***
A couple of hours later, we wrapped up, and I went in the house for a shower. The water beat down on my skin for what seemed like minutes, but when it started to turn cold, I turned it off and stood there, head down arms steadying myself, thoughts running rampant.
My life had always been on track; at least, I’d always thought so. While my mom wanted me to find a girl and settle down, my own goals and a parade of crazy women I’d never even consider a long-term relationship with kept that from happening. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off as I walked to my room and then flopped on the bed with the towel around my waist. I looked over my head at the wall that separated my room from Emmy’s and thought about the woman on the other side of it.
Chapter Ten
Emerson
I laid in bed and thought about Luke, wondering why I couldn’t seem to stop myself from being so hard on him. I picked up my phone to call Rachel; if anyone could figure me out and make me stop being ridiculous over something, it was her. I tapped on the phone until it was ringing on the other end.
“Ummm, it’s Tuesday morning at...” she paused. “Seven thirty your time. Everything okay? You’re not exactly a morning person,” her chipper voice sang through the phone.
“Well, that depends on how ya look at it. And good morning to you too,” I laughed.
“Okay, you’re laughing. It’s much too early for you to be laughing. Are you drunk?”
“I’ve only had a few hours of sleep. Does that count?” I asked.
“In your case, kind of. So, what’s up buttercup? I can hear it in your voice.
Something’s on your mind.”
I sometimes hated that she knew me so well. “I’d try to say it’s nothing, but you’d just call me on my bullshit. So... it’s my neighbor,” I admitted.
“Oh! You mean the one you’ve got a thing for but won’t admit to yourself? Or anyone else for that matter?” she said matter-of-factly.
“What?” I said, a little surprised at her statement. “I don’t have a thing for my neighbor.”
She chuckled in that way she always did when she was about to humor me even though she didn’t agree with me. “Right. You don’t have a thing for the stupid hot guy next door who keeps trying to be nice to you and moves your furniture then makes your stomach go all butterfly central when he’s near you. Of course you don’t.”
Okay, maybe she wasn’t going to humor me.
“Admit it. That’s what you’re calling me about, isn’t it?” she demanded.
“No.”
“You’re a liar liar pants on fire, Emerson Myers,” she pointed out. I could almost hear the smirk on her face through the phone.
“Am not,” I shot back.
“Okay then. Why’d you call at this time of the morning? Hmmm?”
I huffed in defeat.
She laughed. “That’s what I thought. Now spill, what’s going on?”
I proceeded to tell her everything I had been holding back. She’d heard about how infuriated he’d made me causing me to stomp out to the shop the first night and his endless noise in the backyard, but this time, I found myself admitting to the attraction, the strange energy when he was near me, how I kept giving him such a hard time, and so much more.
When I was finished spilling my guts, she just said, “Hmmm.”
“Really? Hmmm? That’s all you’ve got?” I asked.
“Well, it’s like I said before. Only you just confirmed it. You’ve got a thing for the guy next door. That’s why you keep being so nasty to him. You’re pushing him away. I just don’t know why,” she said.
“Because he’s so... so...”
“So under your skin?” she finished the sentence.