Griffin and Wes insist on walking me home.

We say goodbye with a handshake and a high-five, then I slip into the house.

It feels more like home than it did a week ago.

Even with Emma sitting on the couch, glaring like I'm the scum of the Earth.

It's obvious right now.

There's no stomaching the distance between us.

She is my closest friend.

She's exactly what I need.

I have to fix this.

But only if it's what's best for her.

"You okay?" It's a stupid question, but it's all I've got.

She says nothing.

All right, I need to aim a little lower. "You eat dinner?"

"Yeah. Leftovers." Her eyes flit to me for a split second, then they're back on the screen. "If you don't mind." She motions to the TV.

It's playing Hercules.

Her favorite movie.

Easy to see why. The tough yet vulnerable heroine is pure Emma. Style and sass and a heart she doesn't want to admit to having.

I nod. "Good night."

Her voice softens. "Good night." She watches me move up the stairs and into the hallway.

Even as I slip into the bathroom and turn the shower on, I can feel her attention.

There's a lot of frustration there, yeah.

But it's not because she hates me.

It's because she wants me.

And, fuck, do I want her.

I'm not acting on it.

Or running from it.

I have to face it.

Whatever that means.

At the moment…

I close my eyes. Wrap my hands around my cock. Let my thoughts flit to Emma.

Her perfect tits.

Her soft thighs.

Her low groan.

I come harder than I have in a long fucking time.

After my shower, I lock myself in my room and spill my thoughts onto the paper until my hands are numb.

Sketching helps.

But not enough.

It's too late for clarity.

I rise, piss, wash my hands, brush my teeth, turn off the light in the hall.

The room glows from the light of the TV downstairs.

Emma is on the couch. Silent. Still.

She's asleep.

Peaceful.

I'm tempted to leave her there—I've done enough to disturb her today—but I need to bring her this little bit of comfort.

I move downstairs quietly. Wrap my arms around her. Lift her to my chest.

She stirs as I ascend the stairs.

Her eyelids flutter open.

Her dark eyes fix on mine.

For a split second, she stares at me like I'm everything she wants.

Then she blinks and her eyes are closed again.

She rests her head against my chest.

Digs her fingers into my back.

She's quiet as I carry her into her bedroom and lay her on the bed.

It's the first time I've really seen her bedroom.

It's different than the room at her apartment.

That was sparse. Empty. Soulless.

This room is brimming with life.

Posters of musicians line the walls. The desk in the corner is covered with lyrics and doodles. The closet is packed with clothes in every shade of the rainbow.

Same crimson comforter and plain white sheets.

I lay her on the wide bed.

She rolls onto her side. Reaches for a pillow.

Her guard is down.

She's inviting me into her heart. Her life. Her space.

My throat tightens. My heart thuds against my chest.

I want that.

I want to be in her life.

To deserve a place in her life.

But there has to be a line somewhere.

I need to draw it in extra thick sharpie. Black against stark white. Something obvious. That we'll both see.

I need her closer.

But I can't be hers.

I don't know how the fuck to reconcile the two.

Only that I'm lacking the self-control to keep my hands off her.

I stand. Wipe my palms on my jeans. Flick the light switch.

The silver glow of the moon flows through the window.

The intimacy of this is terrifying.

And exhilarating.

Fuck, I want to be here. I want to lie next to her, wrap my arms around her, hold her all night.

That's over the line.

But there must be something I can do.

Some way I can comfort her.

"Good night, Em." I reach for the door.

"Wait." She slides to the right. Pats the spot next to her. "There's room." She brushes her long hair behind her ear. "Kaylee sleeps here all the time."

I try to find that line.

To figure out what's best for her.

It's no good.

Clarity is a million miles away.

Emma saves me from figuring out my shit. "I'm sorry I stormed off. I just… I don't know. I guess I don't really have a leg to stand on. I was trying to make you jealous."

"You were?"

She nods.

"Why?"

"You know why."

Yeah, but I want to hear those words again.

I want them on her lips.

It fills me someplace that's been empty for too fucking long.

"It felt good, getting a reaction. I know I'm not supposed to say that. But it did." She sinks her fingers into her crimson comforter. "Sometimes… it seems like you don't care. I hate you for that."

"I do care."

"No, Hunter, you don't get it. I never trust someone like this. It means a lot."

"I know."

She shakes her head. "You don't know. You don't know me."

"I want to."

"No." Her fingers dig into the crimson comforter. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to say shit like I want to know you then turn around and say this can't happen."

There's the line.

I need to be all in or all out.

Her everything or her nothing.

Fuck, that isn't good for me.

But it's fair.

If that's what she wants, it's what she wants.

Her eyes turn down. "I hate that you won't choose me."

Right now, she looks tiny and vulnerable.

She's not.

She's thin, yeah, but she's nearly as tall as I am.

She's at least as tough as I am.

Tougher.

She's strong enough to let her guard down.

Whereas I…

Fuck.

There's only one thing I can say to help her understand this.

I force the words from my lips. "I'm an alcoholic."

"What?" Her dark eyes fill with surprise.

"I got out of rehab a few weeks ago. That's why I'm here."

"But you… you were always sneaking bottles over."

I nod.

"You always smelled like bourbon."

"Yeah."

"And all the liquor in the house is missing."

"Yeah."

"I thought… that you just liked to party."

"So did I."

"Oh." She sits up and presses her back against the wall. "So you… um… what do I say here?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

She stares at me for a long moment. "Brendon knows?"

"Yeah."

"Anyone else?"

"Everyone at Blacklist. Some old friends."

"But no one… fuck, there was so much booze at your party." Her face goes white. "Did you…" Fear fills with eyes.

Did you have a drink?

Did you fuck everything up?

