Chapter Eleven

EMMA

I feel weird.

Not the kind of weird where I ate something wrong and not the kind of weird where I drank too much.

No, I feel a different kind of weird. A nervous, fluttery kind of weird. The kind of weird you get when an attractive man keeps smiling at you, making you laugh, and stealing touches when he can. The kind of weird you get when your friend is starting to make you feel things you know you shouldn’t feel.

And I’m not talking about Logan . . .

It’s all Tucker. Tucker freaking Jameson and his sexy side smile. Tucker Jameson and his deep, rumbly laugh. Tucker Jameson and his innocent, friendly touches that make me melt on the spot. To him, those touches are free of any kind of commitment, but to me, they feel like so much more. I want to ask him to stop because I’m worried my mind will get confused. I’m worried that I will fall for my best friend’s ex-boyfriend, her former everything and that terrifies me.

No wonder every girl our age fawned over the man; he’s magnetic. There’s no use denying the pull, because all you want to do when around him is cling to his side. And I’m having a hell of a time trying to detach myself.

Plates cleaned, drinks consumed, I’ve watched how effortlessly he’s engaged both his friends and Logan into conversation, never allowing a dull moment. And the whole time, all I could think of was how different he is from the boy I grew up with. He’s a man now, a confident man with experience under his belt, an addicting man you want to surround yourself with. It’s confusing. He confuses me.

For so long, I’ve been on the other side of the fence, listening to Sadie and her side of the relationship. It’s been so long since I’ve spent time with Tucker, that I’ve forgotten who he truly is. He was never Sadie’s shadow per se, but he was so connected to her, that I wonder if I ever met Tucker the individual. My image has been clouded from the past, but after last night, after tonight, the clouds are parting and I think I’m meeting Tucker Jameson the man for the first time. An effervescent man with a sexy smirk, ovary-splitting laugh, and killer eyes.

“Isn’t that right, Emma?” Funnily enough, around company, Tucker has referred to me as Emma, not babe.

“Ehh, what?”

“Sixth grade, your first kiss was with a guy who worshipped the black Power Ranger.”

“Daniel? Yeah, he was a bit obsessed. But despite his obsession, he tongued me up real nice.”

The table erupts. Well, apart from Tucker who gives me a pointed look that causes me to laugh. He wanted me to let loose. This is Emma let loose. She’s a little loose on the lips.

“Daniel sounds like a real winner.” Logan tips his bottle in my direction and takes a sip. I’m surprised with how much he’s been fitting in with the guys, especially since I hadn’t thought they would mesh well together. Tucker and his buddies are rugged, men’s men, whereas Logan runs the line of more sensitive.

“Oh shit, I could use a good tonguing, especially after sitting on this piece of trash seat all night.” Racer shifts and whacks Tucker on the arm. “Dude, splurge a bit and get a fucking couch. What is wrong with you?”

Tucker smiles over his glass, looking more at ease than he has in the last couple days. “I have everything I need in my bedroom.”

“I would say let’s take this up to your bedroom, but that would quickly divert this little gathering into a glorified sword fight, and I’m not drunk enough to start whipping my willy about.”

Smalls turns to Racer and asks, “Would you ever be drunk enough?”

Racer takes a moment to think about it and then shakes his head. “No, but for the right price, I would smack someone with my dick.”

Tucker shakes his head. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

“Hey, I’ll take money anyway I can get.”

“Let’s play a game,” I say, interrupting the little battle of whit between Tucker and Racer.

“Yeah?” Tucker asks. “What did you have in mind?”

I hold up my finger and stand up, feeling a little shaky in my legs. Thank you, alcohol. “One second please.” Quickly, I run to my room, grab a deck of cards and my makeup case along with a little mirror. When I come back into the dining room, all four men give me confused looks.

Sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his expansive chest, Tucker says, “No, we’re not playing that stupid game.”

I set my stuff on the table and take a seat. “Come on. I haven’t played in so long.”

“No.” Tucker stands his ground.

I jut out my bottom lip. “Pleeeease. It will be so much fun.”

“Yeah, for you.”

Racer leans forward. “Uh, am I missing something?”

Playfully staring me down, leaning back in his chair, giving off a casual vibe, Tucker asks, “You want to tell them? Or should I?”

“I will because you’ll just ruin it.”

He gestures to me, giving me the floor. “By all means, introduce the game.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I sit tall and clear my throat. “The game is called Beauty Parlor.” All three men groan but I tamp them down. “There is one dealer, or beautician if you will, the rest of the players are the clients. We divvy out the cards equally and on the count of three, we flip our cards over. Whoever has a card that is lesser value than the beautician, they have to put on some makeup—”

“No way,” Logan says.

