the hook-up. {ethma}

chapter 24

ethan dolan

I'M EXHAUSTED. LONG into the night, Emma and I reached for each other. I'd drift off to sleep, only to slip out of it when smooth hands slid over my ass or a hot tongue licked along my neck before traveling down. Emma, once satisfied, would sigh and fall asleep, all warm and soft against me, my hand cupping her full breast. I'd be unable to resist playing with her nipple, flicking and gently pinching it until she squirmed and turned in my arms with a murmured, "Again?"

Yes, again. Until we couldn't move any more.

In the early morning hours, I slept with her warm weight against my side, her hand upon my chest as if keeping my heart guarded and safe. The simple act of sleeping has never been so good. I woke her by sinking inside her wet warmth. Emma rewarded me with a wide smile and wrapped her legs around my waist to hold me there as we shared lazy kisses.

Now, after leaving her sleeping under my covers and taking a long, hot shower, I'm in the kitchen, knees weak and covk sore, my hands mildly shaking as I attempt to make scrambled eggs. I am failing miserably. When they turn brown and clump together in hard balls, I curse and shove the pan off the burner.

"Toast," I mumble to myself. "I can do toast."

"What's that awful smell?" Emma walks out of my room, wearing one of my t-shirts, which engulfs her to mid-thigh, and a pair of black yoga pants. My heart flips over in my chest.

"Hey." I shift over to block the evidence of my egg debacle. But she isn't looking my way. She wanders over to the mantle where my Heisman trophy sits. The swell of pride I feel over the fact that she notices it is probably ridiculous, but it's there all the same. Her slim finger runs along the base where my name is etched.

"Got that my sophomore year," I say. "When we won our first Championship."

She glances at me, her eyes bright. "This is kind of a big deal, isn't it?"

"Ah, yeah." The biggest in my career so far.

She isn't fooled by my humble act. "You're amazing, Ethan."

So are you. I don't voice that, however. I'm in danger of dropping to my knees and confessing all at this point. Instead, I keep a casual slouch and eye her as she walks towards me.

"Where'd you get the pants?" I ask her, pleased that my voice doesn't crack.

She glances around the kitchen, her nose wrinkling as if she's scenting out the crime. But then she stops, runs a hand through her tangled fallen out curls, and smiles. "Stuffed in my bag in case of emergencies."

"Emergencies?" Like unplanned overnights with guys? I'm not going to be jealous.

"After Dave crashed into me with three gallons worth of fruit punch during an alumni picnic, I've never gone into work without backup clothing."

But she's wearing my shirt.

Emma's hair tumbles about as she shakes her head. "Unfortunately, no hair products, so I couldn't wash my damn hair."

It's then I notice her skin is pink and flushed from a shower. "In case you failed to notice, I do have shampoo."

She gives me a look as if I've just said a dirty word. "I'll wear secondhand clothes, buy cheap t-shirts from Target, but I am not using drugstore shampoo on this hair. Not if I want to walk among the living."

I can't hide my grin. "Oh, well, don't sugarcoat your distaste."

"It's fine for you. You're a guy. You could probably use soap on your hair and it'd look good. Annoying, tend-to-fuzz-out-of-control thick strands are a whole other story." She walks further into the kitchen and sees the eggs. I cross my hands over my chest, feeling distinctly flushed.