"Buy me a couch and get your ass spanked," I warn.
There's that fucking blush again. Shit, this may be too much fun.
"I thought there was an unspoken no-sex rule in the common courtesy to one another bundle."
I lean back against the wall and peer over at her. "Funny that your mind went straight to sex when I mentioned spanking. I was just speaking of pure discipline, but now you've intrigued me. Rule number two-"
"We're not having sex," she quickly says before I can even put the pen to paper.
A light chuckle floats out of me. "Having sex wasn't going to be a rule. Settle down, Emma. Rule number two is one night a week, we talk sex."
"What?" Her brow pinches together. "Why would we do that?"
"It's healthy. Plus, you're a nurse, you have to have some good stories about people coming to the hospital for some sex act gone wrong."
That smile of hers returns. "Sex gone wrong really picked up after Fifty Shades of Grey came out. Those first two weeks after the movie were quite enthralling."
"Fuck, I bet." I laugh. "Since I've made two rules, it's your turn to make one. But I have the option to veto if it's lame."
She scoffs. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Jeeze."
"Listen, you were going to write down rent as being a rule. Can you blame me for claiming a veto card?"
"Fair enough." She brings her knees to her chest and leans on them as she looks out to the empty living room. "One night a week, we cook dinner together. This way we are forced to eat healthily at least once a week and it will force me to step away from my books for a second. Also, can we make a stipulation that rules can be bundled together?"
"Yes to both." I jot down her rules and put an asterisk at the top of the paper noting rules can be bundled together.
"Question, do we have to enforce the sock rule? You know, if you have a lady friend over, you leave a sock on the door so I don't disturb you?"
"No." I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the paper in front of me. "You don't have to worry about that. Not really a ladies' man." But what about Emma . . . I glance at her and ask, "Are you going to be putting socks on the doorknob?"
Looking flustered from my bold question, she says, "Oh, gosh no. It's been so long for me. You don't have to worry about Mr. Donkey Dick coming in here and drilling me while you're trying to catch a little shut-eye. Nope, nope, nope, the sex doesn't happen very often for me. Nope. No . . . no sex here."
"Okay." I chuckle and try to focus on the rules, but what the fuck? It's been so long for me. Sex doesn't happen very often for me. Are the guys at her college fucking blind?
Exactly how long? Fuck, I want to know, but it's not my business, so I bite my tongue and take a few deep breaths, warning myself from getting too personal with Emma. She's clearly flustered, and I don't want to embarrass her more by diving deep into her lack of sex. Not that I have much room to speak.
"Well, this is awkward," Emma states, twisting her hands on her lap.
"Nah, it's cool." I clear my throat and say, "We already talked about this, but rule number four is don't go in the other spare room."
"That's a given, you don't have to write it down." She places her hand on my arm. "Please trust me, I won't go in there."
I let out a long breath. "Yeah, okay." Wanting to lighten the mood, I say, "Rule number four, we might not have to worry about it given our recent confession of apparently both being celibate motherfuckers, but this is important. If at any point in time the butter leaves the kitchen, for any uh, reason," I wiggle my eyebrows at her, "the butter is not to be returned to the kitchen."
Her pause in reaction throws me for a second before she throws her head back and laughs. "I don't even want to know how you've been scarred in the past by misplaced butter."
"Yeah, you really don't." I put a period at the end of the rule and then say, "One more rule, five seems like a respectable number. Your turn, Em."
"Hmm, I want to make it a good one, but I'm not going to lie, it's going to be hard to follow up the butter rule."
"Give it your best shot," I say with humor in my voice.
"We're good on stuff like dishes and toilet paper reloading and putting the seat down?"
"Yeah, common-sense shit doesn't count."
"And returned butter isn't common sense."
I lean forward and whisper, "You would be fucking surprised."