Beauty and the Running Back (17 page)

Those soft, sculpted lips part, ever-so-slightly, as he
draws in a deep breath. “Well,” he starts, letting his blue eyes travel down
the length of my body. “I can tell you what I’d like to—”

A shrill scream rings out from somewhere within the massive
house, a wave of frantic noise building from below. The din rises, tearing my
and Emerson’s attention away from each other. The pounding music cuts off
abruptly, and through the cacophony ringing out beneath our feet, a new set of
voices can be heard loud and clear.

“Police! Everybody out!”

“Break it up, break it up!”

“Anyone still here in five minutes is under arrest!”

“Fuck me,” I mutter angrily, shoving a hand through my
blonde hair.

“Certainly no time for that now,” Emerson laughs roughly,
playing off our intense moment. Or maybe I was just imagining that intensity?
I’ll never know now.

 I squint as bright light floods the closet once more.
Someone’s ripped open the door, revealing the chaos unfolding in the master
bedroom suite. Courtney is bawling frantically as everyone else makes a beeline
for the exits. Emerson shoves my panties into his pocket just in time, before
Riley darts into the closet to fetch us.

“We have to go!” she says firmly.

“How are we going to make it past the cops?” I ask
worriedly. Running from the police isn’t exactly my strong suit. Luckily,
Emerson is a bit more experienced on this front than I.

“Come on,” he commands, a daredevil smile spreading across
his face as he takes my wrist in his hand.

Riley gives me a big wink as Emerson carts me away into the
frenzy of escaping partygoers. We dive into the fray, the voices of police
officers and drunken high schoolers commingling in a deafening clash. As we run
along the second story landing, I watch as one incautious classmate takes a
swing at a cop, then finds himself in handcuffs a moment later. I stay as close
to Emerson as I can as he barrels through the crowd, protecting me from the
surge of moving bodies. We careen into an empty bedroom and slam the door
behind us, our chests heaving with exertion.

“Where did Riley go?” I ask, panicked.

“No time to look for her,” Emerson says gruffly, striding
toward the bedroom window, “If I get arrested again, my mom’s gonna ship me off
to the Army or something.” He wrenches open the window and kicks the screen
clear out of the frame.

“Is that really necessary?” I hiss, as he peers out into the
night.

“Jackpot,” he says, ignoring my question, “We can climb
right down this trellis. And your dad’s place—sorry,
our
place—is close enough to make a run for
it.”

“How am I supposed to keep up with you, Mr. Varsity
Athlete?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips.

“Run fast,” he winks, swinging a leg over the window sill. I
let out a frightening yelp as he disappears out the window, and I rush forward
to make sure he hasn’t fallen. I look on as Emerson dismounts gracefully onto
the lush green grass below, looking up at me expectantly.

“I can’t do that,” I call down to him.

“You have to,” he insists, “Don’t be such a little chicken
shit, Sis.”

“No. I mean, I can’t...” I trail off, blushing wildly, “You
still have my. You know.”

A wild, raucous laugh rips out of Emerson’s throat as he
remembers that my panties are still in his pocket. I’m totally commando. And
wearing a skirt. Not exactly the best trellis-climbing attire.

“I promise I won’t peek,” Emerson says, getting a hold of
himself. “Just come on.”

“No fucking way!” I reply, crossing my arms.

“Look. It’s either scamper down here, bare-assed, or get
arrested. Your call,” Emerson shoots back. “I’m pretty sure your precious
colleges won’t be thrilled with your having a criminal record.”

I bite my lip, glancing over my shoulder as the din of the
raid reaches its peak. He’s right. I’m all out of options. “You have to close
your eyes,” I tell him. “I mean it, Sawyer.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, screwing his eyes shut. “Get a move
on, weirdo.”

A cool breeze brushes against my most intimate flesh as I
scoot onto the window sill. As far as strange sensations go, this has to be up
near the top. Checking once more to make sure Emerson’s eyes are really closed,
I grab onto the vine-covered trellis beside the window. With a deep breath, I
swing out into the open air. I’ve never been very good with heights, so this is
not exactly my idea of a good time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan, as the breeze lifts up my
skirt.

“What’s that?” Emerson asks, one eye almost cracking open.

“No!” I screech, my stomach dropping at the thought of him
getting an eyeful of my cooch from down below.