“Fuck, no.” Smalls sits back in his chair as Tucker gives me a knowing smirk as he takes a sip from his bottle.

“I’ll play,” Racer chimes in, causing all the men to turn their heads in his direction. “What?” He shrugs. “I’m man enough to put on a little rouge and be okay with it.”

“Jesus.” Tucker stands and says, “Fine, I’ll play but I’m grabbing another drink.” Without even asking, he snags my glass as well for a refill.

“Logan, Smalls, are you going to sit out still?” I ask. They both exchange glances and then let out long pent-up breaths. I’m taking that as a yes. Men. They’re so easy. “Yay, okay, we’ll draw cards, and whoever has the highest card is the beautician for this round. If you play a higher card than the beautician, you don’t have to put makeup on, but you do have to drink. If you flip over a lower card, the beautician tells you what makeup to put on. And this is quick, so no dawdling.”

“Do we get to look at our cards?” Racer asks, looking really interested in the game.

“No, it’s like war. We just flip over the top card in our pile. Now, in the past, we’ve played the person to your right gets to apply a swipe of makeup on you if you lose, but for your scrotum’s sake, we’ll keep the rules to applying your own makeup.” The men chuckle and agree with me on my rule change.

Tucker joins us again, handing me my drink as he passes by. “Explain everything to them?”

I nod. “I think they’re ready.” I hold the cards, fanned out. “Draw a card to see who’s the beautician. Eep, this is so exciting.”

Tucker picks his card and deadpans, “Yeah, real exciting.”

I ignore him and say flip. We all turn our cards over and look around. Immediately it’s obvious who the beautician is.

“Yay!” I clap my hands together as all four men groan. “Oh, and for the record, aces count as ones.”

Quickly, I shuffle the cards and then divvy them out equally. I don’t think I’ve been this excited in a while. Not only do I get to watch four grown men put on makeup while drinking, but I get to watch Tucker put on makeup, the ruggedly handsome man who is nothing but all male. I don’t know if this night can get any better.

***

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tucker puts his drink on the table and huffs. Looking brilliantly beautiful in a full face of makeup, blue eyeshadow, foundation, and blush, he looks up at me and says, “What will it be this time?”

I try to hold in my giggle but it’s almost impossible with how “pretty” Tucker looks. You know how people always say makeup enhances your features? Not on Tucker. He is the ugliest lady I’ve ever seen. Gathering myself, I point to the blush. “I think you’re looking a little pale. You need more.”

“Can I get some of the bronzer this time?” Racer hogs the mirror and turns his face from side to side. “I think I need to enhance my cheekbones.”

“You definitely need some,” Logan agrees. “Make sure to get the apple of your cheek.”

“I know I drew a higher card, but I’m feeling a little naked without something on my lips. Maybe I can put on some of that peach gloss Tucker has on?”

“I think apple would look nicer with your complexion,” Logan says.

Racer nods. “I’m going to have to go with Logan on this one. The apple for sure.”

Tucker stands from his chair, causing it to clash to the ground. “And we’re done for the night. You have five minutes to leave this house before I start smashing you on the dick hole with an empty beer bottle.”

“My, my, my, no need to get testy just because you’re not as pretty as the rest of us.” Racer stands and finishes his drink. “Not everyone can pull off a blue eyeshadow, Tuck-man. But you gave it a go, you should be proud of yourself for that.”

Grinding his teeth together, he replies, “Get out . . . now.”

Glancing at Smalls, Racer says, “I think we should leave.”

“I’m right behind you,” Logan calls out as he takes off toward my bedroom for his backpack.

Giggling to myself, I start cleaning off the table, packing up all my makeup, making sure to keep the brushes out so I can clean them.

“Thanks for a great night, Emma. I would thank your roomy but he seems to have started pacing the dining room. He looks like a loose cannon.” Smalls eyes Tucker who does seem like he’s about to lose his shit in seconds.

“Anytime, boys.” I wink. “And Racer, you keep working hard on the eyeliner, you’ll get it.”

Jokingly he crosses his fingers and says, “One day.” Gosh, he’s cute and very charming. I bet he’s someone the girls easily fall for.

We say our goodbyes, and Logan gives me a hug and tells me he will see me tomorrow. Once I shut the door, Tucker walks up behind me and locks up, his breath tickling the hair on the back of my neck. There is no personal space with this man, not that I mind it all that much.

