“I fell at cross-country. It’s no big deal. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” She nods, reassured, her attention shifting to Murphy again to scratch behind his ear. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.” I point to my tightened face. “That’s why I’m wincing.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Another nod. A smile. “Was there blood?”
“A bit.” I step into the warmth. The delicious scent of apple pie tantalizes my nose. A candle, I note, with disappointment.
“Can I see?”
“See what?”
“The blood.” She’s already bending over, her hand tugging on my pant leg, intent on pulling it up.
“Cassie …” Emmett stands at the top of the stairs, looking as gorgeous as ever in a fitted black long-sleeved shirt and dark-wash jeans. “Sorry, she has a weird obsession with blood and injuries.” He descends with casual effort, and the candle’s aroma vanishes as the scent of his body wash envelops me. If there is a benefit to all the hockey—besides his honed body—it’s the multiple showers he takes after practices and games.
“AJ hurt her leg,” Cassie announces.
“I know. Hey.” He stops just within my personal space, tilting his head at the plastic bag dangling from my fingers. “We have frozen peas here, you know.”
I shrug casually, hyperaware of his proximity. “My mom bought extra so I could swap them in the freezer.”
“AJ has to put her peas in the freezer!” Cassie’s attention is momentarily on the back of the house, long enough for Emmett to steal a quick kiss.
My cheeks flush, the ache in my knee vanishing with his parting smile.
“Why don’t you guys go downstairs? I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Come on, Murph! Let’s show you the basement. You’re going to like it.” Cassie takes his leash and leads him toward the stairs. “Here, let me turn the lights on for you. Oh, okay, Murph.” Her giggles carry.
“You’re okay with her hanging out with us, right?” Emmett asks softly.
“Yeah. Of course. I figured as much.” Truthfully, it was because I knew Cassie would be with us that I’m relaxed right now. She’s a buffer, until I get used to this thing with Emmett being a reality.
“Cool.” His eyes drift to my mouth a second before he leans down to kiss me again, this time lingering a bit, the tip of his tongue teasing the seam of my lips.
He’s such a good kisser; I could do this all night. But is he thinking the same about me? My heart pounds inside my chest, a potent mixture of intoxication and panic, of lust and self-doubt.
This is exactly why I need Cassie there.
“Emmett told me that you—tripped,” Heather stutters as she rounds the corner, catching the tail end of our kiss as Emmett pulls away. A tiny smile flickers across her lips. “Will you be okay for regionals?”
My face flames. “I think so. It’s already better. I have to keep icing it.”
“I’ll put one of these in the freezer for you.” Emmett leans down to collect my bag, his fingers grazing mine, seemingly unbothered about getting caught by his mother.
Heather’s steady gaze is on her son as he passes her, and I hobble down the stairs.
“Please don’t forget that she’s our neighbor and Merv’s family.” My ear catches Heather’s whisper.
“I know.”
“And Cassie’s friend.”
“Yup.”
There’s a pause. “And she’s only turning sixteen. I don’t know if Debra is going to be okay with …”
Heather’s voice has faded by the time I’ve reached the landing, unable to linger without the risk of getting caught eavesdropping. But I can guess how that sentence ended. The Hartfords are a tight-knit family. Heather and Mark know their kids. There’s no way Heather didn’t figure out that Emmett and Holly were doing it “like rabbits.” Thanks, Zack, for that mental image.
The basement is finished and warm—two things that the dungeon in Uncle Merv’s house is not. On the right is a closed door leading to Mark’s office. Around the corner on the left is a family room with an impressive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and a lumpy chocolate-brown sectional that has probably catered to a lot of lazing kids over the years. The kind of couch that, once you sink into it, you have a hard time pulling yourself out.
Deep, gray walls, a soft beige Berber carpet, and mismatched tables fill the rest of the space. Furniture that has seen better days—pieces that Heather and Mark won’t fuss over spills and scratches. All in all, it’s the perfect lounging area for teenagers.
“What movie do you want to watch?” Cassie has already burrowed into the corner of the sectional beneath a woven blanket, next to a bowl of Cheetos. Her arm dangles over the edge toward a resting Murphy, her fingers on his head. If ever there was a person who should own a dog, it’s Cassie. I’m sure it’ll be the first thing she gets when she moves out.
Will she ever move out, though?
What will Cassie be like at twenty-one, when she finally graduates high school?
“What movie do you want to watch?” she repeats.
“Oh, I don’t care. You guys can pick.” Because no doubt I won’t be watching a moment of it with Emmett in the room.
“Okay. But not It because I do not like that clown.” She shakes her head with conviction, her face a mask of grim resolve.
I sink into the cushions. “Good thing you didn’t go into the haunted house, then.”
* * *
Emmett gently positions the bag of frozen peas on my propped-up knee and settles in next to me. A thrill courses through my limbs, making me shudder.
“Here.” Emmett retrieves a plush blanket from the basket beside the couch and spreads it over my body.
That’s not why I shuddered, though it is chilly down here. “You want some?”
“Nah. I run hot.” He pauses. “Well, maybe a bit.” He edges in closer, until our sides are pressed against each other. “How’s that for your leg?” He juts a chin toward where my ankle rests atop a pillow on the coffee table.
