Be the Girl

I’m not going to lie—sixteen doesn’t feel any different than fifteen. Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few hours, so there hasn’t been a chance for any big revelations, no time to take my driver’s test yet. I’m still in bed. Waiting for Emmett to respond to my text about what happened last night with Cassie after he dropped me off.

I have this gut feeling that sixteen is going to be a good year for me, but nothing has happened yet. Here’s hoping, right? I’ll keep you posted, so you don’t feel like you’re missing out.

~AJ





“The pie crusts are a little flakier than I’d like.” My mom cringes with apology.

“Is dinner going to be at six? Because I need to eat at six,” Uncle Merv reminds Heather as he climbs the front steps.

“Hi, Murphy!” Cassie beams at the old dog, ignoring everyone else.

I hang back, pumpkin pie in hand, watching as the chaos unfolds in the entryway ahead, until Heather’s eyes land on me. “Come in, come in! It’s cold outside! And happy birthday!”

The Hartford house is the epitome of Thanksgiving—the scent of roasted turkey and sage lingers in the air, the dining room table is decked out in fancy china and crystal wine glasses beneath the glowing chandelier, and the center is lined with oddly shaped gourds and short vases of white roses and cranberry sprigs.

“Wow, Heather. This looks … you’ve outdone yourself.” My mom’s eyes twinkle as she takes in the sight.

Heather waves it off, collecting the pie from my hands. “It’s my favorite holiday. Though, I’m taking it easy on the wine after last night.” She chuckles. “But I have a bottle chilled and ready for you. Come in, please. Aria, Emmett’s in his room, finishing up an essay. Go on up. Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes.” She adds with knowing eyes, “At six o’clock, sharp.”

I smile. “Okay.”

Mom glances warily upstairs before shifting to me, and I know what she’s thinking—Aria and Emmett in his bedroom together, alone?

Really, Mom? With Cassie around? I even dip my head toward Cassie, who’s currently enthralled with Murphy but won’t be for long. Emmett said she slept through the night and when she woke up this morning, she seemed fine. Looking at her now, you’d never know about the drama that unfolded last night.

“Keep the door open,” Mom mouths.

I can’t resist rolling my eyes at her before making my way up. I knock once on the closed door, waiting for an answer. I don’t hear one and assume there’s too much noise carrying from downstairs to decipher his deep voice, so I turn the handle.

Emmett is sprawled out on his bed, his laptop pushed aside, his eyes closed, earbuds in his ears. His broad chest rises and falls slowly.

I push the door until it’s open a crack and then ease my way over to study him in sleep—his impossibly long, thick eyelashes, his messy hair, his full, soft lips, the way his neck meets his collarbone, hard muscle carving the curves.

Is he more beautiful asleep or awake? I can’t decide.

His hand—still bruised from last night’s fight—rests atop his stomach, partially covering where his T-shirt has ridden up. I study the cut of his hips and the thin strip of dark hair that trails down below his belt buckle and elastic band of his underwear.

An overwhelming rush of nerves hits my gut at the thought of touching him there.

“Is it dinner already?” Emmett’s deep voice cuts into the silence, startling me enough that I jump.

How long was he watching me gawk at him?

He grins as he tugs out his earphones, which makes me think, Long enough.

“Your mom said twenty minutes.”

“Perfect.”

I stifle my squeal as he grabs my hand and pulls me down to fall awkwardly on top of him. “Your laptop!”

With his free hand, Emmett pushes the screen shut and hoists it over his head to set it on his headboard’s shelf, before rolling his body. I land on my back beside him, with my legs draped over his thighs.

“Hi.” He leans in to press his warm lips against mine. The tension coursing through his body last night has vanished, replaced by languid touches and sleepy whispers. “Happy birthday. Again.”

“Thanks. Again.” I smile against his mouth, acutely aware of the way his giant hand splays across my stomach, inches from wandering into dangerous territory in either direction—up or down—with a simple slide of his long fingers. I wish he would. Not that right now is the best time. “The door’s open,” I whisper.

“We’ll hear the stairs creak. And Cassie’s slow.” With one more kiss, he leans back to rest his head on his biceps. “So, what’d you do today?”

“Nothing. Read.” Counted down the hours until now. “Finish your essay?”

“About halfway there.” He scowls. “I shouldn’t have left it until the last minute. And I’ve got two midterms next week, too.”

“That sucks. My math midterm is next week and I think I’m going to fail.”

“You’re not going to fail. But you know who you should ask to tutor you? Richard. There’s something about the way he explains things. He’s good.”

“Maybe I’ll ask him.” I pause. “Cassie seems fine?”

“Yeah.” The way he drags that one word out doesn’t sound convincing. “I’m never sure with her. She may seem fine, but then do or say something a year from now that makes me wonder if she’s been thinking about it all along. I played it off as no big deal this morning. That’s what you have to do with her. But it’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t say something that tips off my parents and if that happens …” He sighs. “Hopefully I’m in Minnesota by then.”

My chest pangs with that reminder. “Let’s hope she keeps her own secret, then.”

“Oh, by the way, here.” He rolls toward his bedside table and rummages in the top drawer.

I catch sight of an open box of condoms—my heart skips—before he pulls out a box wrapped in indigo-blue paper with silver stars. He grins as he settles in next to me again. “Open it now.”

“Did you wrap this?” I peel back the delicate, neatly taped paper.

“What do you think?”

“Your mom?”

He chuckles. “I picked it out, though.”

“Oh my God!” I burst out laughing as I uncover a Pennywise Funko Pop. “I love it!”

“It’s nothing big …,” he says, his mouth against my neck.

“It’ll remind me of that night at the fair.” The first night I found myself in Emmett’s arms. The almost-kiss. “It’s perfect.” I turn so our chests are pressed against each other. “I thought you promised no clowns for my birthday?”

“I lied.” He smiles. “I didn’t lie about the other thing, though.”

I frown, searching my memories. “What other—ahh!” I shriek as Emmett’s tongue slides across my cheek, leaving a wet trail.

“Shhh!” He chuckles as he holds my hands down to keep me from wiping his saliva off. “Or Cassie will hear you and be up here in a minute.”

I press my lips together—I want some private time with Emmett, after all—and lean forward to wipe my cheek on his shirt, earning his laugh. And then his kiss.

“Thank you. For the gift. You didn’t have to, but I love it.”

“Yeah? How much.”

“Like, I really love it.” I tease the seam of his mouth with my tongue.

His sharp intake of breath tells me he likes that, so I do it again.

“The door’s open,” he whispers, echoing my earlier warning.

“We’ll hear the stairs creak.” I offer a shy grin a second before it’s smothered by his lips.

Years from now, if anyone asks me what I did for my sixteenth birthday, I’ll tell them I kissed Emmett Hartford. That’s all I’ll remember, and it will have been the best birthday of my life.

His thumb slips under the hem of my shirt to tease the small of my back as he deepens his kiss, pulling my body closer and closer until it’s flush against his. And for the first time, I feel exactly how much Emmett wants me.

A small gasp escapes me.

The bed creaks as he shifts his weight, rolling with me until I’m on my back and he’s on top of me. My body reacts beneath his weight, warmth coursing through my limbs as I shift, allowing my thighs to squeeze around his. I know it won’t go that far—it can’t, with our parents downstairs. But that limitation seems to embolden a burning frustration in my body. My fingers suddenly itch to peel off his shirt; my skin aches to feel his wandering hands and mouth.

I’m sixteen years old now.

And I trust Emmett completely.