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“S
ince when did my mom start buying boiled peanuts?” Emmett’s standing in front of the pantry with the doors wide open, scanning the shelves for an after-workout snack.
He grips the can in his giant hand, studying the label as if he’s trying to decipher a foreign language.
“Since she asked what snacks I wanted last time she went to the store.” I reach around him, pulling the can of peanuts from his hand and prop a hip against the door. I crack open the can, taking a whiff of the smokey goodness.
Emmett stares down at me as I pour a handful into my palm and shove every nut into my mouth. Exaggerating my chewing, I moan to show him what he’s missing out on.
“Should have known,” he says. “You’ve won the prize for favorite kid in the house. Now I know how Savannah felt all those years.” He takes the can from my hand and pours some directly into his mouth, chewing for a moment before grimacing. “What the fuck are these, anyways? Peanuts should be crunchy.” He swallows hard, once again turning the can to read the label as if he will discover it is a pile of worms and not boiled peanuts after all.
“I love it.” Standing on my tiptoes, I reach into the can still clutched in his hand and pop another in my mouth, shell and all. “Did you know that boiling them draws the antioxidants from their shells? Much healthier that way.”
“Riiight,” he exaggerates, throwing another handful in his mouth. His head is tilted back, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows.
For as long as I’ve known him, Emmett has been a little insecure about his weight. When you’re the chubby kid of the class growing up, kids like to make you painfully aware of that. He’s let on that his weight has always bothered him, and that he’s working on eating less chips and exercising more, but if he were to ask me my honest opinion, I’d tell him he’s fucking crazy.
He’s so tall, pretty sure the tallest out of the one hundred-some kids in our class, but it could also be the fact that no one else has ever caught my attention like he has. He's bigger, sure, but he’s also my rock. My teddy bear. He’s strong and athletic and his size has done nothing but spur my hormones on. But since the summer before our senior year, the work-out bug hit him and he’s been in the gym, lifting weights and putting more miles on the treadmill than I can keep track of. My once husky best friend is slowly turning into a beast, replacing muscle where chub once was. Standing here in this tiny hall, with a cutoff tee and the side of his sweaty abdomen showing, it takes all the willpower a girl can have not to reach up to touch the skin peeking out from his sides.
“Sound like a plan?” he asks, his voice interrupting my thoughts.
“Sorry, zoned out.” I shake my head to focus. “What were you saying?”
He smirks, most likely noticing my shameless ogling of his body. “I said I was gonna go grab a shower, then we can watchThe Amazing Race.I think a new episode is on tonight.”
I slap the lid back on the peanuts and set it on the pantry shelf, and then close the door with a quiet click. I exhale a silent breath, working hard to push the image of him naked in a shower out of my mind. Being his friend was hard enough, and I completely underestimated what it would be like living with him.
Now, I see him first thing in the morning, before he’s brushed his teeth or combed his hair. I see what he’s like when he’s tired, in a goofy mood, or annoyed and helping his mom with chores. I’ve decided I like all sides of him. There are some days I think he might like me too.
At first, I chalked it up to his kindness—befriending the new girl at school, introducing me to his group of friends, signing up for classes together. But now he’s my best friend, spending every spare minute with me and picking me up from the closing shift at my shitty summer job because he couldn’t stand the thought of me riding my bicycle home in the dark.
“Thanks again for the ride,” I tell him as he pulls up to my house. I pull a handful of cash from my pocket—a good portion of my tips for tonight—and hand it to him. “For gas.”
He stares at the green bills in my hand as if they are the vilest thing he has ever seen. “No way in hell am I taking your money. It’s only, like, a two-mile drive. And I’m the one that offered to drive you.” He curls my fingers around the money and pushes it back to my chest.
I knew that’s what he would do, but the better part of me had to offer anyway. Since the day we met, he hasn’t taken a thing from me and reluctantly accepts only a small portion of what I try to offer.
“What are you saving for, anyways?” he asks, putting the truck in park and turning to face me.
Honestly, I’m not sure. Any money I spend goes toward clothes and anything I need for school. My dad supports the house, making sure we have enough money for food and utilities, but I don’t like the idea of being completely dependent on someone.
“Maybe a plane ticket.”
“To where?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Maybe a one-way ticket to Austin. Boston. Chattanooga . . .”
“Chattanooga?” He chuckles. “What’s your plan there? Bass fishing?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Wouldn’t it be nice to try somewhere new for a change?”
He opens his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, but his gaze quickly rises to my house.
“Your mom is flashing the front lights again,” he points out.
I look out the passenger-side window to see the front porch light flick on and off. My mom’s passive-aggressive way of telling me to get inside the house. For someone who doesn’t notice when I’m around, she sure seems to give a damn when I’m not there. As if I’m going to soil her already negative opinion of me by doing something reckless, like banging a boy in the front seat of his truck outside our house.
I give Emmett an awkward, closed-lip smile, embarrassed as hell and shove the bills back in my purse.
