She eyes the pizza box on the floor and asks, "Are we doing the whole picnic thing?"
"Yeah, call it adventurous. Now sit that little ass of yours down." I pat the hardwood floor next to me.
She holds up a finger and says, "One second." Once again, she disappears into her room but quickly reappears with two throw pillows in hand. She tosses one at me, which I catch with ease. "Don't want your ass to get sore from not having a chair."
"Considerate." I lift to the side and sit down on the fluffy cushion, welcoming the barrier between the hardwood floors and said ass. Even if it is on a fluffy, girly cushion. God, are those tassels?
With pizza box in between us, Emma sits down, placing the pad of paper on her lap and readies her pen. "Okay, what are we doing? Playing hangman? I just want to warn you, I'm really good. I once used the phrase chocolate hostage."
"What the hell is chocolate hostage?"
A light pink blush creeps over her cheeks as she looks down at her paper and mindlessly doodles on the side. It's cute.
"It's nurse slang for someone who's having difficulty in passing stools."
For fuck's sake.
I shake my head, tying to rid the image that seems to be sticking in my mind. "That's fucking disgusting. Do you really say that?"
She shrugs. "It's fun having your own language. Makes some of the dark parts of the job not so heavy. It can lighten the mood at times."
"I get that." I swallow hard. "But please, keep your nurse slang to yourself. Chocolate hostage is going to burn my brain for a while."
"Are you picturing an old man?"
I nod. "Who's sitting on a bed pan." I shiver. "Fuck, okay, change of subject. Thanks for ruining my appetite by the way."
"Anytime." I glance over at her to catch the smile on her face. It's . . . it's beautiful. So genuine, so fucking happy. I haven't been on the receiving end of a smile like that in a while. "Do I have pizza on my face?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts. Quickly she wipes the back of her hand over her cheeks and lips. "Did I get it?" Fuck. I was staring? At Emma?
Clearing my throat, I nod. "Yup, just a little bit of sauce," I lie, trying to cover up my ass. Once again her cheeks stain in pink. I like seeing her blush, it's so goddamn sweet. "Okay, uh, let's make a list of rules for the house. I think it only makes sense given our first rule, you have to let loose once a night every week up until graduation."
Shifting on her pillow, she seems to be getting in position when she says, "Oh, this is a good idea." Like a goof, she cracks her knuckles, presses the tip of the pen to her tongue, and starts writing on the pad of paper.
Tucker and Emma's House Rules for Living Together.
"Long title," I comment as she writes out the first rule.
"I want to be thorough." She lets out a long breath once she writes down the first rule and then says, "Rule number two, all rent will be paid on the first of the month."
She goes to write when I snag the pad from her grasp, a small protest slips from her lips. "Hey, I was writing."
"No way are you paying rent. That won't be a rule and we aren't making administrative rules either. We don't need to say shit like don't walk around the house naked and clean up after yourself. We're smart enough to show common courtesy to one another."
She ignores my statement and says, "I'm paying rent."
"No, you're not," I counter.
"Yes, I am." The lift to her chin says she's being serious.
"Fine." When I succumb, she does a little fist pump in the air. "Rent is due at the first of the month. I accept cash only."
"Cash? Okay. I'll have to stop by the bank, but there is one near the hospital. I could make that work."
"Good. I won't negotiate on the amount. Sorry, a guy has to make a living too."
"Fair enough. I wouldn't dream of negotiating. You did kind of save me from either sleeping in a creepy hotel, or living with six other men in a three-bedroom apartment, or shacking it up on Homeless Lane, so the least I can do is respect your rent amount."
"Glad to hear it. Rent is one dollar a month. Have it on the counter in an envelope, Mr. Jameson marked on the front. When it comes to rent, I would like to keep things official."
"Tucker." There is protest in her voice. "I'm not going to give you just one dollar."
"I'm sorry, but didn't you just say you would respect your rent amount?"
Her face twists in frustration. "Ugh, fine. One dollar. But if I buy you a couch, I'm not going to be sorry about it."