This was probably karma rearing its head, and it was uglier than Rosco.
I watched a Hornets vs. Lakers replay with a night guard, drank a few beers, cursed appropriately when the Hornets lost even though I gave no shits, and wandered the floors one by one.
When I reached the fifth floor and heard laughter, I counted down the beers I’d drunk with the guard.
Not nearly enough for hallucinations.
Especially considering I recognized the laugh.
I should have turned around and left her alone, but I justified my intrusion with the reminder she'd snuck into my shower and onto me.
Emery wore a tee that read lypophrenia and headphones in her ears. Her body laid flat on the couch, cocooned by the rattiest quilt I’d ever seen. Checkered with holes and faded to the point where I couldn’t tell if the little dots all over were a design or stains.
Her eyes remained closed until she burst out in carefree laughter. They popped open and instantly found mine with unerring precision. I expected surprise on her face, but I got one lifted shoulder and a lazy smile.
A smile.
Weird shit she’d been doing since I caved and bought that Sisyphus statue. Usually when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
She looked pure and innocent and beautiful, like a fallen red maple leaf before someone stepped on it. I wondered how I didn't see it before. Maybe Fika was right. Maybe I’d misheard the argument in the office the night of the cotillion. After all, I’d been wrong about who owned the ledger.
Emery stretched. Her sad excuse for a blanket fell to the floor. The movement lifted the bottom of her shirt, flashing me with skin. “I feel like Sebastian York’s voice is the kind of thing that transcends time. Silent films, skinny jeans, and Sebastian York. Things that never get old.”
The sudden urge to rip out the asshole’s vocal cords gripped me. She never talked to anyone but Reed, and I’d assumed there was no one else.
Fuck, no, you did not just say, no one ‘else’.
I rounded the couch.
She caught my look and laughed again. “You’d think I’d just told you I sacrificed a toddler tonight. What’s your deal?” She sat up and sloped her chin to scrutinize me. “He’s a narrator. I borrowed an audiobook from the library. Entice by Ava Harrison.” The toe of her Chucks accidentally hit my Brionis. “It’s an age-gap romance.”
“You borrowed an audiobook. From the library,” I parroted, fully aware her Chucks touched my shoes again, not by accident this time.
“Jesus, Nash, are you illiterate? Do you know what a book is? They’re these things full of words, and when you read them, you live another life. You should try it sometime. Might help with the crankiness.”
The jabs brushed off my shoulders like insignificant flies. “Fuck Sebastian York.”
Transparent as saran wrap.
“Really? You kind of sound like him.”
“What does he sound like?”
“Like you. I literally just said that.”
“Careful.” I sat beside her on the couch, taking up most of the space. “It’s after hours. I could call security.”
“And I could start a Change.org petition. Your wages for interns are embarrassing, and I have a student loan payment due in two days.” She set her phone down and nodded to the television. “If I use the company’s Netflix account, I get entertainment and I can still pay my utilities bill. I was watching Twilight before this.”
I smelled her bullshit but didn’t call her out on it. Mostly because it required admitting I looked into her and knew about the Demi situation.
“Before this—”
She cut me off. “What do you think would happen if Edward Cullen met another mind reader? Who would be reading whose mind?”
I allowed her lame attempts at distraction. “Neither, because mind-reading doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t recall you being this cranky back then.”
Ignoring the empty insult, I examined her set up. Phone, charger, blanket, and headphones. “You’ve been coming here to watch Netflix every night?”
“No.” She toyed with the hem of her shirt, teasing me without ever realizing it. “Only recently.”
“What did you use before?”
“My ex from freshman year’s account. I dated him for, like, two days. He cheated, but I got four years of Netflix free. I think I came out victorious in that relationship.” She leaned against the couch back. “He changed the password a few days ago.”
“He didn't know you were using his account?” Something about her right now didn’t add up. “Isn’t there a watch history?”
“The trick is to create a new user each time you watch and delete that user when you’re done watching. Silent revenge is the best revenge.”
Her words spiked my impulse.
I wanted to slam my lips onto hers for a second kiss, but I kicked my feet onto the coffee table and sunk deeper into the couch. “You remind me of Delilah.”
“A compliment. She’s smarter and hotter than you.” She retrieved her quilt. “She should be running the company.”
“It’s like you’re asking to get kicked out.”
I could have kicked her out, but I wouldn’t.
Reed had plans of proposing or whatever, and I had... a company I couldn’t give two shits about; a friend I couldn’t bring myself to call my best friend, even though she deserved it; Durga, who was acting weird; and… Emery.
“You can’t kick me out.” Her flippant tone suggested she knew I wouldn’t. “It’s my birthday next week.”
“According to you, the day that doesn’t make people special.”
“Why is it that you're the one who gets me? When the hell did that happen?”
More pressing question—when had she become so candid about us?
Rather than answer, I ordered delivery from every restaurant still open because she looked like she needed ten cheeseburgers, and I wasn’t giving her an excuse not to eat one.
“We could watch a movie while we wait,” she offered. “Warning—I’m picky, and given the circumstances, I don't have a Netflix queue, which means it takes me forever to pick.”
She grabbed the remote and scrolled through the options. “I’ll read the recommended list, but it’s mostly Chantilly and Ida Marie watching on the account. Beauty and the Beast?”
“If you're into Stockholm Syndrome. Sleeping Beauty?”
I imagined hell consisted of Chantilly’s Netflix queue on repeat.
“Because kissing solves everything?” Her lips parted when I glanced at them. “Not to mention the DubCon. Aladdin?”
“Rub until something comes out. Great lesson to teach children.”
“That one’s realistic. Lying and stealing always lands you the girl…”
One of the night guards interrupted us with bags of delivery. Peruvian. Tunisian. American. America’s bastardized take on Italian. Emery grabbed the Tunisian first, dug through it, and took the first bite out of every item before settling on the Shakshuka.
We ate our way through four cuisines, scrolling through Chantilly’s Netflix queue and ridiculing every movie until we found one both of us agreed with. John Wick, because contrary to Delilah’s belief, I didn't hate dogs. Just ones that resembled rats.