Are you lost forever?

"No." I keep my voice steady. I'm not good at much, emotionally speaking, but I'm pretty good at not drinking at this point. "I'm still sober."

"Oh. Good. I…" She looks to me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You looked at me like I was worthwhile."

"You are."

"Maybe." I press my palms into my quads. Fuck, I want to touch her. I'm dying to touch her.

And not just sexually.

Yeah, I want to make her come.

But I also want to hold her all night.

I want to be her everything.

To live in a universe where that's a possibility.

I don't.

It's not.

I need to get over it.

I try to shake it off. Fail. "Everyone who knows stares like I'm a fuckup or a train wreck."

"Oh." Understanding fills her eyes.

"My brother put the pieces together six months ago." I press my palm into her soft white sheets.

"Chase?"

"He planned this huge intervention. Got everyone there. Even the shop owner. And my fucking parents. Which is rich."

"They're—"

"Not sure I've ever seen my mom sober."

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head. I want her sympathy. But I want to deserve it. I'm the one who fucked-up this. I made bad decisions. Chose alcohol over everything else. I need to own that. "He gave me an ultimatum. I could keep drinking or I could keep working at the shop."

"That's fucked-up."

Maybe. But not to Chase. "He was trying to help."

"Yeah, but everyone knows you don't take an addict's word." Her dark eyes fill with sympathy. "No offense."

A laugh falls from my lips. It's funny, her swerving around my feelings. My whole fucking life is swerving around feelings. Either, I'm walking on eggshells or I'm the eggshells someone's avoiding. "No. It was stupid. Naïve even. He's usually not like that."

"I know the type." She pushes herself up. Onto her back. Hugs her knees and pulls them toward her chest.

She's wearing these tiny black shorts.

They show off every inch of those long legs.

I want those legs wrapped around me.

Pressed against my cheeks.

Fighting my hands.

I want to make her come.

It's impossible to push the thought aside.

"You are the type," she says.

"Now. Then… I was… you met my brother."

"Wes?"

I nod. "You like him?"

She half-smiles. "Yeah. He showed up."

He did. And it means the world. "I was like him. Obsessed with being the life of the party."

"I remember."

It's easy to forget I've known her for ten years. That she knows exactly who I used to be. Well, the more presentable version of that guy. "I managed work okay. I was buzzed constantly, but I did my best work like that. I was looser. Freer. Less worried about fucking up someone's skin."

She turns her body toward mine.

"Since I was your age, I did whatever it took to stay buzzed. Or wasted. I was running from something. From everything, I guess. There was always this hole in my gut. I don't know if it was my parents' apathy or my inability to connect with my friends or something else entirely. I didn't feel it long enough to understand it."

"Now?"

"I'm still running from it."

"Is it working?"

"No."

Her laugh is soft. Giving. "Maybe you should try casual sex again."

"Em…"

"I don't mean me. I don't… I don't know…" Her smile is more sad than anything. "What happened with your brother?"

"I promised I'd get sober. Didn't. When he figured it out, he kicked me out."

"Oh."

"We lived together back then. He changed the locks. Sent all my stuff to our parents. I convinced them he was overreacting. Used the money I had to get my own place. Drank the rest."

She nods.

"When I ran out of cash, I tried to beg my parents for rent money, but they weren't hearing it. Not unless I went to rehab."

"And you did?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd make it through the thirty days—I thought it was thirty days." I can't help but chuckle. "I thought I'd dry out then go right back to my life."

"But?"

"It's awful, being out of it, needing a drink like you need oxygen. Just better than the alternative."

"You were self-medicating?"

"Yeah." I press my lips together. "I got put on meds. For depression. It's a common thing. I thought it was bullshit, but it helped."

"You're…"

"I don't know. Could be that all the alcohol fucked-up my brain. Could be that I was always drinking my way out of that. I… I'm still not good with feelings."

"I can tell."

My laugh breaks up the tension in my chest.

"So, um… the meds. Is that why you didn't fuck Carpe Diem?"

I arch a brow.

"They can have that side effect."

I chuckle. "No. The first prescription they gave me did—"

"You couldn't get it up?"

I can't help but laugh. "You don't sugar coat shit."

"Why should I?"

"I could. But it took more effort. And I didn't have the drive."

"Now?"

"This one is better."

"So you do want to?"

Fuck, how I want to. "Yeah."

"Oh. Good." Her cheeks flush. "I mean… I… you know I want to fuck you."

"I know." I bite my tongue so I won't add something about how I want to fuck her. This is it. My chance to draw the line. I try to figure out how to articulate it. To explain that I want to be her friend more than anything. That I can only be her friend.

She interrupts me. "Wes still came to your party."

"Yeah. And Griffin."

Her eyes brighten. "Really?"

I nod.

"They forgive you."

"Going that way."

"You…" She looks up at me. "I'm glad you're telling me this. Really, Hunter. I can see it's a big deal. And I know what it's like shouldering a secret."

I nod.

"But if this is supposed to be the reason why we can't—"

"I can't."

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Em. There are so many fucking reasons why I can't."

"Oh."

"I hate hurting you. I do." All right, this is it. I can explain where I stand. "I want to be your friend. I want that more than anything. But it's all I can offer."

"Oh."

"If that isn't enough, fine." I swallow hard. "Tell me to fuck off. I will. But I'd rather stick around."

"Okay. I… Uh… I'll think about it." She pulls her comforter to her chest. "I… uh… I should probably get to bed."

"Yeah."

She scoots closer.

Close enough to kiss me.

Her lips brush my cheek.

A goodbye kiss between friends.

It should satisfy.

Clarify where we stand.

But it doesn't.

It screams of possibilities.

Of everything we could have.

Of how badly I want to kiss her.