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No stupid fucking emotions.
Just be the immature, nighttime only, window climbing hoe looking for sex and nothing more.
But I can’t bring myself to think about it as I rip open his bedroom door and move to the noises coming from the kitchen.
He’s in there, alright. Standing at his kitchen island with a big metal bowl tucked into the crook of one arm, whisking away at what’s inside. Dillon, with damp hair, wearing nothing but boxers and a pink apron that says ‘girl dad’ on it, is going to send me over the goddamn fucking edge.
I’m hit with the sugary, sweet smell of baked goods, and I’m smacked upside the head with the realization.
“It’s you,” I snap, blasting my outrage into the otherwise quiet moment.
Dillon glances up from the bowl, and his eyes immediately sweep over me from head to toe. He doesn’t look impressed.
“This is my house, last time I checked.”
“Don’t be cute. You’re the one making the cupcakes?”
He looks down at the bowl, then back up at me with a quirked brow. “Appears that way.” He sets the bowl down but holds it steady as he continues whisking. “A little early for you, isn’t it?”
“A little domestic for you, isn’t it? And if you didn’t want me here, you should have locked the window.”
He snorts, letting go of the whisk to let it clunk against the side of the bowl. He wipes his hands on a towel and gives me his back, walking to the fridge.
I’m crawling out of my skin by the time he comes back, and the anger that floods my system is enough to move my feet forward. I don’t stop until I’m across the island from him, and still I lean closer.
“I can’t fucking stand you.”
“Feeling is mutual, baby.” He adds something to the bowl and picks the whisk back up. Not a look. Nothing. “If you’re here to fuck, you’ll have to wait.” Then he shoots me a crooked grin. “But why else would you be here, right?”
I’m about ready to claw my way across the island.
“At least look me in the eye while you act like a dick.”
He spins the bowl, then abandons it completely to brace his hands flat on the granite countertop. He leans forward to match my stance. “You like eye contact now while you get dicked down, Emerson? Fine.”
Blue fire holds me hostage, and I wheeze out an exhale.
“Don’t I give you enough of what you want when you crawl to me at night? I’m not feeling particularly generous right now with my remaining hour of sunlight. You decided to skip Wednesday night, so now you can wait. You’re breaking the rules.”
I sputter when his words hit me in the chest, cracking me open. I can't stop it. “You’re right. Because I’m a guaranteed good fuck, but that’s all I’ll ever be, isn’t that right? That’s what you said, if I remember correctly.”
His brows furrow, and we stand in a terrible silence until the moment my words register in his head. I know exactly the moment he places them with the memory, because his eyes immediately soften, and that's the very worst possible thing that could happen. The gates of the hell inside of me are torn open.
I dig my hand into the open bag of flour between us and toss the powder in his direction. He doesn’t entertain my childish fit with retaliation, just pushes off the counter and stalks to the end like he’s going to come for me directly.
I snatch the bag of flour and hold it in my arm, walking backwards to keep the island separating us.
“I didn’t realize fucking me was such a chore for you,” I hiss, flicking more flour at him when he keeps moving. Keeps stalking me around the island.
“Emerson,” he says through gritted teeth, waving away the flour from in front of his face.
“Didn’t realize you cared so much about the rules, either, considering you were constantly asking me to break them.”
“Fuck the fucking rules.”
“Says the man who was bitching about his last hour of sunlight. Don’t worry, Dill, I’ll crawl right back out the window I came in, and I won’t bother you with my wants anymore.”
He reaches for me, but I skitter back, tossing more flour at him.
