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“Seems like on a Friday night, you’d have better things to do,” I say, narrowing my eyes a little. I know why I’m here, but I wonder what the fuck she’s doing here. She has friends on campus, I think. I’ve seen her hanging out with that Leslie chick a lot—her roommate.
“I’m lame,” Emma says, grabbing a soft green sweater and beginning to fold it. “And I have three loads of laundry.”
“Yeah, I’m lame too.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“What do you mean?” I flip open a washer and start loading clothes into it.
She scoffs. She’s still blushing a little, but there’s a spark of challenge in her eyes now. “There are girls around you constantly, Reese. I would think that you’d be… with one of them now.”
I laugh to myself yet again. “Well… I did get a booty text.”
“See!”
“But I’m taking a break from pillaging women.”
I see that this last one makes Emma smile, and I grin to myself. I used to make her laugh all the time. She liked my wild stories and the way I’d say whatever came into my head.
“And why is that?” She looks away as soon as she asks, like she doesn’t want me to think she cares about the answer.
I move around to the other side of the machine as I pour the detergent in, catching her gaze before I speak. I look deep into her eyes, hoping that she can see the truth without me having to explain it, but I don’t actually utter the truth.
“Dick rest.”
She bursts out laughing. “Dick rest?”
“Totally. It’s a thing. Sometimes, the poor fucker just gets worn out, and I gotta take a holiday.”
“You’re hilarious.” She says it with an eye roll, but her smile is genuine now, and the tension in her body has eased slightly.
“That’s my game,” I say, feeding some quarters into the machine and pressing the button to start the cycle.
When I turn back, Emma is still smiling to herself, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by how gorgeous and effortless she looks. There’s something about the fact that she’s alone on a Friday night doing laundry which makes her even more appealing to me. She’s… real.
“I won’t ask about your recent conquests,” I finally say, lifting my brow. Although, fuck, I want to. I want to know if my suspicions about her and Trent are true. He was evasive about it after our group project meeting, and that only makes me more certain I’m right.
But maybe it’s better if I don’t know.
Because as long as it’s not confirmed, she’s still fair game.
Emma runs a hand through her messy blonde hair, glancing down at the floor. “Why?”
“Just don’t want to know.” I shrug. “And I don’t want to try to picture you having sex with that Peter guy.”
“I haven’t had sex with Peter.”
“You plan to.”
“I don’t plan to.”
I look up toward the heavens and clasp my hands in prayer. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“And I don’t know why you should care anyhow.” Emma shoots me a glare, less entertained by my antics this time.
“Because, despite everything, I do care about you.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