“It’s perfect.”
“Good.” He lifts his arm up and over to stretch out on the back of the couch behind me. He aims the remote. “You seriously haven’t seen Alien before?”
“Seriously.” My body sinks into his, thanks to his weight and our proximity, until I’m leaning against his hard chest. He’s right, he does run hot. And I love it. “Isn’t this, like, old?”
“Still amazing, though.”
“The alien’s not real,” Cassie declares. “Don’t worry, AJ, it’s fake. They’re all actors.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried.” I doubt she catches the sarcasm in my tone.
“Okay, you guys are sitting close.” She tacks on that odd little laugh at the end. But if she’s aware there’s something more than casual friendship growing between her brother and me, she isn’t letting on.
“So are you and Murphy,” I tease.
“Hi, Murphy!” Cassie exclaims, suitably distracted, her cheese powder–coated fingers reaching for Murphy’s nose, earning a lick in return.
The opening credits roll and Emmett adjusts his body, as if to settle into the cushions for the long haul. His free hand slides under the blanket, his fingers curling through mine.
* * *
“Let’s watch the second one!” Cassie exclaims as soon as the closing credits appear.
“I think I’m Alien’d out for tonight.” Emmett slips his fingers from mine to stretch his arms over his head.
I miss his touch instantly. I’ve had it all to myself for the past two hours, through acid-spitting, human-eating, close-your-eyes scenes, save for the few times he was fussing with the bag of peas, or swapping it out for a fresh one from the freezer.
I had so many excuses to bury my face in Emmett’s warm chest, and I greedily accepted every last one of them.
“I think Murphy needs to go out.” Emmett eyes the near-comatose dog. He must have eaten half the bowl of Cheetos, one by one, as
they tumbled from Cassie’s grip onto the floor. Accidentally or otherwise, I can’t be sure because she giggled every time she heard his crunch.
“I’ll take him!” Cassie kicks off her blanket. “Come on, Murph! Let’s go for a walk!”
The old dog lifts his head at that word, and then struggles to ease himself to a standing position, staggering a few steps before he gets his bearings.
“Just make sure you hold onto the leash tight and watch out for cats,” I warn.
“Which cat? Tiger? Oscar?” Her brow furrows in thought as she rattles off names of the neighbors’ pets. “Misty?”
“We don’t know, Cass. Just watch out for all cats.” Emmett watches her lead Murphy up the stairs and then his head flops back. “I knew that would work.” He turns to me, his eyes skating over my features, an intense look in them.
“What?” My voice is shaky as my own eyes trail his hard jaw, the sharp jut of his Adam’s apple, the cut of his collarbone peeking out from his shirt. Two hours of being pressed against him and holding his hand has made me desperate for more.
“Nothing. I’m waiting for you to kiss me.”
My stomach flips.
He laughs—as if he can sense it—and shakes his head. “I can’t remember the last time I just held hands through a movie. I think I was …,” his lips twist with thought, “thirteen, maybe?”
“Shut up. It was nice.”
“It was nice,” he admits, his voice earnest. “And I promised my mom I wouldn’t piss off our neighbor by corrupting her sweet fifteen-year-old daughter.”
“Sixteen, in two days.”
“Sorry, sixteen in two days,” he corrects with a smug grin.
Adrenaline courses through my lips as I study the lines of his face in the flickering light of the movie credits. “And I’m not that sweet.”
“No?” His jaw tenses as his gaze flips to my mouth. “Well … I’ll follow your lead, then.”
“Is that what you want?” There’s sultriness in my voice that I didn’t think myself capable of.
“Yeah, like, really want.”
Steeling my nerve, I lean forward to press my chest against his. I can feel his heart hammering in his chest, can hear the shakiness of his breathing. It sends a thrill through my body, the knowledge that Emmett may not be so cool and confident and experienced, and that this overwhelming edginess isn’t just mine to bear.
My first kiss against his lips is soft and unsure—teasing, really—as I feel him out, my fingers skating over his cheek, marveling at the light stubble. He shaves. I don’t think any of my other boyfriends shaved.
Is that officially what Emmett is now? My boyfriend?
“Watch your knee.” He shifts his muscular frame to loom over me, my back sinking into the plush couch cushions, his arm still stretched out along the back of the couch. I feel small and cocooned as his free hand wanders over my throat and along my collarbone, down to graze my side before settling on my hip.
Who knows how long we have before Cassie comes back but I’m desperate to venture beyond the feel of his arms, and so I waste no more time, my hands heading straight for his chest, smoothing over the planes of hard muscle and down over the ridges of his stomach. I curl my fingers beneath the hem of his shirt.
I press a palm against his hot skin over his belly button, holding it there.
He pulls away a touch to rest his forehead against mine, his ragged breathing skimming over my lips, his eyes steady on me. Waiting to see where I’ll venture next.
“Murphy pooped!” Cassie announces from the top of the stairs, followed by her careful footfalls.
Emmett curses and pulls away with a groan to sink into the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he’s in pain. “I’ll bet there’s a mound of dog shit somewhere on one of our front lawns right now.”
