Be the Girl

“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.