Page 89 of Emerson

“But he hasn't emailed me at all since that one.”

“And who set that system up?” He asks with an arched ginger brow. “Oh, right. You did.”

I ignore him, running my hands over his comforter. “This thread count is terrible. Did Greg buy this? Probably. Reason enough to dump his ass.”

Finn pinches my leg. “We are not talking about Greg. We're talking about you and how you need to pull yourself together, Emerson. You either email him or you stop moping because the man is following your rules.”

“Ew. Don't call me that. Only my Nana and Dillon…” I sigh, rolling around to my stomach. “This is useless. Just knock me out, please. Sedate me. I cannot even live with myself.”

“Enough. We're going out.”

And we do. I don't even dance.

Mondays are for sweet treats.

I came to this conclusion a couple of weeks ago when I realized that Friday sweet treats just aren't enough. And Wednesdays have always needed a decadent snack to push me through the rest of the week, but that doesn't count as a sweet treat day. That's just Hump Day rules when one isn't getting humped.

Kandy Baker has sold me many, many cupcakes now. I won't even deny standing outside of her cute little bakery, waiting for her to unlock the door. I'm a sugar wench now, and I need my fix before I can function properly.

They're amazing. Especially her chocolate cherry with the little shavings on top that melt on the tongue. Still, though, they aren't the same.

Dillon was piping some crack straight into his, had to be. I have half a mind to email him about being an asshole.

Just like I typed up an email telling him he was a jerk for training my body to need sex three times a week.

There may also have been an email typed about him not emailing me and my thoughts on how ridiculous it is.

Another one, possibly, about how badly I miss seeing his stupid face.

Could be one about wanting to hear his voice. Maybe.

All sit perfectly safe and unread in my drafts.

Bitches & Bros

Ian: anyone wanna go get a brew after I get off of work later?

Z: no can do, bro. Working

Warren: think I have plans later

nope. I have a hot date with snacks and Jacob Elordi. DND

“This is it, Ellie,” I say to Eleanor before shoveling another handful of popcorn in my mouth. “That man is so fine. I could watch him paint drywall and be thrilled.” The Kissing Booth is playing on the TV, and I don't even pretend to hate it. I don't. I love it. Feed me cringe romance all day, every day.

I've been a whore for love stories since I was little and peeked around the back of my ma's recliner while she watched Ghost. Ironic, really, how much I love the concept of love, but the idea of it for me makes me want to hide in a closet.

Literally. Not figuratively, gayly. Genuinely just hide until the threat has vanished.

My therapist says we need to work on that. We'll see.

Noah Flynn is about to kiss Elle Evans, and I cackle, kicking my feet. I get that bubbly, choked feeling and shove more popcorn in my mouth.

I also might cry? Weird.

Eleanor stops cleaning her paw next to me and looks up just before there is a knock on my apartment door.

I pause my chewing until there is another knock, then immediately relax back on the cushion. “Read the sign,” I yell, rolling my eyes.