My Best Friend's Ex(60)

"She's not going to disown you. She's in her own little world right now." And isn't that the fucking truth. The last time I talked to her was when I brought her to the house, after she was already committed in her heart to someone else. Since that day, I haven't spoken to her. Hell, I hadn't spoken to anyone from my hometown until Emma came along.

Wanting to pull away from the topic of Sadie, I say, "There's no need to tell her anything because we don't know what the hell we're doing. Yet." There's no need to fuel a possible fire of drama over something we can't even label ourselves.

"I guess so." Emma starts to drag her fingers over my chest again. "Can I ask you something though?"

"Sure."

"What is going on here? What's happening between us? I mean, does the fact that we kissed change anything between us?"

I take a moment to think about her question. She wants to know what's next for us. Are we going to let this be awkward or give in to our yearning?

Knowing the answer right away, I say, "We're still roommates, Emma, there is no changing that and I want our friendship." I need our friendship.

Her fingers stop immediately as she nods. "Okay, yeah. I don't want to lose our friendship."

I kiss the top of her head and add, "That doesn't mean we aren't going to fuck like bunnies all over this house. Just when the time's right, because at some point, my head is going to be between your thighs and I'm going to love every fucking second of it."

Her breath hitches in her chest as her body relaxes into mine.

When the time is right.

I just need to get my fucking head straight first. For Emma. For me. For us.





Chapter Fifteen


EMMA

"Oh God. Oh, fuck me," I moan as I twist in bed. "Ahhhh." I sit up and grip my neck, pain coursing through it. The morning sun streams through my window, blinding me enough to let me know it's later than my usual wake-up time. Slight panic picks up in the pit of my stomach until I realize it's the weekend. I don't have classes or scheduled clinical.

As my anxiety wanes, the pain in my neck becomes noticeable again. Muttering to myself, I swing my legs to the side of the bed. "Stupid muscular man shoulder, putting a kink in my neck." I rub the side, trying to ease the tightening of my muscles where I must have rested the entire night on Tucker.

God, that man. We slept together again. Platonically.

I don't even know what to do with him. He's my friend and still caught up on Sadie. He's also the man I can't stop thinking about, the man that makes one move toward me, and my entire body lights up. And let's not forget the man who told me, straight to my face, that there will be fucking between us. Fucking. Tucker Jameson.

I mean . . . how do I even respond to that? What do I say? "Oh sure, yes, please tell me when the fucking will commence." Do I sit back and wait, to see if it will ever happen? Or do I just decide one night to strip down to nothing, point at my crotch, and say, "Open for business." Maybe I put an additional sign that says, "Tucker welcome here."

I'm so confused. I feel like last night was nice, but the mixed signals confuse me. He wants me, but not yet, but we will be having sex, but he's waiting, but then he sticks his tongue down my throat in the kitchen. I've never met a more indecisive man. It makes me question whether or not he is capable of deciding what to do with us.




       
         
       
        
Sighing, I stick my feet in my slippers, brush my hair out of my face-another winning morning do-and trudge out to the kitchen where I stop dead in my tracks.

Standing in front of the stove, freshly showered, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a spatula in hand, is the man who gave me a kink in my neck. Right now, I could really care less about the pain.

With his back toward me, I observe him in his chef element. One of his hands is tucked behind him in the waistband of his briefs, the extensive amount of muscles rippling through him flex and contract with every shift of his feet, and little droplets of water run the length of his back from his still wet hair. I'm enamored . . . once again.

Grown-up Tucker is one fine specimen.

I take a step closer, which causes the floor to creak, and draw Tucker's attention away from the stovetop. When he turns in my direction, a slow, sexy, heart-stopping smirk catches my attention, causing every nerve ending in my body to be on hyper-alert, jumping, jiving, and dancing across my skin with excitement.

"Morning, babe." His voice is gruff, low, still waking up from a good night's sleep. He pats the counter next to the stovetop and motions with his head for me to sit down. Still taking in the sight in front of me, I follow his non-verbal request. Of course, when I go to lift myself on the counter, Tucker does it for me, picking me up at the waist and gently setting me down, all the while, I stare at the way his chest ripples with every movement. His thumb and index finger gently pinch my chin in a loving way as he says, "Didn't think you were going to wake up."