My Best Friend's Ex(24)

Christ.

She's here until she graduates. That's it. Not to fill the empty void of my house. Of my life. She's not . . . she's not someone who will ever fill the gaping hole of Sadie's spurning.

With a fresh perspective on my living situation, I step into my boxer briefs and sweatpants and flop on my bed, where I lean back on my pillows and place my plate of depressing dinner on my stomach and then one hand behind my head. I turn on the TV, which hangs on the opposite wall of my bed, and go straight to ESPN to watch some hockey. Racer's friend, Hayden Holmes, who I met a few months ago, is now playing for the pro-team, Philadelphia Brawlers. He just made it big, so following his career has been fun. I like rooting for the newbie, but knowing him makes it that much sweeter.

Relaxing into my bed, I take a bite out of my sandwich and listen to the announcers prep viewers for the game, running over stats for both teams and the key players to watch. Since Hayden is the center for the Brawlers, his face is plastered across the screen, and unlike all the other players, he's actually smiling in his picture, but that's Hayden. The guy's full of life. 

Reaching for my phone, I shoot a text to Racer.

Tucker: The announcers seem to be jacking off over your boy's stats.

Two more bites and my sandwich is done. Shit, I should have made another one. Normally I'd go downstairs, but with Logan down there, laughing like a fucking nimrod, I won't.

My phone beeps back with Racer's reply.

Racer: That text made me sound a little gay, but shit, with the salary Hayden is getting paid, I'd be gay for him.

I chuckle to myself and take a sip of my water.

Tucker: Why doesn't that surprise me?

Racer: Maybe because I'm sick of working fucking side jobs to pay for my damn house on top of the workload I'm already doing.

Fucking Julius. I've been trying to get him to give Racer a raise for a few months now but he won't budge, even though Racer is putting in extra work around the job site. Julius is a stingy bastard.

Tucker: I'm working on him.

Racer: I know. In the meantime, I'm working my way through Vestal Hills-Richville-feeling like Kurt Russell in Overboard, fixing rich bitches' closets. Good times.

Tucker: Still doing that on the weekends?

Racer: Yeah, if the strip clubs weren't one step away from handing out STDs when you walk in the door, I might consider taking my pants off for the ladies, but my dick is my best friend and I don't want him to get any kind of venereal shit up his pee hole. What kind of friend would that be?

Fucking Racer and his dick. The man worships it. Pretty sure he writes a thank-you note to it every night, two if he gets laid.

Tucker: Life isn't always about your dick, man.

Racer: Life is my dick.

Tucker: Did I mention I'm not friends with douche bags?

Racer: You're too far into this relationship to drop me now.

The game starts and Hayden immediately takes control of the puck, breezing through the opponents, passing to his teammates, and making the game seem so easy, when in fact I know it's not. Racer and I shoot the shit the entire time, talking about the game, about work, and about the bitchy women he's been working for on the weekends. It's a normal night for me, a night I'm settling into after my earlier unrealistic expectations.

My eyes start to drift shut as I hear the distinct sound of someone creeping up the stairs. Lazily, I look over to see Emma reach the top step and knock on the wall. Since there's no door to my bedroom, it's just a big open space.

"Come in."

Wearing a matching blue pajama set with little pink hearts scattered over the fabric, hair tied up on the top of her head, and her face devoid of makeup, Emma approaches, hands twisting together in front of her.

When she spots me, her eyes temporarily go wide as they scan my naked chest. Normally I wouldn't care about a girl seeing me without my shirt on, but I don't want to make Emma feel uncomfortable. Although, from the way she's looking at me, the heat passing over her eyes, I would say she's less than uncomfortable.

I sit up on the edge of my bed, facing her, hands braced on the mattress beneath me and say, "Hey Emma, everything okay?"

She takes another step forward and nods. "Yeah, I, um, I wanted to say sorry about earlier."

My brow pinches together in question. "Sorry about what?"

With her fingers, she starts to twist the bottom of her pajama shirt. It's kind of cute how nervous she is. I've never seen this side of Emma. She's always been very confident, never scared. Do I scare her? I sure as hell hope not.



       
         
       
        

"I should have asked if it was okay if Logan came over. It was inconsiderate of me. And then I got pizza without asking you if you wanted any. That was real shitty too. So basically, I'm a terrible roommate and I suck, and if you want to try to twist my nipple off as punishment, please do so. I accept the punishment."