My Best Friend's Ex(42)

"Emma, you okay?" He stands behind me, his stature taking up the small space. Every last nerve ending in my body is aware of his presence.

I turn toward him so I'm no longer looking in the mirror and say, "I'm sorry."

His lip quirks to the side in confusion. "Sorry for what? The makeup?"

"No." I shake my head and press my hands against his chest lovingly, hoping I can convey how sorry I am. "I'm sorry for not being there for you, for choosing sides."

Understanding crosses his features. "It's no big deal."



       
         
       
        

"It is to me." I reach up, and grip his face so he has no other option but to look at me. "I shouldn't have chosen sides-"

Sternly he says, "Rule number six, Emma."

"I know." I let go of him and turn around, my hands braced on the counter, my mind going a mile a minute. Can't he just let me get this off my chest. "But-"

"Rule number six," he grits out, frustrating me more than anything.

Irritated now, I fling the bathroom door open and mutter under my breath about his stupid rules. I make my way into my room and like the "adult" that I am, I slam the door shut.

"Impossible man," I say under my breath. "Can't even let me freaking apologize." I open my dresser drawer and start changing into my pajamas. My pants are the first to go, replaced by a white pair of flannel pants decorated in owls. Removing my shirt, I quickly toss my bra in the hamper and put on one of the camisoles I like to wear under my matching pajama shirts. Digging back in my drawers, I search for the matching top when my door opens.

Startled, I stand tall. Tucker walks in, his hand in his hair. He goes to open his mouth when his eyes travel down my body, stopping a few seconds longer at my chest. His gaze sharpens on me, on my outfit, and the way my camisole rides high and tight on my stomach, showing a few inches of skin. When his eyes meet mine, they're not full of anger, or irritation, or frustration.

No, they're full of heat.

Everything in me freezes and when he takes a step forward, my body ignites, and sweat breaks out all around me. What is he doing?

Nervous and unsure what to do, I pull the first thing I feel out of my drawer and try to cover my hardened nipples that are poking through my thin camisole. His eyes widen for a second before a grin spreads across his face. I look down to see I'm holding my purple lace bra over my chest.

"Goodness." I shake the bra to the side and stand tall. "You're supposed to knock before barging in here."

"Was that on the rule list?" His voice is sultry as he takes another step forward. Yes, sultry.

What the hell is going on here?

One second he's pissed that I'm breaking his precious rule number six and the next he's closing in on me like a lion to its prey.

"No." I take a step back. "It falls under being a decent adult. Remember that conversation we had? Oh, and do you know what else falls under being a decent adult?" I cross my arms over my chest. Of course, that draws Tucker's attention back to that area. Good grief, his eyes feel like laser beams heating me up from my toes to my ponytail.

Another step, so now he's only a foot away. "What else falls under being a decent adult?" 

Not letting his eyes, smirk, or handsome personal-bubble-breaking self affect me, I poke him in the chest, hard. "Allowing someone to apologize even if you don't want to hear it. I get it, no talking about Sadie, noted. But at least let me apologize for being a shitty friend when you needed someone by your side the most."

"Emma-"

"No. You listen here, mister." I try to stand taller but I'm no match for his towering height. "I'm saying I'm sorry and you will accept that apology or I'll . . ."

Errr . . .

What will I do? Kick him in the crotch? Give him a noogie? Purple Nurple to the rescue?

Although they're all viable options I'm not afraid to do, I don't think they'll get the point across.

Leaving no space between us now, he presses his hands on my hips and with his lowered voice, he asks, "Or you'll what?" His breath mixes with mine, the smell of my makeup wipes fills the space between us, and the firm grip he has on my hips is weakening me second by second.

Why is he so touchy? And why the hell do I like it so much?

AND why do I want him to touch me in other places?

Shit, this is your friend, your best friend's ex. Focus!

"Or I'll . . ." I look around and finally say, "Move out. Yeah, I'll move out, leaving you without a tenant. Say goodbye to two dollars a month." Crap, I wish I paid him normal rent right about now.