And what's really weird is that on a daily basis I want to please her. I want to win her laughter. I want to cook with her, watch TV with her, relax with her. I want to engage her, keep her connected to me . . . to my house. My home. But the icing on top of this fucked-up friendship is that I can't stop touching her.
Even worse? Every fucking day, I think about what she would look like beneath me, naked, those steel-blue eyes staring at me, her innocence and yearning seeking me. Me. The last time I felt anything remotely close to that was when I was with Sadie, which scares the fuck out of me, but also intrigues me.
Hell, she's my roommate, not a potential girlfriend. She's my friend. Get a fucking grip on your life, Jameson.
"Hey, I have an idea," Emma says, sitting up, pulling me out of my reverie. She places her hand on my thigh and squeezes tightly. Shit, that feels good. "Let's get in our PJs, grab a deck of cards, and play War. Break in the new couch, what do you say?"
How can I say no when she's practically jumping up and down on the couch in excitement? I'm learning that it's almost impossible to say no to this girl.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Yay." She leans over and wraps me up into a hug before quickly pulling away and skipping off to her room while calling out, "We shall reconvene in five minutes. Get your butt ready, Jameson. Your ass is mine."
If only she knew what I was just thinking about regarding her ass.
***
"If I have to tell you to stop looking at your card before you flip it one more time this game is over, got it?"
"Who made you the War police?" Emma grumbles.
"It's not fair," I counter. "We should both see the cards for the first time together."
"Are you going to cry about it a little bit more? I don't think you've shed enough tears on your new couch."
Sassy little mouth.
"You know, I have a perfectly good book waiting on my nightstand for me, I don't mind tossing my cards in the air and leaving you to play by yourself."
Emma sits back. Her legs are crossed on the couch and she eyes me up and down. "Oh, I get what's happening here."
"What's happening?"
"Mm-hmm, act all innocent in your thin plaid pants and stupid tight-fitting shirt. I'm onto you, Jameson."
"Yeah? What are you onto?"
She waves her finger up and down my body. "You're causing a scene."
"I'm not causing a scene, I just want the card flipping to be fair."
"Oh, you're causing a scene. Classic Tucker Jameson game technique; cause a scene and storm off so no definitive winner can be named."
"What? Are you drunk?"
Leaning forward over the playing area, she points her finger at me and asks, "Are you drunk? Is that part of your scene technique? What's going to happen next, you shuck your pants, pee in the corner, and then start running around the house, your hands cupping your dong while you do sumo squats up the stairs?"
"I would never pee in the corner." I shake my head. "If I were to shuck my pants and pee somewhere, it would be in your dresser drawers, just to fuck with you."
"You wouldn't," she playfully seethes.
"Oh, I fucking would. I would pee so hard in your drawers."
"You can't make yourself pee hard, only girls can."
"Untrue." I'm trying very hard not to laugh from this ridiculous conversation. "I just push harder, therefore I pee harder."
"Yeah, more like dribble like a leaky faucet."
"I don't think it's wise for you to question my stream. You have some late nights in the library, you don't want to come home to wet sheets one night, now do you?"
"Are you trying to tell me you want to pee in my bed?" She sets her cards down now and crosses her arms over her purple-pajama-clad chest.
"It's not like it wouldn't already be used to being peed on."
Sitting up on her knees now, looking ready to pounce, she asks, "Are you, Tucker Jameson, calling me a bed wetter?"
I set my cards down as well, preparing myself for whatever wryly move she's going to make. "I might be; what are you going to do about it?"
Just when I think she's about to answer, she hops off the couch and runs up the stairs to my bedroom. What the fuck? Is she going to go pee on my bed to prove a point? And is she going to pee hard? Oh, Jesus.
Stumbling for a second, I gain my balance and charge up the stairs. I turn the corner to my bedroom when-
"Grrrrrrawwwwwllll!" Emma pops out from a closet with her claws out and a snarly look on her face. Not expecting her to go all psycho bobcat on me, I jump about a foot in the air and let out a less-than manly version of a yip, causing Emma to buckle over in laughter. "Oh my God, the look on your face." She tries to impersonate me, her face contorting, making an enormous amount of double chins, hands shaking in the air, and a girly scream coming out of her mouth. When she's done, she laughs some more.