Collide

(9) | .Riley. | Now

"Emily's home for Thanksgiving and considering how rarely she's ever home, I think it's best you come over." 

I roll my eyes at my mother's blunt words once again. Like usual, she wasn't listening to me. She never listens. 

I've told her Adam isn't around and I have a problem with not having a licensed vehicle to drive in, but her biggest concern is the fact that her oldest daughter is coming home for the weekend and I apparently won't be there. 

I try to butt in but she continues to violate me down the line, speaking so quickly her words were becoming smushed together. 

"YounevercomeoverforThanksgiving." 

That's definitely a lie. 

"Youmisseditlastyear." 

Adam's parents invited us over to theirs last year.

She slows down her tone when it comes to her last statement. "As my daughter how do you think that makes us look to anyone who asks about you?"

No one asks about me. There is no one there to ask about me other than the odd man Mom has over each and every week. 

"I don't care how you get here but you're getting here, Riley. There's someone I need you to meet." She says "someone" like I'm not supposed to know who, but I already knew it would be one of the monthly men Mom captures from the bar after just one night out. 

I couldn't care less about who she wanted me to meet - whether it was Spencer with the glasses, Steven with the ugly beard trim, Carl with the strong jaw, or Matt who was young enough to make Adam jealous. I remembered them all, but neither one for good reason.

"Idon'tcarehowyougethere," she says down the line in her quick-paced tone again, before pausing. She takes a deep breath in and then finally gains some acumen. "Just be here." 

The call ends.

I change out of my robe and pull a plain black blouse over the top with my head. I pull on a pair of joggers laying around the floor and I leave my hair in its current curly messy state. 

Grabbing my keys to ensure I don't lock myself out, I leave my room and storm down the hall then I knock on his door. Except this time it's not a ginger knock. It's a very repeated, stern knock, and I don't stop until he unlocks it. 

"James, I-" Holy shit. 

He looks hot. 

He raises an eyebrow at my presence but there's a subtle smirk hidden along the curved lining of his lips, too. He leans against the doorframe and I try not to pay too-much attention to the way his tight, pressured abs pressed against the clothing of his white t-shirt. Although it was kind of hard to do that when the visual image of the visibility was right in front of my eyes. 

I calm myself down and slow my pace. "I need a favor," I tell him, looking back up at him. 

"And what would that favor be?" He crosses his arms over his chest and grins. It's like he's already predicted what I want to say; he's just waiting for me to say it aloud. 

"I need you to drive me to my mom's house for Thanksgiving." 

He definitely wasn't expecting that. I can tell from the drop of his jaw. 

His posture stiffens and he stands up straight. He's silent but I want him to yell at me. I want him to question me. He should tell me this isn't appropriate, that I'm being ridiculous. That I interrupted his sleep. I shouldn't be knocking on his door at 8 in the morning for a favor as unreasonable as this.