the couch for what seems like an hour when in fact it’s only a few minutes. I feel so comfortable around her, safe, like nothing real can affect us when we’re in our little bubble together.
And the weird thing is, I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day, knowing my couch would be ready for pickup. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to get it home and surprise Emma, to see the look of joy on her face. And hell, she did not disappoint. Her reaction was just what I was looking for, appreciation, excitement, and a warm smile.