When I turn around and come face to face with him, a snort pops out of me. I cover my mouth and nose quickly, but it’s too late, the damage is done. He’s even angrier, which just makes me laugh more.

Between giggles, I say, “You’re just so pretty.”

Slowly, Tucker pins me up against the door, his face coming within inches of mine.

Errr . . .

For a few seconds, he doesn’t say anything; he just takes me in, his eyes wandering back and forth between mine, his breath steady, and his body like a wall of armor, holding me in place. “You know, if I wasn’t so damn happy to see you smiling, laughing, and having one hell of a time, I would be fucking pissed at you right now for turning that little gathering into a beauty session. But fuck, seeing you relaxed where you’re not putting the needs of everyone else above your own, it warms my cold soul.” He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “I fucking like it, babe.”

Gulping, I hold my breath, unsure of what to say, and definitely how to react.

Before I can reply, he lifts off the door and grabs my hand. “Come on, show me how to get this shit off. We can clean up in the morning.”

We head toward the bathroom, my hand feeling miniature in his strong palm, and my stride having to make up for his larger one.

“I don’t know how you can wear this shit. It feels like I have mud on my face.”

I turn him and pat the counter for him to sit on. But before he sits, he takes off his shirt and tosses it on the ground. “I don’t want any of that stuff getting on my clothes.”

I swallow . . . hard.

I’ve seen Tucker with his shirt off since I’ve moved in, but for some reason, with the recent close proximity we’ve shared, I feel my body start to heat up. I was spooned by that chest . . .

Don’t look down. Don’t scan his body, and for the love of God, don’t reach out and feel each intricate, well-defined ab.

LEAVE HIS BODY ALONE.

I got this. Taking a deep breath, I reach into the medicine cabinet and pull out my makeup wipes. “Here. Take one of these and start wiping.”

Together, we wipe our makeup off. And for the first time in an hour, Tucker smiles at me. Playfully, he nudges my side with his foot.

“Look at us, a bunch of ladies taking our makeup off for the night.”

That garners a snort out of me, which makes him laugh as well. God, his laugh. It’s so rich and velvety that it hits me straight in my core. Hell, that sound could make a feral cat moan out loud.

“We should do this every night together,” I joke.

“Or not. Honestly, you shouldn’t be wearing makeup anyway. You’re pretty without.” Cue the rapid beating of my heart. “You really didn’t wear a lot of makeup in high school. I liked that about you.”

“My mom wasn’t too keen on me wearing makeup. Still isn’t.”

“I agree with your mom.” Taking another wipe from the package, Tucker pulls me between his legs and starts swabbing my face clean. He’s gentle with each stroke, caressing my cheek with his other hand, giving me one of the most sensual experiences of my life. It’s weirdly intimate, a moment I almost feel like we shouldn’t be sharing, but a moment I wouldn’t trade for anything. How did we get so comfortable with each other? We were never like this. Never tactile with each other. He was always with . . .

“Tonight was fun.” I close my eyes as he holds my face and wipes off my eyeshadow. “Besides the whole makeup thing.”

“Ah, you liked it. Stop trying to be all manly around me.”

“I don’t have to try to be manly, babe.” I open my eyes in time to see him wink at me. Shit.

Change of subject. “I like Racer and Smalls. Did you meet them on the job?”

“Yeah. We’ve been working together for a few years now. Over the last two years, they’ve really been there for me. I would be lost without them.”

Tucker tosses the wipe to the side and hops off the counter as I stand still in the small, flamingo-covered bathroom.

They’ve really been there for me . . .

His comment brings back a truckload of guilt I’ve carried since I chose a side. I don’t think it was wrong that I looked out for Sadie. She’d been my best friend for over ten years. I had seen Tucker as responsible for her pain and heartache. But there are always two sides to every story. Knowing what he had done to embrace Sadie’s pregnancy, and a house in this area couldn’t be cheap, I wonder if I should have asked someone to reach out to Tucker. He wasn’t guilty as such. Now, with the blessing of hindsight, I wish I hadn’t so easily overlooked how lost Tucker would have been without the woman in his life who had clearly been his everything. He pursued her time after time, fight after fight, because he loved her. And that wasn’t a crime. But I didn’t have that perspective back then. No one did, really. But, considering my cool lack of concern for him and his emotional state, I feel sick.

“Emma, you okay?” He stands behind me, his stature taking up the small space. Every last nerve ending in my body is aware of his presence.

I turn toward him so I’m no longer looking in the mirror and say, “I’m sorry.”

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 asks, “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.