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“I love the school. My entire family loves this college; they are fans so I filled out an application, got accepted, and came. Plus, it's not too far from home, which was ideal as well, even though I don't go home much now. What about you?”
For the first time with Emerson, I hesitate to answer a question. He raises an eyebrow at me as he notices.
“Too personal of a question?” he asks, seeming a little confused on how it could be too personal.
“No, not exactly.” I take a quick breath. “Do you want the hopeless romantic version of me to answer it or the other me to answer?”
“Both.”
Crap. I think why I'm hesitating, other than the reason of being laughed at, is because no one other than Catherine really knows the main reason why I chose this college, the hopeless romantic reason why. “Well,” I start, “the answer I usually give to people is that it's the closest one to home. The actual reason is because this is where my parents met. I've never seen two people more in love with each other, even when they argue, than my parents. They met and fell in love here, and growing up to hear that story made it a bit of a magical place. So, I guess I wanted to come and hope I experienced a piece of the same magic.”
That piece of magic I've been searching for since I came to campus two years ago has always seemed out of reach. I've dated some great guys, some crummy guys, and some jerks, but the little girl inside me wanting the happily ever after I've seen my parents living has always shaken her head, eventually breaking up with them because it wasn't there. There was always something that didn't click.
So far, I think it's clicking pretty well with Emerson. Every text, every meeting with him has me happy and grinning. But then, it could be because it's still new. I glance at Emerson for his reaction.
“Hopefully, you'll find it,” he says. “It's pretty cool, too, that you're going to the same school your parents attended. My dad went here, but he met my mom later. They don't have the same fairytale love story your parents seem to have.”
“What do you mean?”
He laughs to himself. “They met in a bar. According to my dad, Mom was trashed and flirting with anyone who would pay attention to her. He gave her his attention, she gave him her number, and later, he told her all the cheesy lines she told him. After that, they started dating. Mom always says she was only a little tipsy and knew what she was doing. I don't know who I believe, but it doesn't matter really. They're together.”
His story makes me smile. “It still sounds like a great story. You sound like you have fun parents.”
Emerson nods. “I think so. Aside from my mom supposedly being allergic to all animals and giving me a tragic childhood because I never had a pet,” he teases with a small smile.
“Hey, you saw what you were missing out on today.”
“I did. After college, maybe I'll finally get a dog.”
I nod my head in agreement, and we stand to start cleaning up. Emerson rinses while I wash the dishes. We're quiet almost the entire time, but then Emerson laughs softly to himself.
“What?” I ask, curious as to what he's thinking.
“I've never felt so domestic in my entire life. Washing dishes is supposed turn women on though, right?”
I laugh, looking down as I wash a pan. “That's what they say.”
He bumps his elbow against mine. “Well?”
My eyes lift to his as I pass him the last pan. “Well, what?”
His grin confirms what I'm sure he's about to say. I'm correct as his voice turns sultry, sending hot zaps of electricity through my body. “Am I turning you on, Eva?”
I flick my eyes to where his hands are moving to rinse the pan of all the suds. It's nice, but turning me on might be a bit of a stretch. I'm more turned on by his question and voice than his actions at this point. I answer with my own question, “Are you trying to turn me on, Emerson?”
“I'm not trying to, no. I'd take a more proactive approach if I were.”
I try not to think about that as I pull the stopper out to drain the water, move the faucet over to my side to rinse the sink and my hands. Nope. I don't need to think about his hands or his mouth, or other parts of his body. I don't need to wonder how he would try to seduce me. Emerson hands me a paper towel. He's wearing a stupid knowing smile as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I won't say it hasn't crossed my mind before about how certain things would be with Emerson. I've thought about them quite a bit.
“What are you thinking about?” Emerson asks as he leans against the counter, facing me.
“Isn't that a question girls always ask that boys despise?”
He laughs and then rests his hands on my hips, causing me to take a small step closer to him. “You don't want to tell me then?”
“I don't like how smug you're acting, Emerson. Just what do you think I'm thinking about?”
Bad question. Such a bad question. I would be kicking myself in the gut so hard right now, but I'm not because Emerson doesn't answer me. Instead, he leans down to kiss me. This isn't like our first kiss or the small ones we've had since then. Oh, no.
