I had taken my anger out on him, and to my surprise, Emmett had actually apologized. On Sunday, when I told Milton about the text Emmett sent, he was furious. "Leave him on read," Milton had demanded.
And I did. Sort of. But deep down, I couldn't deny the pang of disappointment. I'd gotten all dressed up, only for him to completely flake on me. It stung. Still, as cheesy as it sounds, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the end of the story.
This time, I decided to tone it down. Blue jeans, a pink Powerpuff Girls t-shirt, and a matching pink headband with my hair pulled into a curly puff. Casual but still me. When I rang the doorbell, Isla was the one who answered.
She immediately pulled me inside, practically dragging me by the arm. "I can't believe you came back! You're way too sweet for him," she said, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "He's here this time, but honestly, I should just keep you to myself."
I giggled nervously. Isla's bubbly energy reminded me so much of my little brother, Connor. Before I could respond, her grip slipped, and she stumbled. She turned, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, her expression suddenly sour.
"Go away, Red," Emmett muttered as he appeared behind her. He barely spared her a glance before turning to me. "This way," he said, motioning for me to follow.
We climbed a sleek staircase with black steps and glass panels on the sides. The white walls were so pristine they looked almost clinical. As we passed several closed doors, I wondered how many were bedrooms—or if anyone else in this massive house even used them.
Finally, we reached his room. The ceilings were ridiculously high, making the space feel even bigger. His bed was enormous, set against the far wall, with a flat-screen TV mounted above it. In one corner, there was a gray couch with a small table and a mini fridge beside it. A guitar and skateboard hung on the walls, adding a personal touch.
"You can sit there," he said, nodding toward the couch. "I'll grab my computer."
I settled onto the couch, pulling out my papers and spreading them on the table. When Emmett returned, he set his sleek gray laptop down and sat beside me.
"So," he started, dragging the word out. "What's Wesley got us doing?"
"May I?" I asked, gesturing to his laptop.
He nodded, pushing it toward me. I opened Google Classroom and skimmed through the assignment. "We have to read the book he assigned, create a PowerPoint summarizing our understanding of it, and present it," I explained.
Emmett groaned, running a hand over his face. "I can already feel how boring this is gonna be," he muttered.
I chuckled softly. "You don't like books?"
"Nope. They're boring. I'm a sports guy. At most, I'll read an article."
I gasped dramatically. "Books are not boring! They let you escape reality. They can make you feel happy, sad, hopeful—sometimes all at once. You can learn so much from them."
His lips curled into a teasing smirk. "Well, I guess I know what your other obsession is, Pinky."
Heat crept up my neck and spread to my ears. He gave me a nickname. "Let's just see what book he picked for us," I said quickly, trying to change the subject.
I scanned the assignment. "Persephone and Hades," I read aloud.
"Greek mythology, right?" Emmett asked, his brows furrowing.
"Yeah," I said. "Mr. Wesley loves Greek mythology. Not surprising."
"You seem to know Wesley pretty well," Emmett said, leaning back and watching me intently.
I shrugged, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "He's my favorite teacher. He's cool. Better than the others."
Before we could continue, his phone rang. He answered, pulling the phone away from his ear as someone yelled loudly on the other end.
"Pierce! I thought you were coming over!" the girl screeched.
He sighed, his expression flat. "Not after your dad threatened to kill me. And I told you—no feelings, no strings."
I tensed, feeling a pit form in my stomach. This was exactly what Milton had warned me about. After more yelling, he hung up, clearly unbothered.
He caught me staring. "What?"
"Why don't you do relationships?" I blurted, meeting his gaze.
He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Haven't found someone worth it. Most girls I've been with just want money or...something else. We both get what we want, and that's it."
I nodded, turning back to his laptop. "What about you?" he asked.
"What about me?" I said cautiously.
"You seem like a nice girl. Got anybody?" he asked, his tone light but playful.
Was he flirting? My heart fluttered, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I guess I haven't found the right one either," I said.
"Hm," he murmured, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer.
"Ready to start the book?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
"Yeah, sure," he said with a dry sigh.
We went over a few chapters and called it a night. Emmett walked me to my car, holding the door open for me.
"Well, Pinky," he said, tapping the roof of my car, "I'll see you Sunday?"
"Sure," I replied, my voice softer than I intended.
"I'll text you the time."
I nodded, starting the engine. As I drove away, I couldn't stop the smile creeping onto my face—or the nervous energy bubbling in my chest.
When I got home, I dropped my bag by the door. "I'm home!" I called out.
"Finally!" Connor yelled from the kitchen. "Dad's upstairs, and I'm starving!"
"Alright, I'm coming," I said with a laugh, heading to the fridge.
Since Mom left, I'd taken over most of the cooking. It wasn't easy at first, but I'd gotten pretty good at it. Tonight, I made spaghetti, plating up two servings.
"This one's for Dad," I said, holding the plate away from Connor's greedy hands. "Make your own plate."
Carrying the plates upstairs, I nudged open Dad's door with my shoulder. The room was dim, and he jolted awake when I turned on the light.
"Dad, I told you not to scare me like that," I said, setting the plates on the nightstand.
"Sorry, T," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He took a bite of the spaghetti and immediately blew on it, his face lighting up.
"You're the best daughter in the world," he said between bites.
I smiled, grabbing my own plate. "Goodnight, Dad."
"Goodnight," he called as I left.
Back in my room, I settled onto my bed with a book in one hand and my plate in the other. But my thoughts kept drifting to Emmett.
No feelings, no strings. Just hookups.
Should I even try?