Sketch

27 - Sam

I need a drink and when I open my door to head to the kitchen I bump into Emmy for the second time today.  I stare down at her in confusion as she offers me an embarrassed smile.

"Hi."

I step back from her.  She's clutching her orange hoody to her chest but I can still see her bare legs from the knee down.  "What are you-"

"-There's a spider, a huge spider, in my room and I can't go back in there," she interrupts in a rush, a grimace replacing her smile.  "I'm really sorry if I scared you.  It's just that I really can't sleep in there."

I stare at her for a moment before my tired mind finally adds two and two together.  My eyes widen.  "And you want to stay in my room?"

She nods, looking relieved that I've figured out that she's been trying to hint at.

"Right..."  I draw the word out as I step around her, crossing to get a glass of water. 

She shuffles behind me.  "Please, Sam.  I mean, I can sleep on the floor."

My eyebrows raise as I realise she wants to share my bed.  Not out of choice, of course, but still.  It's been months since a hot girl slept in my bed.  I swallow half of my water and turn back around to face her, trying to look indifferent.

She's pleading me with half lidded eyes.  She's looks ready to fall asleep, leaning into the breakfast bar and stifling a yawn with the back of a hand.  "It'll be fun."

I raise an eyebrow sceptically.

"Like a sleepover," she adds.  "You know, midnight feasts.  Gossip.  Makeovers."  She laughs.  "Please."

My mind's suddenly racing.  It's a well-known fact that any teenage guy would kill to know what goes on at a girly sleepover.  Just the thought of seeing a group of hot girls in their pyjamas is enough to make me smile.

She grabs my shoulder and shakes me slightly, waking me up from what could be a very good dream.

"Sam?"

"A sleepover?"

She nods before pushing her free hand back through her hair.  Strands stick up at odd angles and I get a strange urge to smooth them out for her.  My hand twitches.

"You seriously can't sleep in a room with a spider?"

"I slept in the garage the last time I spotted a spider in my room."

"You know, there're probably more spiders and insects in a garage than a bedroom."

She shrugs. "Wasn't that night.  I mean, if there's anywhere else I could sleep."

My eyes move to the sofas.

"The spider can crawl there in no time."

"And it can't crawl to my door?"

She shakes her head, grinning.  "Not if we shove a towel or something under the door."

"You're serious about all this, aren't you?"

"Yes."

I look to the kitchen clock, which reads gone eleven, before I heave a dramatic sigh that's completely forced.  She didn't really need to convince me to let her sleep in my room.  I just didn't want to come off as too accepting of the idea.  You know, seeing as I'm still testing her.

I purse my lips and she clasps her hands together.  "This doesn't mean I like you."

She jumps up and down, letting out hushed squeals.  "Thank you."

I try not to feel flattered at how overjoyed she is at the prospect of getting to share my bed, even if it is all because of a spider.

My own happiness, however, takes a nose dive when we both reach my room.  I shut the door behind me and Emmy quickly stuffs a pair of my jeans into the gap between the bottom of the door and the carpet.

"There," she says, draping her hoody over the back of my desk chair and brushing her hands off.  "Now we're safe."

I snort.  "Safe?  It's a spider, not a crocodile."

She perches on the edge of my bed, crossing her long legs and giving me a half shrug. "I feel better anyway."

I stand awkwardly next to my desk.  Ideally I'd like to go to sleep now but the fact that Emmy's sitting on my bed is keeping me from crawling beneath my duvet.  The only light in the room is coming from the lamp on my bedside table.  Shadows stretch over my walls, sending a profile of Emmy onto the wall I'm standing against.  I study it.  Pouty lips, straight nose.  Long eyelashes.  I shake my head.

"You know I would have stayed in Vince's room if he was on his own."

My gaze snaps to her. "What?"

She rolls her shoulders before stretching her arms above her head.  Her tank top raises above the waistband of her shorts and my guts twists.  "If he had the room to himself I'd have shared with him.  I only came here because you're the one with space in your bed."

Any flattery I'd felt earlier is smashed into the ground.  "Oh."  I sound disappointed and I hate it.

She smiles.  "Vince is single.  Ollie has a girlfriend."  She stares at me, her blue gaze unwavering.  "Although I'm kinda glad I'm here with you.  I mean, I don't wanna upset Tandy and I've got a feeling Vince would probably try and grope me while I'm asleep."

I smile before I can stop myself.  "Yeah."

She strokes the duvet, trailing a finger up and down the fabric.  I can tell she's tired.  "You don't strike me as the type to try anything."

I take it as a compliment although I don't want her thinking I'm completely innocent.  Having girls throw themselves at me when we'd got our only big hit had gone to my head, but the novelty had quickly worn off.  I don't think it ever will for Vince.  Emmy's right.  Even I wouldn't want to share a bed with him.

"You won't, will you?"

I shake my head hard.  "Of course not."  The red blooded male part of me thinks I should, as part of the test, to see if that'll drive her away, but I'm not risking getting a sexual harassment order.  Not my style.

"So."

"So," I repeat.

"Time to sleep?"

I nod and inch closer to the bed.  Emmy follows my lead, scooting to the head of the bed before peeling the covers back.  She dives underneath, getting comfy as she nuzzles the pillow.  I stay watching her for as long as I can without it coming across as creepy.  When my heart's thudding hard at the sight of her under my duvet, I climb in next to her, making sure to stay to my side of the double bed.

"This pillow smells good," she mumbles.  I barely hear it over the sound of my fidgeting.

"It's called washing powder," I reply, coming off as sarcastic.

I spot her smiling over at me, her eyes closing, and a shudder travels up my spine.  "No," she replies into the fabric.  "It smells like you."

I stare at the ceiling for a good ten minutes, trying to digest her comment.  No matter which way I decipher it, it still makes me smile.  But I still hate her.  Obviously.