Emma's bedroom was tiny. And, much like the rest of her one bedroom apartment, barely furnished. Aside from her bed, which had been shoved against the wall, there was a rickety dresser. Two of it's four drawers actually slid without catching or threatening to fall if pulled out more than halfway. On top of the dresser rested the bag that contained Emma's tarot deck, her jewelry box, the remains of a pack of menthol cigarettes, and her lighter. Her "curtains" were mismatched sheets and the only things on the wall were two black-light posters.
Emma shifted again, so her arm wasn't pinned between her and the wall. She was starting to wake up a bit more. She rubbed her eyes a bit and grumbled. "Mmm, I guess," she shrugged. "Depends on who the 'someone else' is." While Emma might not have slept around Crows Landing, she had shared sheets with a couple of guys around her age. Both of them were bed hogs, and assholes. Had those been up for scrutinization in this conversation, Emma would say it wasn't better to sleep with someone. In either definition.
And she was drifting off to sleep again, fighting to keep an eye open in case Tatum was still wanting to chat.