Emmett
There’s a fluffiness tohis hair that doesn’t make sense with how many times he’s run his hands through it, and the sweat that’s marking his temples. There’s a layer of dirt that’s making his skin seem like it has deeper shadows than normal, and his nails are stained black again even though he washed them before we sat down.
For the last six days, we’ve done exactly this.
Tristen comes home and wanders through the house until he either finds me or ends up in the bathroom. The pipes are loud enough that I know he showers when he goes in there and sometimes, he takes forever. I count every time to see how long it takes him to come to Hatley’s bedroom. To come find me bundled under the covers of his best friend’s bed. Sometimes he whispers to me about his night and shares my pillow, keeping his face close enough that the nightlight casts shadows over his eyes. Others, he sighs really deep and falls asleep almost instantly.
I’m not sure which one is better.
But then he wakes up and brings me to the track. We practice riding together, and then he lets me back on the bike eventhough I can’t seem to stop grinding the gears. Flooding the engine.Tipping it.
The bruise on my calf aches, but Tristen said it’ll be okay. I didn’t let him lift my pantleg to get a full look, but he felt around and though it hurt, I think he’s right.
I wanted to kiss him when he looked up at me from the dirt track, that smile tipping his lips at the corners, but I didn’t.
His eyes screamed it. That he wanted to.
I don’t understand why.
But he didn’t kiss me. Nor has he kissed me since that first time almost a week ago.
And then he brought me here, where Blu is currently staring at me and asking what I want to eat.
I look through my lashes at Tristen who smiles, and it makes my stomach cramp.
I don’t really want to eat, but he frowns when I don’t.
“Eggs?” I say quietly and Blu scribbles on her pad of paper.
“Full breakfast. Got it.”
“No, I—”
Auburn hair flips behind her as she walks away, and I slip down in my seat.
“I don’t wanna keep wasting it.”
Tristen’s smile is undeterred, and it aggravates me.
“We can take what you don’t eat home, bubs. No worries.”
He pulls out a phone and sets it on the table between us.
“Aren’t people supposed to sit opposite of each other?” I look around the diner and note the few tables where there’s a couple or a group of people and all of them are sitting on each side or spread out.
“What, you don’t like me sitting next to you?”
“No, I—” I sigh, “never mind.”
Tristen’s lips quirk and his sight drops back down to the phone on the table. “It’s okay to like it. I do.”
The arms I have wrapped around my middle tighten.
I shouldn’t.
“What’s your favorite song?”
I blink, my face pinching as my brows meet.
