Be the Girl(64)

“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.