In a desperate, unthinking moment, I try and smooth down my
skirt, losing my grip on the flimsy trellis. I feel my body pitching backward,
plummeting through the air. I brace myself for the impact, waiting to hear my
bones crackling as I hit the ground. But in the next moment, I feel two thick
arms wrap firmly around my small body. I blink up at Emerson from where I lay
cradled in his grasp. He didn’t even stagger when I fell into his embrace, he’s
that much bigger than I am. For a moment, it’s all we can do to stare at each
other in wonder. We’re closer than we’ve ever been before. So,
so
close...

I glance down at my legs and see that one of Emerson’s hands
is gripping my bare ass, full on—the tips of his fingers dangerously close to
my exposed sex.

“Oh,” I say faintly.

“Oh...” he replies, realizing what it is that he’s got a
handful of.

He lowers me unceremoniously to my feet, brushing himself
off brusquely. Am I crazy, or is that a slight blush creeping into his cheeks?

“Let’s get out of here,” he says gruffly, shoving my panties
back into my hands and taking off at a jog.

I stare at his retreating back for a long moment before coming
to. With trembling hands, I step back into my lacy underwear and set off in his
wake. No way is he going to wait around for me—I should know that much by now.

Chapter Two

* * *

We spend the next hour darting through the thick, shadowy
woods that blanket the town, slowly making our way home. Barely a word is
spoken by either of us as we make our way along, pausing whenever we hear a
siren in the distance. By the time we stumble through the brush and land in our
backyard, I’m covered in scrapes and dirt. Emerson, for his part, seems to be
mostly unscathed. But of course he is.

The lights are all out as we tiptoe into my childhood home—a
stately but relatively modest Tudor house. Dad and Deborah must be asleep by
now. It is, after all, past two in the morning. Hopefully Dad won’t ask too
many questions about what I’m doing home in the morning—I told him I’d be
sleeping over at Riley’s. But he’s not exactly the type to check up, and I
doubt that Deborah even goes through the motions of keeping tabs on Emerson
anymore. With a little bit of luck, we’ll be in the clear.

Emerson and I slip through the back doors and plod up the
carpeted staircase, skipping the creaky stair, coming at last to the second
story landing. There are three bedrooms in my dad’s house: the master bedroom
just off the landing, which he and Deborah are sharing now, and two smaller
rooms at either side of the hall. My room is down to the right, Emerson’s is to
the left. He doesn’t even bother saying goodnight before turning away and
slipping into his room. With a sigh, I trudge back to my own quarters at the
opposite end of the hall.

Closing the door gently behind me, I belly flop onto my bed,
burying my face in the fluffy pillow and fighting the urge to scream. I can’t
sort through everything that happened between Emerson and I tonight. Between
the tense moments during Seven Minutes of Heaven to his accidental but steamy
caress after I took a tumble off the trellis, I’m totally at a loss. Tonight
was the first time we’ve seen each other outside of school and home since he
and Deborah moved in. And it’s certainly the first time anything so...charged
has passed between us.

I flip over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. The
glow-in-the-dark stars I put up as a kid still hang overhead, despite my
near-adult status. With a pang of heartache, I realize that Emerson and I are
bound to part ways once we turn eighteen and graduate high school. I’ll never
know what could have been between us, if our parents hadn’t ruined everything
by getting together. Then again, he probably never would have even learned my
name if not for them. So I guess I should be somewhat grateful. Emphasis on
somewhat
.

Knowing that I’ll never fall asleep with all this tension
built up inside of me, I roll over and slide open the top drawer of my night
table. There, hidden among a jumble of makeup and jewelry, is a tiny device
disguised to look like a tube of lipstick. Its
actual
purpose is a whole lot more in line with what I need right now.

I press a hidden button on the little bullet and smile as it
whirs to life. My reliable vibrator—the best battery-operated boyfriend around.
Laying back, I bring the vibrator down between my legs, slipping it beneath the
lace panties that Emerson held in his hands not hours ago. The mere thought of
his broad, capable hands is enough to get me off almost at once. Swallowing a
low moan, I come into that black lace g-string, with Emerson’s face suspended
in my mind’s eye all the while.

“Hopefully that won’t make breakfast too awkward,” I whisper
to myself, savoring the relaxing wave that washes over me as I drift into a
deep, satisfied sleep.

* * *

The silence that first fell between Emerson and I after he
saved me from breaking my neck persists for the better part of the next two
weeks. My handsome housemate may as well be a ghost, for all I see of him. He
leaves for school early in the morning, stays out late at night, and generally
avoids me like the plague. Did I totally wig him out that night at the party? I
could have sworn that he was sending me some flirtatious signals, but maybe I
totally misread him. Maybe he just thinks I’m an incest-loving freak show now.

