warm electric thrill runs through me when our lips meet. The heat spreads, settling, steaming… I slide my hands from her shoulders, down her back, bring her tighter to me. Em inhales when her slippery dress picks up a static charge.
“Enough you two,” Bree says. “You’re just lucky I’m well-adjusted and know how to share, Alex.” She hooks a hand around Emma’s cast and steers her toward the house.
I drift along, tethered to Em by linked hands. Bree, in full queen mode, waves like she’s on a parade float and weaves through the crowd. Inside, the house is a crazy mishmash of Christmas and birthday decorations. A huge tree dominates the living room, otherwise empty of furniture and full of people from school. Shouts of “Happy birthday!” and “Merry Christmas!” mingle with laughter and off-key singing. Presents litter a table beside the tree, all for Bree’s birthday judging by the girly packaging.
“Did you bring it?” Em whispers close to my ear.
“Yeah.” I reach to fish the package out of my pocket, but Em stops me. She locks those blue eyes on mine, and I stand transfixed, all of me alive, awake and waiting. Her hands are light, the right kind of teasing touch as she searches pockets she knows that box won’t fit. Her fingers dip into both front pockets of my jeans, she smiles, then finally takes the wrapped silver bracelet she insisted I pick up “from both of us” from my leather coat. Then she pops on her toes and kisses me.
This social thing isn’t so bad with a girl like Em.
She spins, her skirt flares and shows off her legs to tease me. Then Em swishes toward the pile of gifts and places the shiny silver-wrapped package atop the pile. I wade into the crowd, bent on getting my hands back around her, when an adult yells from the direction of the kitchen, “Emma! Six o’clock call from your mom!”
“Right on time,” I mutter.
“Painfully punctual,” Bree agrees near my shoulder.
“Merry Birthday and Happy Christmas.” I say, while I watch Em pace in the kitchen. “You and Jason have big plans tomorrow?”
“Depends on what you call ‘big’,” Bree says, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “He’ll be back over tomorrow after breakfast and gifts with his parents, and then will stay for dinner here.”
“Any idea when Emma will be allowed off the landline leash?”
“Never?” she teases, then says, “I have no clue. We do breakfast here, and then a fussy supper. So, most likely between 9am and 6pm? I can ask Mom if you can join us for dinner.”
I have a polite refusal ready, but can’t utter it. Something scrapes my nerves, a hint of perfume maybe, a flash of dark hair.
Suddenly my night hits the skids.
Hailey.
Why is she here? Why the hell won’t she leave me alone?
Black hair tied back, glasses framing the false smile in her eyes, Hailey’s all saccharin sweetness and artificial light as she walks up. If girls had hackles, Bree’s would be up from her nose to her butt. The girl is bristling, and doesn’t know why – I do, though. Hailey has that effect on other girls.
My ex-girlfriend reaches us just steps ahead of Emma. No chance for me to quiz her and find out what game she’s running now. She sweeps her dark ponytail over her shoulder and extends a hand to Bree, saying, “I heard it’s your birthday. An auspicious date, to be sure.”
Bree looks at her hand like she’d rather de-glove the flesh with her fingernails than shake it. “And you are…?” Bree asks, voice dark and unwelcoming.
“Didn’t Alex tell you?” Hailey says, and worms an arm under mine as Emma joins our tense little bubble of awkwardness. “I’m Hailey Westmore, a friend from Sadony.”
“Alex?” Emma says, eyes pinched in a questioning glance. “Who is this?”
The distance between me and Em rips open, a gulf of half-truths and things I should’ve told her. Hailey’s grip tightens on my arm as she extends the hand Bree didn’t take toward
“Enough you two,” Bree says. “You’re just lucky I’m well-adjusted and know how to share, Alex.” She hooks a hand around Emma’s cast and steers her toward the house.
I drift along, tethered to Em by linked hands. Bree, in full queen mode, waves like she’s on a parade float and weaves through the crowd. Inside, the house is a crazy mishmash of Christmas and birthday decorations. A huge tree dominates the living room, otherwise empty of furniture and full of people from school. Shouts of “Happy birthday!” and “Merry Christmas!” mingle with laughter and off-key singing. Presents litter a table beside the tree, all for Bree’s birthday judging by the girly packaging.
“Did you bring it?” Em whispers close to my ear.
“Yeah.” I reach to fish the package out of my pocket, but Em stops me. She locks those blue eyes on mine, and I stand transfixed, all of me alive, awake and waiting. Her hands are light, the right kind of teasing touch as she searches pockets she knows that box won’t fit. Her fingers dip into both front pockets of my jeans, she smiles, then finally takes the wrapped silver bracelet she insisted I pick up “from both of us” from my leather coat. Then she pops on her toes and kisses me.
This social thing isn’t so bad with a girl like Em.
She spins, her skirt flares and shows off her legs to tease me. Then Em swishes toward the pile of gifts and places the shiny silver-wrapped package atop the pile. I wade into the crowd, bent on getting my hands back around her, when an adult yells from the direction of the kitchen, “Emma! Six o’clock call from your mom!”
“Right on time,” I mutter.
“Painfully punctual,” Bree agrees near my shoulder.
“Merry Birthday and Happy Christmas.” I say, while I watch Em pace in the kitchen. “You and Jason have big plans tomorrow?”
“Depends on what you call ‘big’,” Bree says, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “He’ll be back over tomorrow after breakfast and gifts with his parents, and then will stay for dinner here.”
“Any idea when Emma will be allowed off the landline leash?”
“Never?” she teases, then says, “I have no clue. We do breakfast here, and then a fussy supper. So, most likely between 9am and 6pm? I can ask Mom if you can join us for dinner.”
I have a polite refusal ready, but can’t utter it. Something scrapes my nerves, a hint of perfume maybe, a flash of dark hair.
Suddenly my night hits the skids.
Hailey.
Why is she here? Why the hell won’t she leave me alone?
Black hair tied back, glasses framing the false smile in her eyes, Hailey’s all saccharin sweetness and artificial light as she walks up. If girls had hackles, Bree’s would be up from her nose to her butt. The girl is bristling, and doesn’t know why – I do, though. Hailey has that effect on other girls.
My ex-girlfriend reaches us just steps ahead of Emma. No chance for me to quiz her and find out what game she’s running now. She sweeps her dark ponytail over her shoulder and extends a hand to Bree, saying, “I heard it’s your birthday. An auspicious date, to be sure.”
Bree looks at her hand like she’d rather de-glove the flesh with her fingernails than shake it. “And you are…?” Bree asks, voice dark and unwelcoming.
“Didn’t Alex tell you?” Hailey says, and worms an arm under mine as Emma joins our tense little bubble of awkwardness. “I’m Hailey Westmore, a friend from Sadony.”
“Alex?” Emma says, eyes pinched in a questioning glance. “Who is this?”
The distance between me and Em rips open, a gulf of half-truths and things I should’ve told her. Hailey’s grip tightens on my arm as she extends the hand Bree didn’t take toward
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