Page 45 of Emerson

Also, stop leaving me cupcakes outside my apartment door. And to think you called ME the stalker. You're a perverted Winky Wonka.

To: EBStyles

From: DMont95

Subject: lol

It's Willy.

To: DMont95

From: EBStyles

Subject: no

Dear Dillon,

~lol~

Ugh. Millennial.

Leave me alone.

Dillon

I've been sleeping like shit. Shittier than usual, so it's not surprising that I passed out face down on the bed right after I got a shower when I came home from work.

What is surprising, though, is being woken up just a couple hours later to someone breaking into my house via my bedroom window. The metal-on-metal screech of the screen being pushed up is what did it.

Immediately, my heart is racing, adrenaline lighting a path through the grogginess and exhaustion. I push myself up, hearing a soft curse coming from the intruder.

Then long brown hair. The click of sharp nails on the windowsill.

I rub my eyes, but…yep. Emery is climbing through my bedroom window. He flops down with another curse, skin slapping against the hardwood.

I move to lean against my headboard and sigh. “Is that how you left the other day? Through my window?”

He pops up a moment later, and immediately, his hands find his hips. “I've been standing in front of your stupid camera on the porch for ten minutes.”

“Did you try knocking?”

“Why would I? Isn't that what the camera notification is for?”

“Did you try calling?”

“Nice try, Dill-hole. I'm not unblocking you.”

He's wearing soft-looking linen pants and a blue t-shirt, baggy and cropped. His hair is damp around his shoulders, like he just got out of the shower not long ago.

I can see all of this because the sun hasn't even fully set yet. The deep amber light of the approaching sunset is doing wicked things to his tan skin.

I lick my lips and smirk. “What are you doing here, Emerson?”

He sniffs and looks away from me to take in my bedroom, like he hasn't seen it before. “Why are you in bed? It's eight o'clock. Are you dying?”

“Why are you here, Emerson?” I ask again, resting my head back and watching with heavy lids as he fidgets at the foot of my bed.

Emery had to be loud to be heard over the rest of the Bennet family. He had to demand his moments; otherwise, he would have been swallowed whole by the bigger, louder Bennet boys.