I’ve never been the best flirt, I guess.

Riley almost dies when I give her all the juicy details a
few days after the party. Turns out she let us get separated when the cops
showed up, so that Emerson and I could have an “adventure” all on our own.

“So, he basically took off your panties and finger-banged
you,” she sums it up as we head off on a coffee run during our school lunch
hour.

“That is a very liberal translation,” I say, blushing like
crazy as I stare out the passenger side window.

“He is
so
into you,” Riley grins. “I can’t believe it, after all this time.” She catches
my frown and backtracks. “I mean, I can totally believe
why
he’d be into you, it’s just—”

“I know that’s he a bit above my pay grade, Ri,” I tell her,
leaning back against my seat. “I’m not exactly up to par with the girls he
usually hangs out with.”

Without preamble, Riley swerves violently onto the shoulder
of the main road, causing me to yelp in abject terror.

“Listen to me,” she says firmly, taking my face in her
hands. “You are every bit as sexy and bitchin’ as Emerson Sawyer. He’d be lucky
to have you, Abby.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I insist. “He’s the badass,
gorgeous lacrosse star, I’m the weird, short, artsy girl. If this were a teen
movie, maybe we’d stand a chance. But I know my place on the food chain. Guys
like Emerson don’t go for girls like me.”

“Oh please,” Riley moans, rolling her eyes, “In a few
months’ time, we’re all gonna be out in the real world. You could take your
high-waisted shorts and dark lipstick-wearing self to any major city and be an
‘it girl’ in three second flat. The rest of these assholes will have already
peaked in high school, so count your blessings that you’re a weirdo now.”

“Thanks? I think?” I laugh, “Really, Ri. You always know how
to cheer me up.”

“Damn straight I do,” she says, tossing her black curls over
her shoulder. “That’s what best friends are for—assuring you that boning your
maybe-someday-stepbrother is totally chill as long as your dad doesn’t put a
ring on it first.”

I shake my head as Riley laughs, pulling back onto the road
with the radio blasting.

I try my best to keep Riley’s words of encouragement close
to my heart as the silence between me and Emerson continues on. You’d think we
were locked in a nuclear arms race, for how cold things have become between us.
I catch glimpses of him at school, and have the unfortunate experience of
watching Courtney try to stick her tongue down his throat on more than one
occasion. But as the days until my eighteenth birthday tick away, the silent
treatment goes on.

A few days before my grand entrance into adulthood, I arrive
home from school irritated and disgruntled. The stress of college applications
and AP course work coupled with the ongoing radio silence between me and
Emerson has me way on edge. So the very last thing I want to see when I walk in
front door of my home is Dad and Deborah, making out like a couple of teenagers
against the kitchen island.

“Jesus,” I mutter, starting for my room, “Is everybody
getting some action around here besides me?”

“Oh! Abby!” Deborah giggles from the kitchen, “Good. You’re
home.”

“Hi Dad. Hi Deb,” I mutter gloomily, standing at the foot of
the stairs. “I’m just gonna head up to my room and get some studying in—”

“Nooo, come on. Come chat with us first!” Deb insists,
bustling out into the foyer to apprehend me.

Though Emerson and I are the same age, Deborah is about ten
years my dad’s junior. Truth be told, she looks even younger than her
biological age. Her voluminous platinum blonde hair is always arranged in
luscious curls, her makeup applied perfectly. This stands to reason, given that
she works as a freelance makeup artist, mostly doing weddings and the like.
She’s way taller than I am, especially given her penchant for wearing
three-inch heels. And, I have to admit, the lady’s got a killer rack. Between
the tits and her habit of wearing loud neon colors, it’s no wonder that my dad
took notice of her. My question is, what does she see in him?

I wouldn’t say that my father is unattractive. He’s just
very...unremarkable. He was quite the looker as a younger man, but my mom Sandy
was the real beauty. Their wedding pictures look like something out of a movie.
I inherited my mom’s facial features, but missed out on her vibrant red hair
and hourglass curves. Can’t pick and choose what you inherit from your parents,
I guess. And you certainly don’t get to choose who your parents are in the
first place.

“It’s been ages since we’ve had a good talk,” Deb gushes,
plunking me down at the kitchen table. “Tell me everything. How’s school? Any
boyfriends? Spill, girl!”

