Page 78 of Emerson

Instead, Jesse takes off his glasses and sets them off screen so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. “What are you, a grandma? What the hell is romantical sex?” He drops his hand and continues, “Please don’t actually answer that because I feel like you’ll give me way more information than I want to know. Don’t you have any friends? Or, say, a therapist, perhaps?”

“I think I fucked up, Jesse. Be serious for five seconds. What have I actually done? Like what the ever-loving-fuckity-fuck have I done?” I aim my finger pointer stick at the screen. “This is your fault. Fix this.”

He points to his chest and raises his brows. “How the bloody hell is this my fault? I told you to screw the man, not fall in love with him.”

I scream.

I scream and cover my ears.

“Why would you say that to me, out loud, in the open with my ears here?”

My brother rolls his eyes. “I think this conversation calls for a beer.”

I glance at the clock and grimace. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“Not in Scotland, it’s not.”

“I thought you were going to Italy?”

My brother stares at me. Stares and blushes.

“Ha! Are you having romantical sex with someone, too?”

“Stop saying romantical sex.”

“Making love.” I waggle my brows.

Jesse smirks. “Told you, you love him. I call dibs on telling Warren you’re romantically fucking his best friend.”

I flip off the screen before slamming the laptop shut.

Fuck.

Warren.

I fling the laptop back open and call him right back.

“Will Warren be pissed?”

Jesse shrugs. “Probably not.”

“He can’t be pissed, right? I’m twenty-three years old. And also, I’m the one that climbs in Dillon’s window like a weirdo, but only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And I blocked his number to keep it casual. Well, he did stay over last night, but that hardly counts because he was gone by the time I woke up. And he does email me sometimes, like this morning. But I don’t answer them because again, keeping this casual and contained, and I’m absolutely not in love with him. I just like his dick and the things he knows how to do with it, and I like his eyes, and he smells nice, and sometimes, when he goes down on—”

“Holy fuck, dude.” Jesse sits back in his chair and grips the sides of his hair. “You’re gonna have a kid.”

I stop dead in my tracks and pull a disgusted face. “Jesse, I don’t know if you know this or not, but just because I like to take dick does not magically mean I can get pregnant.”

“No, but when you and Dill stop acting like the world’s dumbest dipshits, you’ll be a stepdaddy. To his kid.”

This time when I slam the laptop shut, I do not call him back.

To: EBStyles

From: DMont95

Subject: Sunday dinner

See you, baby B. ;)