Page 24 of Quarantine Crush
My stomach tightens as an unexpected emotion washes over me.
“Uh. Maybe the only one you’ve drunkenly kissed,” I attempt to joke.
She rolls her eyes. “Hardly.”
Whatever emotion I’m feeling lodges itself in my gut. I don’t know how to respond to her words. Or the mental images they conjure. Like with the bra, I’m left wondering exactly how much of Emy’s life she’s failed to mention on our regular Facetime calls. Part of me wants to ask her, but it doesn’t matter. Emy’s not done.
“Look, I don’t need you rushing up and playing the tough guy. Even if he had been some skeevy jerk, I can handle myself. Just like I’ve been doing for the last six years.”
Damn.
Her words hit me right where it hurts. I’m struck by the fact that she’s right. It’s not like I’ve been here to protect her. I haven’t been home for more than quick visits since freshman year of college. Why do I think she suddenly needs me now? Oh. Right. Because my denial-coated brain still thinks of Emy as some thirteen-year-old gangly girl. Not the gorgeous, alluring, grown-ass woman before me.
How many weirdos has she fought off without me over the years?
Or, as the larger part of my brain wonders, how many guys has she said yes to?
8
Embry
Istumble from my room, not bothering to turn on the lights as I fumble my way to the kitchen and move through my morning routine on autopilot. Once I’ve started the coffee, I make my way to my couch, determined to watch some mindless entertainment while I wait for the liquid life that will return my brain to functioning.
My ass has barely grazed the cushion when a muffled grunt sounds from below me, and I shoot up, a scream tearing from my throat. I curse as I bang my shin into the coffee table, and my heart races.
“What the hell, Emy?” Knox’s gravelly voice startles me further, and I reach for the remote, ready to wield it as a weapon before the voice registers. “Did you sit on me?” he asks, sitting up and running his hands through his messy hair.
My mouth goes dry as his blanket falls away, pooling around his waist and leaving the hard planes of his chiseled chest and stomach on display. He rubs a hand over his face, not quite awake yet either.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” I say, shuffling awkwardly on my feet. “I kinda forgot you were here. I was moving through my morning routine half-asleep.”
“So you decided to take a power nap already?”
“No, I was attempting to sit on my couch, wise ass. I normally watch cheesy celebrity interviews while I wait to fully wake up.”
His eyes widen as he stares at me. His gaze running up my body and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I frown at him as he gulps before moving the blankets around on his lap.
“Um, Em,” he says, breaking off to clear his throat.
“What?” I ask, exasperated by the whole thing.
He stares at some point near my waist.
“You’re in your underwear.”
I glance down, feeling flames heat my cheeks as I take in what I slept in last night–a white crop top with two strategically placed sprinkled donuts on the chest along with a pair of pink panties.
“Agh,” I scream, tripping over Knox’s discarded shoes as I race from the room. His laughter follows me down the hall, and I thank God it was dark enough that he probably didn’t notice the state of my nipples.
When I finally emerge from my room, fully dressed–and wrapped in a blanket for good measure–Knox is in the kitchen. He grins when he sees the death grip I have on my blanket.
“Not taking any chances, huh?”
“Not until I’ve had enough coffee to make sure my brain is functioning properly.”
His deep laughter washes over me as he hands me a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” I mutter before taking a sip. “Sorry I woke you up by sitting on you with my big ass.”
