Be the Girl(77)

“How was the rest of your day?”

“Horrible,” I confess.

“You know …,” his fingertips trail over my cheekbones, my nose, the length of my bottom lip, “this guy in my chem class asked if the rumor about Holly was true.”

I study his collarbone intently. “What rumor is that?”

“The one about how she used to beg me to let her suck on my toes. You know, because she has a weird foot fetish.”

“Wow. That’s kind of … different?” I struggle to stifle my triumphant grin. That only took one period to spread through the school.

“It gets better. She used to ask me not to shower after practice, because she liked the taste of my sweat.”

My cringe is genuine now. Someone’s been embellishing. “What did you say?”

He chuckles. “I didn’t know what to say, at first. I denied it, of course.” His forehead wrinkles. “But it got me thinking about a certain girl who has a hatred for feet.”

I feel the tips of my ears burning. “Yeah, that girl will definitely not suck on your sweaty toes, if that’s the sort of thing you like.” I cringe a second time at the thought.

Emmett laughs. At least if he suspects that I started the rumor—which he clearly does—he doesn’t seem angry about it. “She might deserve that rumor floating around after what she did to you today.”

Today, last Friday …

“Yeah, that stunt of hers worked.” Some jerk wearing an Eastmonte football jacket threw himself against a locker as I was walking by after school, as if I carried the plague.

“Don’t worry, it’ll blow over soon.”

“I know.” The question is, what will follow in its place?

Emmett trails a fingertip along my jawline. “Do you want me to say something to her?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll deal with it. You’ve got enough going on.”

He hesitates but then nods.

“You know what?” I shift my legs and roll onto my side to face him, smoothing my palm over his stubbled jaw. “I don’t want to talk about Holly anymore.”

“Me neither.” He presses his lips against mine in the sweetest kiss. “Especially not when we have the house to ourselves for the next hour.”

“What about your dad?” His car is in the driveway.

Emmett’s hand smooths over the curve of my hip. “He’s in Vancouver for a few days.”

“Oh.” Oh.

“Yeah.” His hard swallow fills the growing tension in the room. And then he’s kissing me again.

That surreal fog of “I can’t believe this is happening!” that enveloped me every time Emmett was near is finally giving way to familiarity, to an urge to explore him.

An hour isn’t much time at all.

We’re shifting, rolling, until I’m on my back again and Emmett hovers over me, propped up on his elbows on either side of my head, his body pressing against mine. I let my hands wander, sliding up his shirt, memorizing the hard ridges of muscle over his back, the feel of his hot skin, as I venture all the way to his shoulder blades.

He breaks free from my mouth long enough to reach back with one arm to yank his shirt over his head. In another deft maneuver, he has it completely off and is launching it across the room, as if not planning on getting redressed anytime soon.

My nerves flutter in my stomach. It’s the first time I’ve seen him shirtless and it is a sight. I sigh softly as I take in his bare chest, the pad of muscles begging to be touched. And I do, smoothing my palms over them, my fingertips drawing circles.

I feel a tug against the hem of my shirt, and when I meet Emmett’s eyes, they’re bright with earnest. “Can I?”

I simply nod, and lift my arms.

He slips my shirt off and his heated gaze drifts over my white lace bra. He makes no move to unfasten it, though. Not yet.

But if he asks, I’ll let him.

I don’t think there’s anything I’d say no to right now, with Emmett.

Our lips find each other once again, this time in a heady dance of tangled tongues and bumping teeth, as his hot skin presses against mine, as his racing heart pounds against mine. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, and those are the last words exchanged between us.

I lose track of time, caught up in this intoxicating bubble that is Emmett—Emmett’s lips on my mouth, on my neck, on my ears, along my collarbone. He doesn’t venture further and seems to be making a concerted effort to keep his hands PG-13, which only builds my frustration, until I’m whispering his own words back to him, my fingers weaving tightly through his hair.

Car doors slam outside Emmett’s window.

He peels away and rolls onto his back, exhaling slowly, his breathing ragged. “That was fun.” His puffy, red lips stretch into a lazy smile as his eyes meet mine. “I guess we should do some homework now?”

I reach for my shirt with dismay.





Dear Julia,

I know it was wrong to start that rumor. But it was a stupid, silly, immature rumor. Not a big one. Not one that would hurt Holly. And having people think you sucked your ex-boyfriend’s sweaty toes is nothing compared to having the school think you have an untreatable, highly contagious STD. PLUS, I’m sure she had something to do with drugging Cassie.