I jerk out of my head at the sound of Emmett’s rasped words, his face sleep soft and his eyes narrowed to slits in my direction. I’m not sure if it’s his comment or the sudden wash of light that’s got him squinting at me. Either way, my lips tip up at the corner.
“No, I’m not.”
He looks five years younger.
The imprint of the material across his reddened cheek makes him look even more tempered.
“Then go. I’m fine.”
Snorting, I shake my head. “Only if you come with me.”
Something shifts and his sweet eyes take on something darker.
“Are you—”
“Train’s leaving the station!” Hatley calls out as he bounds back down the stairs with Lemon on his heels, interrupting whatever Emmett was about to say. “Last call.”
“That’s for bars,” I correct and pinch the bridge of my nose to hide the curl of my lip.
“Wheels are going up.”
“Planes.”
“Curtain call,” Hat singsongs and wraps an arm around a glittering Lemon who giggles when my bestie plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
“It’sall aboard, you uncultured swine,” I call after him.
“Choo, choo, motherfucker,” he calls back, him and his pretend date falling out of the front door with a laugh that echoes all the way to the bike’s roar that finally drowns them out.
Emmett jolts at the sound.
Shooting him an understanding look he ignores, I slump back into the couch.
My joints are starting to stiffen, my ass going numb, but that doesn’t stop me from queuing up another episode.
I make it to the theme song before I’m stretching my legs out and crossing my arms over my chest. Into the next scene of the show with my fingers thrumming over my pec.
Halfway in and unease settles tight in my chest.
I force a breath that only serves to make my knee bounce, and my fingertips to tingle.
“You hungry?” I ask out of nowhere and startle Emmett. “My bad.”
Hopping up from the couch, I don’t wait for his answer before I jog to the kitchen and pull open the fridge.
There’s cheap beer. Leftover macaroni from like a week ago.
A gallon of milk that was never opened but definitely reached its expiration date.
“Shit,” I mutter and let the door slam closed, the condiment bottles rattling against the force.
I pat the pocket where I keep my wallet and sigh deep because I don’t have to open the thing to know there’s no paper inside. My debit card has twelve bucks on it. And the notification sitting unopened on my phone’s screen is another reminder that I already owe shit to the one credit card I had to get in order to fix the kitchen sink six months ago.
“Fuck, fuck,” I mutter, my thumb meeting my bottom lip and staying there, tempting me to bite at the nail I know better than to start chewing on.
“What are you doing?”
I jerk around to where Emmett stands in the threshold. Let my ass settle back against the counter like I intended to end up that way. Cross my arms over my chest.
