Page 101 of Emmett
“The list of things that I regret in my life is miles long,” I admit truthfully, “but you aren’t on it.”
I dive into his mouth with my own, teasing his lips with the tip of my tongue until they part to let me in. I chuckle against the flavor of sweet mint on his tongue as I taste him; either a thoughtful gesture because he knows that I dislike the taste of marijuana smoke or a greedy gesture, knowing that I would come home to him and he would want me to take his mouth.
“No more hiding?” He asks, and I offer a shake of my head.
“No. In fact, you’ll be my date to a verypublicparty.”
“Public could be nice.”
A smile crosses my face as I brush his hair back, staring into his honey eyes. “Public will be very nice.”
I’ve loved before. I’ve even experienced what I thought at the time was a great love; but nothing that I’ve ever felt for anyone could compare to this. Emmett reached into a hole that I’d fallen so deeply into and pulled me back out of it; and I don’t think that he has any idea.
•
As I sit at the small kitchen island sipping on a cup of coffee, the front door opens. Emmett’s child-stepmother pushes it open further with her foot and walks into the house with containers stacked tall in her arms and two bags draped over her shoulder.
“Oh,” she says when she sees me. “Where’s Emmett?”
Jerking my head toward the long hallway, I tell her, “He’s still asleep. Can I help with those?”
“No.” Scanning me with her eyes, she adds, “I got it.”
I watch as she brings her haul to the island, setting everything on top of it before opening the refrigerator and loading the containers that she was carrying onto the shelves. Unloading the rest of her things in an uncomfortable silence, she rests a small book on the island counter and I pick it up, flipping through the pages.
“‘I am deserving of the love that I give and receive?’”
“They’re positive affirmations,” she tells me, as if I’m supposed to have any idea what the fuck she’s talking about. “To help him be nicer to himself.”
I flip through a few more pages before closing the book and setting it back down in front of her. The air is thick between us while she finishes her task, occasionally glancing to a bulky watch strapped around her wrist. After folding thereusable grocery bags and setting them neatly on the counter, she reaches for a stool and pulls it around the island to take a seat opposite me with a heavy sigh.
“Do you actually love him?”
I nod. “I do.”
“He’s mybestfriend,” she tells me, “so if you think he didn’t tell me the horrible things you said to him, you’re wrong.”
“I know he did,” I answer. “And I also know that you’ve likely already made up your mind to hate me.”
Her hand fidgets with the ring on her left hand, twisting it in place around her finger. Long, tense moments pass between us while I watch the wheels turn in her head. Emmett’s father didn’t intimidate me, but somehow Fowler’s mousy wife has the hair standing up on the back of my neck and a feeling of unease settling itself into my gut.
“Well he told me the good stuff, too. I think people can come back from bad things. But those people have to put in the effort to earn forgiveness.” After another moment, she stands and gathers her things, inclining her head toward the refrigerator. “The pasta and the enchiladas can go in at three fifty for half an hour. Don’t let him skip meals. Or sleep all day.”
Pulling my wrist up to check the time on my Rolex, I let out a chuckle. “He has twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” With a deep inhale, she offers me a firm nod and starts toward the front door. “I really hope you follow through. I saw how he was when he was with you before; I think maybe there’s someone in there who can be good for him. So be that person.”
After she leaves, I finish my coffee and wait out the twenty minutes that I’ve allotted for Emmett to sleep in beforeI move toward his room with a glass of water and one of his pills in my hand. I set the items on the nightstand next to him before draping my body over his, a hand trailing over his arm.
I wake him with my hand on his cock, waiting through his sleepy groans of protest for him to finally take his pill and get out of bed.
In the kitchen, I watch as he flips through the small book that his friend left behind, the corner of his mouth ticking up into what looks a lot like a smile if you look closely enough. He flies toward the refrigerator and opens the doors to reveal all of the foods that were dropped off, pulling out one of the larger trays to lift the foil from the top of it.Nowhe’s properly smiling.
“This is ‘I forgive you’ in Rowan-speak,” he chuckles. “When I finally apologized to her for being such an asshole about dating my dad, she showed up at my apartment with a big-ass thing of ziti and we ate the whole pan and watched movies all night. It’s friendship ziti.” He hefts the container higher as he puts it back into its place on the refrigerator shelf. “We’re eating that tonight.”
I smile as I watch him move through the kitchen, fixing himself a cup of coffee and munching on a slice of toast.
“So tell me about this party we’re going to.”