“Six men?” Tucker raises an eyebrow at me. “I could see five, but six?” His teasing lightens the irritated mood moving through me.
“It’s temporary until we can figure something out.” Logan grips my hand to let me know he’s serious. “You can have my bunk and I’ll take the couch. It’s better than having no place to go.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It seems like a lot of people for a small place. I don’t think I can do that to you . . . or me.”
“It’s not a big deal. Tyler and Travis are never home and if they are, you don’t see them very often and the other guys, well, they think you’re cool.”
“They’ll make you do their laundry and cook them food,” Adalyn points out.
“Not true. We know how to cook dinner and do laundry. Just the other night we made a five-gallon pot of Kraft Mac and Cheese. We even fried some of it.”
“And the kitchen almost caught on fire.” Adalyn snickers to herself.
“Last fucking time I tell you anything.” Logan’s scowl is washed away when he turns back toward me. “Seriously, we can make it work, Em.”
“You can stay with me.” We all turn to look at Tucker who is leaning back in his chair, his glass dangling in his hand and his head tilted toward the ground, his eyes the only thing pointed in our direction.
“What?” The bewilderment in my voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “I . . . do you . . . where do you even live?” Caught off guard, yup, that would be the perfect way to describe how I’m feeling.
“I have a house in Hillcrest. Probably a ten-minute drive to campus.”
“You have a house?” When did this happen? How did I not know? Am I a bad friend for not knowing? Does everyone else know?
“Yeah.” He shifts in his chair, drawing back just slightly. He clears his throat and adds, “There are some things I need to fix in it, but it has a spare bedroom.”
“You’re serious.” Live with Tucker Jameson?
“Yeah.” He shrugs and then looks at his watch. Standing from his chair, he dresses into his black leather jacket, which fits him like a glove, and lays a twenty on the bar top. “You have my number, think about it.” He nods at Logan and Adalyn, pops the collar of his jacket to avoid windburn, and says, “Nice meeting you.”
Then takes off.
All three of us turn back to our drinks and stare at the counter, trying to recover from the Tucker whirlwind that just blew through.
“Holy shit, he’s hot,” Adalyn mumbles while gulping down the rest of her drink. “If it were me, I would be asking him for his address right now.”
“Em, I know you were friends growing up, but you didn’t even know he had a house. You can’t be that close to the guy.” He sounds irritated.
I hate to say not that close, because we used to be. Seeing him in the bar tonight, on his own, It actually makes me sick to my stomach to think that he’s been grieving so . . . alone.
“We used to be close; our entire group of friends were close, but this past year, we’ve all been trying to look for jobs, graduate, and when his ex-girlfriend moved on, he stopped hanging around us because I think it was too hard on him. I don’t have much downtime and when I do, it’s spent with you guys.” I take a sip from my drink. “God, I’m an ass, I should have checked up on him more. I really don’t know what he’s been doing for the past year. I’m such a bad friend.”
“No, you’re not.” Logan pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my head. “You’ve been consumed with earning your RN degree. You know friendship is a two-way street, right? It goes both ways. He could have reached out to you as well.”
I shake my head. “That’s not the kind of guy Tucker is. Plus, I’m best friends with his ex, Sadie. He wouldn’t have reached out to me for that sole reason.” Not to mention, he was undoubtedly aware that I’d never been a true supporter of him and Sadie together.
“You can reach out now,” Adalyn suggests. “Reach out and stroke his penis.” She laughs hysterically at herself, makes a lewd gesture, and taps the bar for another drink. Oh, Adalyn.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, unsure what to do. “On one hand, it’s a place to live, which I don’t have in two days, but on the other, it’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Even though we’re friends, would that be weird?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Logan and Adalyn talk over each other, defending their stances. Much help they are. Should I consider this? Or is that crazy? I still have some time. I can find a place. It’s Binghamton, New York, there has to be apartments somewhere.
Chapter Four
TUCKER
“Where are the tiles?” I look around the room and don’t see anything. “Jared, where the fuck are the tiles for the bathroom?”
“On the wall,” Jared answers, looking slightly terrified.
On the wall? I walk into the bathroom and sure as shit, there they are, being spaced out and placed on the wall. Fuck, I’m losing it.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” I run my hand over my jaw and stare down at my clipboard, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.
I’m off. It feels like my entire equilibrium is out of whack, like my world is tilting on its fucking axis and I have nothing to grip on to.
There is only one reason why: Emma Marks.
When I went into The House of Reardon last night to grab a drink, I was looking for solitude, to drown myself in a few glasses of whiskey and get lost in thought, any kind of thought that didn’t involve Sadie, the baby, or the mausoleum I call my home.
And then Emma walks in with her friends. From a distance, I observed her, how carefree she was, never once fussing over the people surrounding her. She was different, and it threw me for a loop. I’ve known Emma for quite some time, sweet girl with a heart of gold. When she said she wanted to go to nursing school, everyone praised her. She was born to be a nurse, so fucking caring toward others. But the Emma I saw last night joking around with her friends wasn’t that Emma.
Last night, curious as hell, I wanted to know more about this Emma Marks, which is why I joined her friends. And I met college Emma, a beautiful, carefree girl who looks like she loves to have fun. Not hometown Emma, whose role is to clean up and sort through everyone’s issues. But then her friend hit me with Emma’s dilemma and before I could stop myself, I offered her a place to stay. What. The. Hell?
It’s not that I don’t have the space, I do, but I don’t want her to see that space. I avoid seeing the space myself. If I could sell without losing money, I would. I hadn’t had it long enough, or finished the necessary improvements to avoid it becoming both a shitty investment and a giant waste of the money I’d saved since I can remember. When I get the chance, I spend my weekends working on the house, intending to flip it myself for a profit, but with my long days during the week, and being the only person to work on the house, it’s taking me way fucking longer than I want.
But maybe she found a place. Maybe I’m twisting a nut for no damn reason. I can only fucking hope.
A strong hand grips my shoulder and pulls me out of my flashbacks. “Couldn’t find the tile, huh?” Racer asks, humor strong in his voice.