I laugh, though I probably shouldn’t. I’m the one who has to walk home in the dark.
* * *
It’s two minutes to eleven when Emmett and I reach my front porch, Murphy moseying beside us.
The Tiffany lamp in the living room glows through the front bay window and my mother’s car sits in the driveway. A low hum carries from the television. The news. She likes having the TV on in the background.
“I wonder how her big first date went,” I say, more to myself.
Will she be floating as high as I am right now? What if she and Mick kissed? My nose crinkles at the image that produces. Not what I want to be picturing.
“Have you asked her about tomorrow night yet?”
“Yeah. She’s fine with it. I’m waiting to bring up the curfew.”
A shadow passes in front of the front door and Emmett takes a step back, as if expecting my mom to pop out any second. She doesn’t, though I sense her hovering.
“So … I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
Biting his bottom lip in thought—a simple move that makes my good knee threaten to buckle—he whispers, “I wish I could text you whenever I wanted.”
“You can.”
His eyes are dark and intense as he stares at me. “But I can’t say the things I really want to.”
Breathe, Aria. “Me neither.”
His hard swallow carries through the still night. “What are you doing tomorrow, during the day?”
“My mom’s taking me birthday shopping. You?”
He nods toward the street. “Annual Thanksgiving weekend road hockey game in the afternoon.”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes and he laughs.
“So, I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
I nod, watching his lips as they approach mine. He presses a chaste but sweet kiss against them.
The front door creaks open.
“Murph! There you are!” my mom exclaims, bending over to pat his head, a glass of white wine cradled in her other hand.
“I told you I was taking him with me.”
“Hey, Ms. J.,” Emmett offers cordially.
“Oh! Hi, Emmett. I didn’t realize you two were out here.”
I give my mom a flat look.
She ignores it. “How’s the knee, Aria?”
“A lot better.”
“She’s been icing it on and off all night. Hopefully she can run in regionals.” He says that part while looking down at me. “’Kay, well … good night, AJ.” With a small wave and smile, he takes the porch steps two at a time and heads for the sidewalk. Neither of us feels like stepping in a pile of Murphy’s dog shit tonight.
Mom’s eyes trail him. “He’s a nice boy.”
She’s in an awfully good mood. “How was your date?”
“Good.” She smiles secretively. “We’re going out again next week.”
“Wow. A second date.”
“I know. So … we’ll see.” Her lips press together. “I’ll put the peas in the freezer if you don’t need them? You should go and get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Yeah. A long day followed by an exciting night. I find my own lips pressing together, the feel of Emmett’s against them still alive.
“’Night.”
I’m curled under my blanket, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars, unable to sleep, when I pick up my phone and text Emmett.
Thanks. Tonight was fun.
That seems safe enough for any parental filter.
He answers not ten seconds later.
Tomorrow night will be even better. Good night.
I grin, my fingers itching to type out so many other things. You’re an incredible kisser. I’m head-over-heels crazy about you. I wish we could have stayed on your couch all night. Thoughts I wouldn’t have the nerve to send, even without my mother’s supervision.
But she can see these messages and, for the first time since we shut down my old social media accounts and disconnected my Calgary number—basically, since we deleted me from online existence—this bothers me.
I’m three thousand miles away from my old life. Things are good now.
I finally settle
on a simple Good night.
18
The delicious scent of hot coffee and frying pancake batter meets me at the top of the stairs the next morning.
“I don’t need a new bed! Stop wasting your damn money!” Uncle Merv’s gruff voice booms, followed by Cassie’s burst of laughter.
Murphy stands at the kitchen’s threshold, brushing his wet nose against my fingers in greeting when I enter.
“Sleeping Beauty’s awake finally,” Uncle Merv grumbles, but then he follows it with a smile that lifts his loose jowls.
“Oh, hello, AJ.” Cassie grins at me as my mom sets a plate of pancakes in front of her, the bottle of maple syrup gripped in her hands.
“Hey, Cass.” I glance at the clock on the wall, though I know it’s only a few minutes past the time I last checked—9:42 a.m. “Mom, why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I figured I’d let you sleep in. Cassie took Murphy out.” She pours pancake batter from the soup ladle onto the hot griddle. “How’s your knee today?”
I lift and bend it. “A bit sore but it’s okay. I should be good for regionals.” My speed and endurance is another story. But, if there’s anything I dwelled on last night besides thoughts of Emmett—of his smile, the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his body against mine—it was running in that race.
And beating the hell out of Holly’s time.
“Here. Why don’t you take this seat.” Uncle Merv slowly eases out of his chair, collecting his plate and mug. He hobbles toward the sink. “That was good, Debra. Thank you.”
“Just leave it there. I’ll load the dishwasher after,” Mom instructs. “I found that audiobook you wanted. The one about the Vietnam War? It’s all set up and ready for you on your tablet.” Another purchase my mother made that he insisted he didn’t need, along with the Bose headphones that he uses daily.
“Well … good.”
“What’s the Vietnam War?” Cassie asks, her eyes laser-focused on the steady stream of maple syrup she pour onto her pancakes.
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