I laugh and shake my head. "Water won't do, Emma. Rule number one."
"Man, you're a stickler with these rules."
"You bet your pretty little ass I am." Her face immediately blushes sending a surge of pride to my chest. Odd, never thought causing Emma to so innocently blush would affect me, but I guess I was wrong. "Now what will it be? Beer or should I make you an Old Fashioned?"
Turning away from the meat, she considers her options. "Hmm, let's go with the Old Fashioned."
"That's my girl. Two Old Fashioneds coming up." Knowing I should be a good person even though I don't want to, I ask, "Do you think Logan will want one as well?"
"Want what?" His voice trails into the kitchen, pulling my gaze to the doorway. He's wearing jeans, a Binghamton University T-shirt, and for some unknown reason, just his presence in this moment with Emma annoys me.
Pushing my feelings aside, I say, "I'm making Emma an Old Fashioned. Want one? Or a beer?"
"Ah, no drinking for me. Just water. We still have some studying to do, right, sweetheart?"
Sweetheart.
Sounds like fucking rusty gears grinding coming from his mouth.
Answering for Emma, even though I know she should and can talk for herself, I say, "Emma is done studying for the night. She promised me one night a week free of studying, just relaxing, and that's tonight."
The look on Logan's face doesn't read happy or even pleased. He glances at Emma who is happily smiling and nodding.
"It's rule number one." She shrugs as if it's common sense that Logan should know this and starts pushing the beef around in the pan again.
"Uh, okay. I guess I'll take a beer then."
I reach into the fridge and gently toss him a bottle of mine, knowing Racer is not keen on sharing with strangers. "Bottle opener is in the dining room with my buds. Dinner will be ready soon." And with that, I dismiss him.
And what's really weird? He leaves us.
Rule number three, Emma and I are supposed to cook a meal together once a week. This isn't a threesome.
I finish making our drinks and give Emma hers. She takes a sip and quietly moans to herself as the liquid slips down her throat. Shit, she sounds so sweet.
"So good and a little strong. What are you trying to do, Tucker? Turn this into a drunken orgy?"
"Fuck, no. Way too much dick out there for that."
She takes another sip from her glass and nods her head. "You're right, it would be a bit of a sausage fest. Although, if I use every part of my body, I could make it work. Three holes and two hands. Hell, I could add one more guy to the mix."
I spit out my drink, literally spit it out spraying the counter and the floor in the process. Whiskey drips from my chin as I look at my innocent, sweet friend. "What the ever-living fuck, Emma?"
Her laugh echoes through the kitchen. The sound is so pure to my ears, the crinkle in her eyes so beautiful, and the stretch of her smile, amusing.
"Oh my God, the look on your face." She wipes joyful tears from under her eyes. "That was fantastic."
Uh, so not fucking fantastic.
"Rule number seven, you're not allowed to joke about orgies and all the holes you have." I run my hand over my face with a towel. "Fuck."
Still laughing, she says, "It seems like these rules are starting to become one-sided."
I toss the towel at her, which she expertly catches. "My house, my rules, babe. Don't forget, I'm still your landlord."
"More like slumlord."
I raise a questioning eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"
Giggling to herself, she stirs the beef some more and then says, "I think we're ready for the sauce."
"I think your rent just went from one dollar to two after that slumlord comment."
I hand her the opened jars of spaghetti sauce so she can pour them in the pan. "Pretty sure I can handle the increase, which is an absurd one-hundred percent upcharge in rent by the way."
"Never said I was fair."
I walk over to her, wrap my arm around her shoulders from behind, and kiss the top of her head. As she leans into my side, something about it feels so right. Easy. It feels as though we have been this affectionate for years. Weird.
"Hurry up with the sauce. I'm going to put in the garlic bread. I'm starving."
Chapter Eleven
EMMA
I feel weird.
Not the kind of weird where I ate something wrong and not the kind of weird where I drank too much.
No, I feel a different kind of weird. A nervous, fluttery kind of weird. The kind of weird you get when an attractive man keeps smiling at you, making you laugh, and stealing touches when he can. The kind of weird you get when your friend is starting to make you feel things you know you shouldn't feel.