He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 18 - I Want to Hold Your Hand

- Clay -

We ended up at the Chinese restaurant down the street. I looked over the menu, even though I always ate one of three things when I got Chinese food. "Do you ever want to try something new, but you're not sure where to start?"

I was taken aback by how relevant my statement was to my life recently. There was a huge new thing I wanted to try, but I did not know how to go about initiating it. Not that I even could, since it heavily involved Emmett, who had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in going down that road with me.

"How about you get your favorites, and I'll get mine, then we can share?" Emmett offered.

I smiled at him. "Sounds perfect."

We each picked out three dishes we loved, along with a few items we both enjoyed, for a smorgasbord that left us both stuffed and slightly nauseous.

In the car I stretched out my belly, which was already swollen from eating so much. I laid my hands on it and looked over at Emmett, who had closed his eyes. "Emmett."

Emmett rolled his head across the headrest to face me, opening his eyes. He laughed. "Have you got something to tell me, Clay?"

"Yes. I do." I feigned a sniffle and wiped away an imaginary tear from beneath my eye. "My child needs a father, Emmett. I can't be a single parent."

Emmett reached over to rub my stomach. "We'll get through this together." He stared into my eyes, trying for a serious expression, but his lips kept quivering, like he wanted to smile.

My smile fell away as I wondered what Emmett would do if I just leaned forward and kissed him right now.

I shook off that thought and faced forward, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. "Um, so what do you want to do now?"

Emmett settled back into his seat. "Have my stomach pumped, for starters. I ate way too many potstickers."

"Dude, I had like seven. And three egg rolls."

"I ate almost all the sesame chicken by myself."

"Well, I ate most of the pepper steak."

"You want to just go home and crash?" Emmett asked.

I was deeply disappointed, assuming he meant we should go to our own homes separately.

Then he said, "We could watch TV or a movie."

I forced my body to stay still, withholding my excitement. "Sounds perfect."

As I drove back to our neighborhood, I asked, "Can we go to your house? My parents are home, and they're so weird."

"Your parents are awesome."

"That's because you're not their son. They'd be all nosy. And my mom will come in every ten minutes to make sure we don't want snacks or drinks."

"That sounds amazing."

"It's annoying as hell."

"Fine." Emmett placed a hand on my forearm, giving me a thrill. I swear the hairs on my arm stood on end at his touch. "For the sake of your sanity and our unborn child, we can go to my house. My mom will be so stoked to hear the news."

I laughed. "Okay. We're done with that joke now."

"And I was so looking forward to being a teen dad."

I rolled my eyes. I picked up my phone and removed the aux cable, handing it over to Emmett. "Here. Play me some of your music."

I was not at all surprised when "Cruel Summer" by Taylor Swift started playing. But I loved that song, so I turned it up, feeling the rattle of the bass in my bones. I rolled down the windows, cranking the volume. The wind whipped through our hair as we both belted out the lyrics at the top of our lungs.