He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 31 - It's Time to Go

- Emmett -

Did Clay really just say that? Surely, I had water in my ears and misheard him. Right?

I couldn't believe it. Clay just called me hot. Not attractive, or handsome, as some might say if they were—as Clay put it—speaking objectively. Hot was a word used to describe someone you were attracted to. Not acknowledging some idea of beauty standards or whatever the hell Clay said. That's how I used it, anyway. Maybe he didn't mean it that way.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Carrie declared she was "voracious" and that "comestibles" were required "expeditiously." She was really getting into using that ACT vocabulary word-a-day calendar. Determined to get a better score than her last attempt.

Clay and I followed her out of the pool, wrapping towels around ourselves as we headed inside for a snack. Clay leaned close to me and whispered, "Does she always talk like Moira Rose?"

I laughed. Partially because that was hilarious, and I hadn't considered it before. And partly because if he could make jokes, then he wasn't freaking out.

I tried not to stare at Clay, relaxing on the barstool, with no shirt, one arm draped over the back. Clay had a perfect balance of lean and muscular. He had nicely defined pecs, and when he breathed in deep, I could see his abs, and of course, even though I'd denied it, he had an amazing ass, too. And don't even get me started on his back muscles. It still surprised me he hated sports. Playing them, that is. He watched them obsessively with his stepdad, which drove me crazy. It was almost impossible to get him out of the house when a big game was on.

Clay looked at me, and I instantly averted my gaze over to Carrie, who was wiping a glob of ranch dressing off her boob.

"Please tell me you're not going to lick that off your finger," I said.

"Well, now I'm not." She grabbed a paper towel to clean her hand, glaring at me.

"You're so gross."

Carrie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Please! If he did that—" she ticced her head toward Clay "—you'd cream your pants."

"Carrie!" My voice went up three octaves.

Her eyes widened a fraction. She turned to Clay. "I didn't mean you, specifically. Just a guy. Any guy."

Clay blinked a few times. His eyes jumped between us, his mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry. What are you talking about? I zoned out."

"Nothing," Carrie and I said in chorus.

Carrie's phone beeped, distracting her.

"Seriously," Clay said. "What did I miss?"

"Just Carrie being gross," I said.

Something hit my forehead and dropped onto the counter. A carrot stick.

I glared at Carrie, who was typing with a huge smile on her face. "Sorry, boys, but I got a better offer." She looked at both of us in turn. "Jackson's taking me to dinner. So, you've got to scoot."

"Can we go to your house?" Clay asked me, his brows raised hopefully. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure."

"Let me grab my clothes." Clay jumped up and hurried out the back door.

I picked up the carrot stick that assaulted me and threw it at Carrie. It landed in her cleavage. She plucked it out and bit it in half aggressively.

"Seriously, Care? 'Cream your pants.' Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sorry."

"That's the second time in a week you've made a crack like that to him about me. You know how much he means to me. I don't want to lose him because you can't keep your big fat mouth shut."