Mark shrugs, eyeing his sleeping daughter. “Not sure how I’d wake her up anyway. She’s out like a light. Too much stimulation?”
Emmett’s gaze slides to the TV. “I guess.”
“Well … good night. ’Night, Aria. And, oh, happy birthday in,” he checks his watch, “seven minutes.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
Mark is a soft-spoken man who works a lot, but when he’s here, he’s here, popping allergy pills so his daughter can borrow a dog for a few hours. He’s so different from my father, a loud man who can find the negative side to everything and missed my fourteenth birthday—didn’t even call—because he was preoccupied by his “business trip” in Banff with his paralegal mistress.
I doubt he even remembers that it’s my birthday tomorrow.
* * *
The lights in the living room are off when we reach my front door.
Is Mom upstairs in bed already? Or hiding in the dark, watching for me?
“So, tonight was … interesting.” I dig the house keys from my pocket. At least it started out great.
“Yeah.”
“How’s your hand?” I’m aware it’s the fourth time I’ve asked.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, really,” he dismisses, his attention drifting off, down the street, toward the direction of Mower’s house. Is the party still going on?
“Okay, well … I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, at dinner?”
He nods, chewing the inside of his mouth in thought before leaning down to steal a quick, chaste kiss. “I should get back, in case Cassie wakes up high and freaks out.”
“Yeah. Of course. Go.” I force a smile to hide my disappointment and watch him trot down the steps.
He makes it maybe five feet before he stops abruptly, doubles back, and jogs back to pull me into his arms.
I sink into his warm body.
“My head is scattered.” He leans down to kiss my lips softly. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go the way you probably wanted it to.”
I smooth my hand over his chest, reveling in the warmth and the hard curves one last time before bed. “I was with you so it went exactly how I wanted it to go.”
He clenches his jaw. “I just hate that Adam did that to her. It’s one thing to do something like that to me or you, but to make her a target?” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t paying attention to her like I should have been. I feel guilty.”
“She’s going to be okay.”
He nods, and then presses a lingering kiss against my jawline, just below my ear, that sends shivers through my body. “See you tomorrow.”
I watch him jog across the lawn before I step inside, locking the door behind me, finally feeling the exhaustion of tonight’s drama weigh me down.
“Happy birthday!” Mom appears at her bedroom door in her pajamas as I reach the top of the landing, a rectangular box with silver wrapping in her hands. The soft hum of the TV carries from her bedroom. “Good night?”
A small voice in my head suggests that maybe I should tell her what happened. But then I’d have to confess to this growing rift between Holly and me, and that would only spark her fear and worry.
I shift my eyes to the gift in her hand and nod.
* * *
Dear Julia,
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.
A loud creak sounds from the staircase.
Emmett groans and rolls off, leaving me instantly cold. This ache only grows when I watch him stand and, as discreetly as possible, adjust himself.
I pull myself into a respectable sitting position on the edge of Emmett’s bed, smoothing my hair, as the door swings open and Cassie barges in.
“Dinner’s ready,” she announces with a grin.
“Meet you guys down there.” Emmett strolls to the bathroom across the hall.
* * *
“That was delicious, Heather.” Uncle Merv wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin and then tosses it onto his dirty plate.
“Well, I hope you saved room for dessert,” she says through a glass of wine—I guess she didn’t have too much last night, after all.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubs his protruding belly, his loose jowls lifting with his grin. “Oh, I suppose there might be some room left in here for pie.”
“Or something else.” Cassie grins, her eyes flittering to me before shifting to her mother. She waggles her eyebrows and nods her head, urging Heather. She’s been giving her mother that look all night, and Heather has mouthed or whispered, “Not yet,” over and over again.
I suspect it has to do with my birthday.
“Emmett? Why don’t you help me clear.” Mark collects dinner plates.
Emmett, who’s sitting beside me, whose leg nudged against mine the entire dinner, stands.
I move to help.
Mark pats the air, winking at me. “Stay, relax. We’ve got this. Cassie?”
