Emery

I normally dread going to work at the hardware store. It's my least favorite job, but tonight, I was grateful to have to go in. Everett saw me in my fucking underwear. I was mortified. I still am!

My body is nothing like the girls he's slept with. I've met a few of them, and every single one was rail thin with slender cheekbones and hip dips. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I am the opposite of that. I wouldn't say I'm insecure, but when I'm not what he's used to, I can't help but feel less than, and I hate feeling that way.

It's ten at night when I step outside the store, locking up behind me. Ella, a teenager who helps me stock, waves goodbye and trails for her car in the parking lot. Another car is idling by the curb—a very expensive car—and when Everett rolls down the window, I roll my eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Get in the car," he says gruffly.

"I'm not doing anything. Why the fuck are you picking me up, Everett?"

"Because you're not walking to my house in the dark in the middle of downtown. Now get in the car."

If he thinks I'll be doing anything with that tone of voice, he can think again. Crossing my arms over my chest, I head down the sidewalk, smiling to myself when he trails the car alongside me.

"You're really going to be immature about this?" He asks. "You could be abducted, mugged, fondled—"

I snort. "Fondled? Are we in the eighteenth century? Christ, Everett, I'm going to be fine. I used to take the train across town at night. This walk is nothing, and it's in a good section of town."

I swear there's a vein coming out in his right temple. "Emery, I swear to god, if you don't get in this fucking car right now, I'll—"

"What?" I arch a brow, waiting to see what the worst possible thing it is he could do. As soon as I ask it, though, I wish I hadn't. My feet stop walking on the pavement, no matter how much my brain is screaming at me to keep going from the expression on his face. I can't decide whether he wants to strangle me or take me across his knee. Good lord.

The moment between us dissipates when Everett shakes his head, seeming to clear his thoughts. "I promised Liam I'd—"

"So this is all for Liam? Liam asked you to do this?" My fists clench at my sides, the anger inside of me bubbling, threatening to erupt like a damn volcano. Liam and I have been broken up for three years, yet he still feels the incessant need to check in on me. A part of me wishes that he'll stop. I fell out of love with him a long time ago. "I don't need his protecting! And I don't need you to be his fucking puppet while he's gone. Go the fuck home, Everett. I'm walking. That's final." I've been fine on my own for years. I don't need him or Liam to watch over me. I've always been able to protect and provide for myself. I take pride in that. Having Everett come pick me up like I'm incapable of walking home alone is insulting.

"Fine," Everett says. "You made me pull out the big guns." Lifting a bag from my favorite Mexican fast-food restaurant, I eye it heavily, my stomach rumbling. I haven't eaten since lunch today, and since I haven't had money to buy food in a long time, it's been forever since I've had a grubby chubby taco meal. "Choose not to get in the car, and I'll throw it in the trash as soon as I get home."

I gasp. "That's disgraceful."

"Get in the car then."

Letting out multiple cuss words, I stomp over to his fancy SUV and rip the door open. "You are so lucky you remembered my favorite fast-food order," I seethe, slamming the door shut behind me. Snatching the bag out of his hand, I inhale the smell of taco goodness, my anger fading away everso-slightly. "I'm still mad."

"I figured," he says as he turns out of the parking lot, "but you're not walking home alone at night anymore. Not if I have anything to do with it."

"So, what? You're going to pick me up every time I work? Newsflash: that'll be every night, and I know you have Call of Duty tournaments to play." It's Everett's one true passion. Video games. And he's really good at them. So good that he gets sponsored and paid just to play in these stupid tournaments. His dream is to make his own video game one day, thus the arts and design degree.

"No, but I'm going to let you borrow one of my cars while you stay with me," he says as if it isn't a big deal. As if he didn't just say one of his cars.

"And I suppose if I try and fight you on this, you'll take away my grubby chubby taco?"

He nods and fights a smile, knowing the plan he concocted has succeeded. The man is smiling, and it's contagious as hell. I can't even be mad about the car loan for the time being. I'm too busy smiling at his smile. I'm pretty sure this is the first time we've ever smiled together with just the two of us.

"I hate that you know my weakness," I mutter, "but fine. Deal. I won't thank you for the car, though, because I don't need it. The only reason I'm doing this is to appease Liam. You can tell him I agreed."

Everett's lips form into a thin line, and the friendliness between us moments ago vanishes. He's back to being the grumpy, mean bear. It's not until now that I realize he's wearing his gym clothes. Those gray fucking sweatpants and a t-shirt that has sweat stains on it. Lord have mercy.

My eyes linger on his chest, and he catches me staring, raising an eyebrow towards me. Fuck. I don't know what it is about riding around in a car with a boy at night, but there's something so...hot about it. Everett's face has a red glow from the stoplight casting over his skin, and all the downtown lights reflect from the window beside him. That one firm, muscular hand is gripping the steering wheel, his other resting on the gear shift, and automatically, my eyes drift down to his lap and those strong, powerful thighs of his.

I'm not sure when I started having these feelings for Everett. It wasn't like there was a day that I just knew, but I've always thought he was attractive. I'd have to be blind not to see it. During our senior year, I started having thoughts that I shouldn't. Like when we'd all go out to the movies, and he'd bring his date, I'd hate it when they'd make out. Things with Liam didn't feel like they used to, and the reason we ended things wasn't all because of the distance of him going away for college, but more so because I knew that if I were truly in love with him, Everett wouldn't have been constantly on my mind in the first place.

The urge to tell Everett to pull over is strong, but I know he'd probably laugh in my face. He's not attracted to me. If he were, he wouldn't be as hateful as he is. If I told him I wanted to push his chair back, sink between his legs and suck his cock until he came down my throat, he'd tell me to go fuck myself. And why does that turn me on? Sucking his cock while he curses my name the entire time, telling me he hates me, that he hates how good it feels to hit the back of my throat...

"Planning on doing something about those thoughts?" Everett's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. He eyes his lap, where I was just staring, then back to me.

"W-What? I don't know what you're talking about." Fuck. My cheeks are on fire.

Toying with that damn eyebrow piercing of his, he scowls and stares at the road ahead as if he didn't just say that.

***

An hour later, I showered and changed into a pair of pajamas, joining Everett downstairs to enjoy my chubby tacos. As usual, he's playing Call of Duty, but I'm content eating my tacos and watching him play. I'm determined to try and forget that moment between us in the car, and I'm grateful he's seemed to forget about it as well.

Between games, Everett's eyes slide to mine, to the spot between us on the couch, and I'm so comfortable and full that I don't even care when I stretch my body out, my feet accidentally hitting his lap. "Sorry." I yawn, covering my mouth, but during that brief moment, a weight falls over my ankles, and when my eyes open back up from the yawn, Everett's hands with the controller are over my feet, securing them to his lap.

We just had a cussing match less than two hours ago in the middle of the parking lot of my job, and now we're here, content and...I don't even know what this is. I wouldn't call it cuddling, but my heart is in my throat from the contact, my pulse racing a mile a minute. I don't dare move my feet. Not when it feels this good to have part of my body lay on him.

Neither of us addresses it. We know this is crossing a boundary we've both created, but we don't choose to stop it. I'm not sure what this means or if it means what I think it means, but I won't allow myself to overthink it.

What is intimate to me might just be a casual position for him. Maybe plenty of his friends have had their polka-dot fuzzy socks on his lap.

I'm too afraid to ask and find out.