“In your hometown, not in the real world. You’re just a fish in the river.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Is that so? Just a plain-old fish in the water? Nothing special about me at all? Nothing I can offer anyone?” There is a teasing tone to my voice.
She takes her time, giving me a once-over, her hands still clasped onto my shirt. Although every now and then, I feel her fingers exploring my chest. Fucking hell, that feels so good. I wish she’d take the damn shirt off. We’re in a very intimate position, something friends usually don’t do, but for some reason, both of us are okay with it. “There is one thing you can offer.”
“Just one? All right, lay it on me, babe. What is the one attribute I have to offer the dating world?”
She straightens up and pats my chest, as if to say, “You’re a good boy.”
“You know how to make some killer eggs. It’s a great skill to have especially if you date someone who isn’t a morning person like myself. Those eggs are a real eye-opener; they get you going in the morning.”
I pause for a second, reading her facial expression, the way she playfully speaks to me. It’s so fucking . . . adorable. That’s the perfect way to describe Emma, adorable.
“Eggs, that’s what I have to offer. Eggs. Not a killer ass, or sexy set of abs, or a dick so huge that it will tickle your stomach while impaling you?”
Her laugh hits me straight in the gut, and then her smile, tag-teaming a wave of awakening in my body I’m not ready for. “Sorry to say, but I know nothing about your Happy Harry Hard-on, so I can’t have an opinion about that. Your ass, eh, it’s okay, and your abs, well, those are nice.”
“Hold up.” I grip her hips tightly in place. “You think my ass is, eh?”
Smirking evilly, she says, “I mean, have you been missing leg day at the gym?”
My mouth splits open for a second from her joking insult before I scoop her up and start carrying her down the stairs with her over my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“This evening is over. You can stare at my inadequate ass as I bring you to your room. Maybe you will learn a lesson. Skipping leg day. You’ve lost your fucking mind, girl.”
When I reach her bedroom, I toss her on her bed and watch her laugh as she bounces a few times on the mattress from my toss. Pointing at her, a fake sense of seriousness coming from me, I say, “Now, you sit there and think about what you said. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about insulting my ass.”
“Don’t be a little bitch, Tucker.” The elation in her face from the insult is overwhelming. Like a fucking punch to the stomach, it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. She’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
Playing along, I say, “And for that, no eggs for you tomorrow morning. Looks like you’ll be reunited with your old friend, the Chewy Bar.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“It’s already done, babe.” I give her a wink and say, “See you in the morning.”
When I retreat to my room, I wonder if I should go take a cold shower. A long, cold shower. So fucking turned on. Even when she’s sassy and faking impertinence, she’s sexy. That can’t be legal. I can’t help but think about the separation between us and how I desperately wish she’d come back to my room. If anything, just for the physical contact. The night we spooned was one of the best nights I’ve had in a very long time. Now I crave the gentle touch of her hands, the feel of her body tucked against mine, and fuck if I won’t be thinking about it all night long.
***
CRASH
From a dead sleep, I spring up in my bed and look around, blurry eyed, trying to decipher if what I heard was from a dream or if it was in real life. With my heart beating at a rapid pace, I hold my breath and listen closely for any other semblance of a possible breakin. And then it hits me, if someone is breaking in, Emma is on the first floor. “Shit.”
I throw the blankets off, grab my baseball bat from next to my bedside table, and take off down stairs. When I hit the hardwood floors, I quickly look toward Emma’s room. The door is open and from my view, she’s not in her bed.
What the fuck?
Next option is the bathroom, but when I see the light is off and the door is wide open, I start to panic. With the bat raised, I flip on the dining room light . . .
“Ahhh!” Emma screams when the light switches on, one of her hands going up to block her eyes. My own pupils curse me out at the moment. “What the hell are you doing?” She’s rolling on the ground clutching her foot a look of pain crossing her features.
“What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?”
When she is finally able to look at me, her eyes do a quick scan of my body before answering and that’s when I realize I’m wearing nothing but my Calvin Klein, hip-hugging briefs.
Looking away, she answers, “I left my phone on the couch. I woke up wondering what time it was and realized I left it out here. I didn’t want to wake you, so I tried to make my way through the house with no lights thinking it couldn’t be that hard given the two pieces of furniture we have. I guess not. I flipped over the folding chair.”
“Flipped over? Are you okay?”
She nods, still not looking at me. “Pretty sure I broke my toenail. It’s throbbing. I’m sure it will be a pretty shade of gross tomorrow morning.”
“Here, let me help you.” I put the bat to the side and reach for her when she spins away on her butt.
“I can handle this. Just go back to bed.”
“Emma, you’re hurt. I’m going to help you. Now, come here.” I bend down and scoop her up into my arms and take her to the bathroom where I set her down on the counter. I bring her foot up to my eye for a better look. “Can you bend your toes?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I look past her foot to see what’s going on. And . . . that’s when I catch her staring at my package. Right there, eyes trained on my dick and balls, no hiding it whatsoever. Christ.
“Emma,” I say a little louder. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
“Huh?” Lazily she scans my body all the way to my eyes where she finally meets me.
I hold back the laughter bubbling inside me. “Toes, can you wiggle them?”
She almost seems drunk when she answers, “I have toes.”
Your future nurse, ladies and gentleman.
Be terrified.
“Good, babe, but can you wiggle them?”
“Hmm? Oh yeah.” She wiggles but cringes at the same time. “I think they’re going to be okay, just sore.”
I nod. “Well, you have a little cut on your big toe, so let me clean it up and put a Band-Aid on it.” When I reach for my first aid kit under the sink, she clears her throat, almost like she’s trying to gain the courage to ask me a question.
“Tucker?”
I stand and hold the first aid box in front of her. “Got it.” When I see the bewildered expression on her face, I ask, “What’s up?”
“You’re, uh, you’re wearing tighty-whities.”
I take in my apparel. “No, I’m not. I’m wearing briefs and they’re black. Tighty-whities are for grandpas with saggy asses and liver spots.”