We won the rival game on Friday—no surprise there. The rest of the weekend was a blur of sleep and catching up on the chapters Tasha wanted me to read. Now it was Monday, and since we'd earned the day off from practice, Tasha had invited me over to her house to work on our project.
After school, I hung out with Kyle for about an hour before heading to Tasha's place. She'd texted me her address, and it took about thirty minutes to get there. When I pulled up, I stared at the house for a moment. It was a Colonial-style home, its weathered white paint contrasting with the vintage black roof. An old oak tree stood tall in the front yard, its branches casting shadows over the porch steps.
Grabbing my bag, I walked up to the door, noting the swing bench near a cluster of colorful flowers. There wasn't a doorbell, so I knocked softly. The door rattled slightly before it opened, revealing a boy who looked a lot like Tasha—except for his jet-black hair and dark eyes.
"You're Emmett Pierce," he said, eyes wide with excitement.
"Yeah," I replied slowly, unsure of his energy.
"Come in, come in!" he said, stepping aside quickly.
I walked in, taking in the cozy atmosphere. The house was smaller than mine, but it felt warm and welcoming.
"I saw you play last Friday—you were amazing!" the boy gushed.
"Thanks," I said with a grin, throwing on my signature playboy smile.
"I play football too. JV," he added proudly.
"Nice. Does Coach Davis still make y'all run five-mile laps before every practice?" I asked.
"Yeah. He says it builds character," he said, rolling his eyes.
We both laughed, saying the last part in unison.
The sound of creaking floorboards made us stop. I turned toward the stairs and saw Tasha standing at the top, her arms crossed and her honey-brown eyes watching us curiously.
"Hey," I greeted, feeling slightly awkward. "I should've texted to let you know I was here."
"It's fine. Not like Connor would've seen it anyway—he's too busy fanboying," she said, glaring at her brother.
"Shut up, T," Connor retorted with a grin.
So, her brother's name is Connor.
"We can work in my room," Tasha said, ushering me up the stairs.
I followed her to a room on the left, stepping into what could only be described as the pinkest room I'd ever seen. Shelves of books lined the walls, and posters of K-pop idols stared down at me from every corner.
"Wow. I guess you really like books," I said, glancing at the overflowing shelves.
She smiled, a little shyly. "Yeah, I'm a big fan. I read all kinds of genres."
I pulled out my notebook, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I finished reading Chapter 24," I told her.
"What did you think?" she asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her notebook.
"Well, they only met once, but how could Persephone not remember Hades? Especially if he's as handsome as they describe him," I said, raising an eyebrow.
She shrugged. "Maybe he didn't make enough of an impression. He wasn't significant to her at that point."
"That's harsh. I think I'd remember someone like Hades," I teased, smirking.
We worked through a few more chapters, her explanations clear and insightful. My attention started to drift as my eyes landed on a familiar book on one of her shelves.
"Fifty Shades of Grey?" I muttered under my breath, smirking.
Her ears perked up, and her head snapped in my direction. A blush bloomed on her cheeks.
"It's not mine!" she shrieked, waving her hands frantically.
A devilish grin spread across my face as I got down on one knee, leaning closer. The faint scent of flowers wafted off her, and I couldn't help but chuckle as she buried her face in her hands.
The door flew open, making me jump. A man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, looking like an older version of Connor. He wore blue scrubs and scuffed tennis shoes.
"Tasha," he said, his tone questioning.
"Pa," she said, standing quickly.
"I brought dinner. But I guess I should be asking who this young man is," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.
I stood, holding out a hand. "I'm Emmett, Tasha's partner for a school project."
"Uh-huh," he said, jaw ticking slightly.
"Dad, I told you he was coming over," Tasha explained quickly.
"Guess I forgot. Since I brought food, would you like to stay for dinner, Emmett?" he offered.
"Sure," I said, trying not to sound too eager.
We headed downstairs, where a small four-seat dining table sat in the corner of the kitchen. Tasha grabbed plates while Connor plopped down in a chair. Two large pizza boxes and a smaller one sat on the table.
As we ate, Tasha's dad turned to me. "So, Emmett, it's your senior year. Any plans for the future?"
"I'm planning to go to college and get a business degree. My dad wants me to take over the family company," I explained.
He nodded thoughtfully. "And he plays football. Some of our coaches say he's good enough for the league," Connor chimed in.
"Really?" Tasha's dad said, sounding impressed.
"Yes, sir." I nodded.
After dinner, I stayed to help Tasha dry the dishes.
"So, I take it you're not a football fan?" I asked, leaning against the sink.
She laughed softly. "Not really. I don't understand the rules, and it's way too violent for me."
I nodded, watching her carefully. "Your dad—he's a nurse?"
She giggled. "Close. He's a nurse practitioner. It's like a doctor but with fewer years of school. He had started just before my mom left us."
"Sorry about your mom," I said gently.
"It's okay. She left when I was twelve. My parents fought a lot, and I think... I think my mom was pretty abusive toward my dad," she said quietly, staring at the clear plates.
"Is that why you hate violence?" I asked softly.
"Yeah," she admitted, nodding.
"What about you?" she asked, looking up at me with curious eyes. "You seem really close to your family."
I shrugged. "Yeah, I can be myself around them. Outside of that, it's either people disliking me because of my money or liking me for it."
She placed her hand on mine, her long lashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks. "I like being your friend. Not because you have money," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled, squeezing her hand lightly. "Of course you're not like that, Pinky. You're the only girl-friend I have."
She laughed, pulling her hand away to finish the dishes.
When she walked me to the door, I smirked. "You know, you're the only girl who's gotten me to wash dishes, T."
Her eyes lit up at the nickname. "Well, I am your only girl-friend, Emmett," she teased.
Her voice saying my last name sent a warm flush through me as I walked to my car.
"Emmett," I repeated to myself, grinning. "I like the sound of that."