My Best Friend's Ex (Edited)

Part 14 (edited)

EMMA

Bacon.

Yes, I lift my head some more, my nostril leading the way. That is bacon.

The position of my bed allows me to easily pull back the curtain covering one of my floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look outside. Still dark. What time is it?

I roll my dream-filled body to the side, recollecting the night I spent eating lemon-cherry filled cookies—and press the home button on my phone to light up the screen.

Six fifteen. In the morning. I groan and flop my head back on my pillow. Why is it so early? I start to drift back to sleep when my traitorous nose sends SOS signals to my stomach about the bacon-filled air floating under my door. Being the little bitch my stomach is, she betrays me in the nastiest way and grumbles loudly, churning in on herself, begging for a slice of bacon.

"Ugh, stupid freaking bacon smell." I roll to a sitting position on my bed and wipe my eyes, trying to convince them that this early morning hour is okay, that they will make it through the wee hours we usually don't see. No college student should be awake at six fifteen.

Taking a second to stretch, I arch my back and let a few bones crack before I step into my slippers and make my way to my door. Yesterday I was able to organize my room just right and set everything up for the new week, which I was happy about because trying to study surrounded by a pile of boxes isn't ideal. It's not like there's a comfortable common space in the living room where I could study. So my hard work yesterday was key.

Since the house was built in like 1990, the mornings during the winter apparently are chilly, that's why I'm leaving my room in a pink and green matching pajama set. Well, who am I kidding? I wear matching pajama sets all the time. I find them to be whimsically fun.

When I open my door, the sound of eggs on a fry pan and brewing coffee hit me head-on, as well as the sweet, smoky smell of bacon, of course. I push my hair out of my face and head to the kitchen where lights are blazing, burning my retinas.

"Hell," I mutter, covering my face from the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. "Morning," Colby's deep voice rattles off the cabinets. It's his morning voice, deeper, throatier—if that makes sense—and I hate to admit it, because he's just my friend, but sexier.

Once my pupils adjust to the light, I take Colby in. He's standing in front of the stove, rubber spatula in hand, wearing a white long-sleeved Henley, the top two buttons undone, a pair of worn black jeans with a designer paint stains on them. Sweet Jesus, he makes anything look good. Strap a belt around his hips and stick him in front of a camera for the benefit of all womankind.

"Morning," I say in reply, using the counter to help hold up my tired body. "You're up early. What time do you have to go into work?"

"Around seven thirty. I like to get an early start before Sam...he can be very energetic in the morning...have to prepare myself."

He looks me up and down, a small smile at the corner of his lips. "You look good." He motions around his head with his hand. "I really like what you did with your hair."

I turn toward the window in the kitchen and check out my reflection. Sure enough, my long brown hair looks like a lion's mane poofed out and framing my face with an abundance of volume. Beautiful.

There is no use in taming it, so I tie it up in a bun and turn back toward Colby. "Not many people can get that kind of height while sleeping." I pretend to fluff my hair.

"Impressive." He chuckles and then points to the coffee maker with the spatula. "Coffee is done, mugs are above in the cabinet. Grab me a cup, will ya? Eggs will be done shortly, bacon is warming in the oven."

I do as directed, thinking it's kind of cute how he's including me in on his little morning breakfast. "I didn't even know you had eggs. I was expecting to hit up Dunkin' Donuts or something this morning."

He turns off the stove and reaches for two plates from the dish rack. "I went to Walmart this morning. Picked up a few things."

"This morning?" I pour two cups of coffee and turn toward him. "What time did you wake up?"

"Four thirty," he answers casually. "Got a quick run in, did some weights, took a shower, and then went to Walmart." He fills our plates with bacon and eggs and then nods toward the dining room, plates and silverware in hand. "I have a surprise...I bought a couch" he says laughing as he sits down. "Wow...never thought that day would come."

He looks up at me. Some of his hair is still wet from his shower. Pointing his fork at me he says, "Are you ready to be schooled?"

"Schooled on what?" I take a bite of bacon and my stomach jumps in excitement for finally rewarding it for waking up early. All right, I will admit it, getting out of bed was a smart idea.

"It's Monday, babe. DJ Hot Cock has his song picked and ready to show you what real music is."

"When was my music taste ever questioned? I like good music."

"We'll see." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. I watch as he flips through it until he lands on the song he wants to introduce me to. He presses play and sets his phone on the table. The light pickings of a guitar fill the small dining room. I don't recognize the song, but I like the sound of it so far.