I glance over at my father, silently begging him not to make
me engage in small talk with his girlfriend. But he just grins at the two of us
like we’re some big, happy family. As grating as Deb can be, I haven’t seen my
dad smile like this in years. It’s the least I can do to muscle through some
mindless chatter.

“Well,” I begin, “I dunno...”

The sound of the front door opening is my saving grace. I
look over my shoulder and see Emerson stride across the threshold, making a
beeline for his room. But Deborah has other plans, and rushes out to greet him
with a squeal.

“Not so fast!” she cries, seizing her son by the arm. “It’s
not every day that I can manage to snag you
and
Abby for a chat. Come on! We’re having family time!”

“Are you high or something?” Emerson grumbles. I can tell by
his inflection that it’s an honest question. I wonder what it must have been
like for him, growing up with a single mom who had substance abuse issues. My
dad’s drinking didn’t get bad until Mom passed away, and by then I was already
fourteen. But from what I understand, Deb’s drinking has been going on for most
of Emerson’s life. My heart twists painfully just thinking about what a rough
go he must have had. No wonder he’s got more defense strategies than The
Pentagon.

“This is so wonderful,” Deb goes on, forcing Emerson into a
chair across the table from me. We immediately avert our eyes, looking anywhere
but at each other. The uncomfortable silence between us is deafening in this
enclosed space. What I wouldn’t give for a trap door or an ejection seat right
now.

“While we’ve got you both here,” my dad finally cuts in,
wrapping an arm around Deb’s waist. “We should talk about your birthdays this
weekend.”

“Birth
days
?”
Emerson asks, his brow furrowing.

“As in plural?” I add, looking up at my dad.

“Sure! Haven’t you guys figured it out yet?” Dad laughs,
“Your birthdays are only one day apart! Abby’s is May 4th, and Emerson’s is May
3rd.”

A satisfied grin spreads across Emerson’s face as he leans
back in his chair. For the first time since that night at the party, he swings
his gaze directly my way.

“Look at that,” he says, keeping those blue eyes locked on
mine. “I
am
your big
brother after all.”

“Oh, that’s so precious!” Deb swoons. “I’m so glad you two
are feeling more like family. That makes me so, so happy. What should we do to
celebrate your eighteenth birthdays? Bowling? The movies?”

“I was gonna buy a shit load of porn, cigarettes, and
scratch off lottery tickets and have myself a private party,” Emerson says
bluntly. “You all are more than welcome to join in. Though things might get a
little...awkward.”

I tear my eyes away from his at this last bit, feeling my
cheeks burning hotly. He’s baiting me. I can tell.

“Honestly, Emerson,” Deb says, her cheerful veneer cracking,
“Do you have to shit all over every nice thing I try to do for you?”

“Don’t worry, Deb. He was just kidding,” my dad coos,
planting a kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead. “Weren’t you, Emerson?”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sport,” Emerson replies
shortly, slapping his palms against the table. “Now, as fun as this has been,
I’ve got things to do.”

He strolls out of the kitchen, pausing for half a second to
snatch a bag of chips out of the cupboard. Deb is so pissed off at his behavior
that she and my dad don’t even try to stop me as I hurry off after Emerson.

“Hey,” I call to him, taking the stairs two at a time to
catch up. “Emerson, wait.”

“What. Did I steal your afternoon snack?” he grins over his
shoulder, holding the chips up over my head. His favorite game. “If you can
grab ‘em you can have ‘em!”

“Yeah, no. I’m not interested in your chips,” I say,
standing before him on the landing. “I just wanted to know if we’re on speaking
terms again now or what.”

“What do you mean, Sis?” he asks, ripping open the bag and
popping a chip into his mouth. This boy can even making chewing sexy. Goddamn
him.

“I mean...are you done giving me the cold shoulder?” I press
him. “You’ve been avoiding me since that party the other night. When we—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Emerson chuckles. “You are way paranoid. I
haven’t been avoiding you. I just haven’t noticed you. There’s been other shit
going on. And you’re pretty easy to miss.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, taking a step toward him. “I know you’ve
been going out of your way not to see me ever since that stupid game in the
closet. Something...happened between us, and—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, the
joking laughter fading from his voice. “But I
do
know that I don’t want to hear another word about it out of you. OK?”

“You can’t just pretend that nothing happened!” I cry out,
exasperated.

“Keep your voice down,” he growls, glancing down at the
kitchen where our parents are still talking in hushed tones.