Her mouth makes an “oh” shape and, with a furious nod and her wide eyes flashing to me, she scrambles out of her seat.
I prepare myself for the ensuing embarrassment.
It comes five minutes later when the lights suddenly dim and Cassie’s laughter sounds, and Heather aims a giant lens at me to take a picture. My cheeks burn as Emmett leads, carrying a homemade chocolate cake on a plate, sixteen pink candles blazing from the top. Everyone’s voices meld together in song, including Uncle Merv’s gruff baritone, and Heather snaps picture after picture.
“We made it yesterday. It took us all day! I helped decorate,” Cassie declares as Emmett sets the cake down in front of me.
“Make a wish,” he whispers, his eyes glimmering in the candlelight.
I smile up at him. I’ve already got my wish, I want to say. All my wishes.
Life is good again.
I take a deep breath and blow out the candles. Someone—Heather, I assume—has piped “Happy birthday, AJ” across the center in green icing. Messy, uneven squirts of pink and blue icing surround the tidy lettering, half of them with a Junior Mint embedded within. I’m guessing that’s Cassie’s contribution. Now the rattling sound in Cassie’s pocket and her secretive behavior the other day make sense.
“There were supposed to be more mints on top—” Heather begins with a chuckle.
“But I accidentally ate them.” Cassie smiles, as if she’s proud of that fact and everyone, including Uncle Merv, can’t help but laugh. Because Cassie makes people laugh, just by being herself—her innocent, curious, kindhearted self.
An unexpected wave of anger ripples through me. How could Holly be a part of something so cruel as what that asshole Adam did to Cassie last night? How could she allow something like that to happen?
I temper my anger and smile, pushing thoughts of Holly from my mind. “Thank you. This is a nice surprise.”
“Yeah.” Cassie shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, her hungry eyes sizing up the cake. “So … can you cut it now?”
21
“Miss Webber … you have a meeting with your guidance counselor.” Ms. McNair holds the slip of paper between her two fingers, hand-delivered by a mousy girl with thick glasses and a pale complexion.
“Oh! I totally forgot!” Holly croons.
Fake. Her voice grates on my nerves.
McNair glances at the clock. “Drop your essay on my desk on the way out, as I assume you won’t be back before
class end.”
There’s a rustling sound behind us as Holly gathers her things, and I steal a glance at Emmett, only to have him offer me that sexy smirk that makes me forget everything else.
The next thing I know, Holly is stumbling past me with a soft “oomph,” her hand flying out to brace herself against my desk, knocking my pencil case off in the process. Pens and highlighters scatter across the classroom floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Aria! I’m such a klutz!” She stoops and, in a rush, collects my things.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, stifling my eye roll.
“Here. I think I got everything. Oh, except this.” Her upturned nose crinkles as she holds up a long tube and reads, loud enough for the entire class to hear, “Herpes cold sore cream.”
My face explodes with flames as gasps and snickers and a few outright bursts of laughter sound around us. “That’s not mine!”
“Sure. Okay, well …” She tosses it onto my desk along with my pencil case and then holds her hands out as if she’s touched something foul. Her blue eyes land on Emmett with her cringe. “Have fun with that.”
“Oh my God, that’s not mine,” I mutter under my breath for only Emmett to hear, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. It doesn’t even say “herpes” on the tube!
“It’s not a big deal. People get them,” he whispers, clearing his throat.
“But I don’t. She set that up!” I force through gritted teeth. Too loud, because McNair’s gaze narrows at us in warning.
Her heels click on the classroom floor as she approaches. “Okay, Marshall, what can you tell me about …” She directs everyone’s attention to a guy across the room; meanwhile, her fingers slide over my desk to discreetly pick up the tube and carry it back to her desk.
It’s too late, though—the damage has been done. How long before a cold sore turns into a high school-wide rumor of me giving Emmett an STD? It’s the oldest trick in the book, and Holly played it beautifully.
I close my eyes and spend the last fifteen minutes of class keeping my tears at bay and my body from bolting from my chair, reminding myself how good it will feel when I crush her at regionals.
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