Page 55 of Emmett
I chuckle. He’s such an asshole. Part of me really enjoys this little game between us, though.
Throwing my feet over the edge of the couch, I stand and make my way toward the bathroom to take a shower. I know you get just as clean in any shower, but it feels like a deeper clean finally bathing in your own space; just like I’m sure I’ll sleep better tonight because I’ll be in my own bed for the first time in…god, it’s been a long time.
After the best shower I’ve had in the past few months – okay, maybe there wereone or twothat were better – I throw on a pair of baggy sweats and grab my pot setup, making my way out into the living room. I plan to get wonderfully high and watch some stupid cartoons, because it’s my house and I don’t have to worry about bothering anybody else or being stoned in front of any small children.
I’m stopped short by the sight of a bright-ass orange Rolls Royce sitting on my driveway. “You idiot,” I laugh to myself. I could open the door and let him know that I’m excited he’s here; but I don’t. You hang up on me, you can wait outside while I watchRen & Stimpyfrom the pilot episode.
TWENTY-THREE
Nash
I’ve been out here, leaning against my car for fifteen minutes. I know that he saw me, his blinds are wide-fucking-open and he looked right at me while he cracked the window. I wait five more minutes, until a third cloud of thick smoke is pulled outside, before I approach the window, stepping past the lush green shrubbery sitting beneath it.
“You’re being a brat,” I scold him. “Open the door.”
“Yeah, see, unfortunately the line went dead before you told me you were coming over,” he muses, pursing his lips. “So I wasn’t expecting company. Sorry.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with a laugh and brace a hand against the wall next to me. “Quit pouting. I’ll start calling youpettyboy if you don’t get your ass up off of that couch and let me in,” I tell him, and I watch through the window as he bites his lip to stifle his laughter. I can’t help myself from being so incredibly fucking charmed by him.
He holds out for another thirty seconds before finally climbing off of the couch and pulling the front door open, poking his head outside. “You hung up on me, dick,” he glowers – at least, he tries to.
“And aren’t you just so glad that I did, because it gave you an excuse to put on this little display?” I flick at the bracelet wrapped around his wrist. “I knew the white wouldsuit you. Are you still pouting, or are you going to invite me inside and give me the tour?”
Finally letting me past the threshold, he walks me around to show me his home. It’s a comfortable space, thoughtfully decorated with plants of varying shape and size, a few well-placed rugs, and a few art pieces which must have been hung in the hallway before, because they now sit stacked in front of each other on the floor instead of hanging on the freshly-painted walls. A candle sits on his coffee table, filling the house with the smell of leather and bergamot. A bluetooth speaker is placed in every room, and the roses that I sent him sit in the center of the kitchen island; I have to bite back a grin when I catch sight of them.
Despite how well he’s done with the space, he talks about it as if he has something to be embarrassed by – or as if he expects me to poke fun at it, picking at the skin of his thumb and making remarks like ‘it’s not much,’ and ‘I know it’s kind of small.’ Comments that completely discredit the accomplishment.
My hands find his hips, snaking around to trail over the hardened muscles of his stomach, and I kiss the crook of his neck to make him laugh. I inhale the smell of him, musk and cedar blended with the bitter scent of the smoke clinging to his skin, and my heart hammers.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
With my arms around him, I push him down the hall toward his bedroom, using my foot to push the door open as we step inside. I keep moving until we near the bed, draped with a grey and brown tartan duvet, then climb onto it and take a look around the room.
“Tell me something,” I say. “Something that no one else knows about you.”
Dropping his elbow onto the bed, he rests his chin on his palm and tells me, “He’s in my bed right now.”
“Other than me.”
“I don’t really have anything,” he thinks, the wheels visibly turning in his mind. “I mean, I snuck out once. Dad was making enough money not to notice that I used his card to buy a too-expensive ticket to a concert I was definitelynotallowed to go to. I climbed out the window and had the time of my life, stayed out all night and made it back before school the next day so I wouldn’t miss art history club.”
I fiddle with the drawstring of his sweatpants, laughing at the image of him actually defying his father; stealing from him and sneaking out. “So this ‘breaking the rules’ thing isn’t new for you.”
“I was better at being sneaky about it back then,” he answers.
This is so easy; too fucking easy to fall into. I’ve gotten so used to using fear as a motivator, centering every conversation and interaction around using it to control others, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to enjoy someone’s presence and have a real conversation with them. I’ve worn my masks for so long that taking them off has become such a foreign concept to me that it almost makes me uncomfortable.
“I find your newfound boldness refreshing,” I tell him. “Too many people are afraid to do whatever they want. They’re all too afraid of getting into trouble.”
“Like those short dudes who follow you around.”
I throw my head back, cackling. “Yes, like them,” I tell him. “They’re afraid of me, so they’re happy to do whatever I tell them to.”
“Why are people so afraid of you?”
A valid question; one that I should have expected, I suppose. “Because I have a past,” I answer. “Like we all do. Mine just had me dressed in orange.”
I expect him to flinch or falter, but he just presses his lips together with a thoughtful nod. I’m not sure if that means he absolutely thinks that I’m capable of whatever he may think that I did, or if he assumes that it must not have been too terrible for me to be sitting here in front of him instead of locked in a cage or strapped to an electric chair.