My Best Friend's Ex (Edited)

Part 9 (edited)

Smiling brightly, I grab his hand and allow him to help me to my feet. He starts to head to the kitchen when I stop him and point to a box by the door. "That's kitchen stuff, you interested?"

He scans the box and then smirks at me. "I don't know. Do you have a bottle opener in there?"

"One in the shape of a lobster."

Chuckling, he picks up the box and says, "This I have to see."

He leads us to the kitchen where there is a pizza box on the counter and a six-pack of Angry Orchard. I eye the alcoholic beverage and give him a questioning look.

"Seemed like a drink you would enjoy and I would tolerate." He says laughing.

When he sets the kitchen box down, I dig through it quickly, find my lobster bottle opener, and snag two bottles from the six-pack. I pop them open and hand him one. "For the record, I'm a whiskey girl if you want to drink with me."

"Whiskey, huh?" A lazy smile spreads across his face. "Damn, Emma, I never would have guessed. You've always been the girl drinking lemonade with a touch of vodka at parties."

"I've ventured out in college. It's hard to drink heavy alcohol when I have to deal with you, Sam, Nate and Alex blowing crap up and severing limbs."

"I don't remember limbs being severed, but you didn't always have to be the one to take care of all the drunk idiots. You could have had fun too, Emma."

"I did." I flip open the lid of the pizza and grab a slice. Grease drips off it, just like every other New York-style pizza as I fold it length-wise and bring it to my mouth. "I've just had a little bit more fun in college."

Before he grabs a piece of pizza, he steps forward, encroaching on my space and places his hands on my hips, his fingers igniting a wave of heat in my body.

What the?

Before I can ask what he's doing and get too distracted by the delicious smell of his cologne, he lifts me up on the counter and then steps toward the pizza box to grab a slice for himself. He sits on the counter across from me and says, "Now you're living under my roof, I demand that you have fun these last few months of college. No more of this taking care of people shit. We are all grown-ups, if we decide to sit in a pile of poison ivy, that's our own damn fault."

I laugh out loud, thinking back to the party last summer where Sarah sat in poison ivy and I spent the night with her bare ass in my face as I tried to dab it with itching lotion.

Continuing, he adds, "I'm serious. You have a few months before you have to start acting responsibly. Might as well let loose these last couple of months, right?"

"I have been letting loose."

"Yeah, but I want to see it, not just hear about it." He winks and takes another bite of his pizza. No wonder Sadie had such an off-again on-again relationship with this man. He oozes sex appeal with just one simple wink.

"It's nothing special, you know. Me drunk and all." I pick at the cheese on my slice, feeling a little nervous around him, a feeling I've never felt before. All because one wink? Get a grip, Emma!

He shakes his head and takes a sip of the beers he bought for us, wincing as he swallows. "I'm not just talking about getting drunk, I want to see you loosen up." He takes another bite and holds up his finger while he chews. Once he swallows, he says, "I've known you for a long time, Emma, and every time I've seen you, you were either playing nurse for our dumbass friends, or your nose was stuck in a book, studying—"

"For good reason. You don't want a nurse treating you who has no idea what she's doing, now do you?" Does he think I'm boring? Gosh, I hope not.

"I really don't." He chuckles. "But that being said, I have a rule for this household."

"Yeah? Is it buy furniture so we don't have to sit on counters?"

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Didn't you see the last issue of uh . . ." He scratches the back of his neck and looks up at me through his eyelashes, boyish charm written all over his face. "Shit, I don't know any decorating magazines, there goes my joke."

"Oh, does Playboy not offer interior decorating ideas? Is it really just about the articles?"

He nods and points his bottle at me right before he brings it to his lips. "That and the tits, Emma. You can't forget the tits."

I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't know. I've never looked at one."

"Seriously?"

I nod. "Seriously. Why would I? I don't want to diddle myself to bare-breasted women."

The strain in his neck is evident as he swallows hard from my comment. He clears his throat and asks, "Do you diddle yourself?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to ask your friend?"

He studies me, his intense once-over drawing a line from my toes to my eyes, causing a shiver to run up my spine. "Fuck yeah, it's an appropriate question."

"Fine, do you self-mutilate?"

"Yes," he says without skipping a beat. "Come on, that was a toss-up question. Every guy does and if he tells you otherwise, he's a liar who probably does it twice a day."

"Twice a day? Doesn't that hurt after a while?"