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Finally, Garrett pulled away and released her. Emma searched for Ethan . . . only, he’d disappeared.
Chapter 28
SEDUCTION AND MURDER ALWAYS GO HAND IN HAND
Garrett had pulled Emma all the way into the house before she refused to go any farther. “That was really rude of you back there. You can’t just tear me away from a conversation like that. I’m supposed to be the hostess.”
Garrett turned and grabbed her hand. “I was rescuing you, Sutton. Landry had you trapped.”
Emma scoffed. “No, he didn’t!”
“Yeah, he did.” There was a chivalrous but also slightly condescending tone to Garrett’s voice. As if he knew what was best.
Emma’s mouth hung open for a long beat. The music pulsed outside. There was a thwonng of the springs on the diving board as someone jumped off. “I’m not your damsel in distress,” she finally said, her cheeks burning.
A confused look registered on Garrett’s face. “I’m sorry.” He grabbed Emma’s hands. “Shit. I just wanted some alone time with you. I haven’t seen you all night.”
Emma leaned against the grandfather clock, remembering the bashful look on Ethan’s face when he’d given her the chocolates.
“Once I give you your present, you’ll forgive the intrusion,” Garrett said confidently. “I promise.” At that, he grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her up the stairs.
Emma followed, stepping over a stack of folded T-shirts Mrs. Mercer had left on one of the risers. What was Garrett giving her that he couldn’t show her downstairs?
“Here we go,” Garrett said in a hushed voice. He pushed open the door to Sutton’s bedroom. Candles flickered from every possible surface. The smell of lavender essential oils assaulted Emma’s nostrils. The faint sounds of Billie Holiday tinkled out of stereo speakers. Garrett had drawn the curtains tight and sprinkled rose petals all over the floor and on the bed. There was a box of Valrhona chocolates on the pillow and two glasses of champagne on the nightstand.
Emma’s mouth dropped open. The conversation on the mountain trail flooded back to her. Remember what we talked about this summer? Our plans? I was thinking about making that happen for your birthday. “Oh my God,” she mouthed.
The Billie Holiday song morphed into an acoustic love song by Jack Johnson. Garrett smiled earnestly at Emma. Then, as though he were in a stripping race, he tore off his T-shirt and threw it to the floor. He kicked off his shoes next and unbuckled his belt.
“Oh my God, stop!” Emma cried.
Garrett froze, his cheeks flushing bright red, and his hands trembling a little. The candles flickered against the wall.
“Um . . .” Emma started to nervously giggle. Something about it seemed so ridiculously . . . ridiculous. She’d known Garrett for what, two weeks? And now she was supposed to be with him?
“I’m sorry, I can’t do”—Emma gestured to the bed—“this.”
Garrett sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, staring at Emma as if her skin had turned purple. “But . . . we’ve been talking about it all summer.”
Emma’s mouth fell open.
“I mean, I thought about it,” Garrett went on, running his hands over his spiky hair. “And I realized you were right: There’s no reason to wait. I want my first time to be with you. Don’t you want it to be with me, Sutton?”
Emma looked everywhere in the room except at the big strip of boxer shorts peeking out of the top of Garrett’s jeans. I’m not Sutton, she wanted to scream. “I-I guess I’ve changed my mind,” she said instead.
“Changed your mind?” Garrett searched her face desperately. Then he placed his palms flat on the petal-strewn mattress. “Wait a minute,” he said in a low, shaky voice. “Were all of our sex talks just some big prank? Is this what you did to Thayer?”
“No, of course not!” Emma shook her head fast, wondering what Sutton had done to Thayer. “It’s just . . . I can’t . . .”
She took a big step back. The essential oil smell was starting to make her woozy. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Then she flung the door open and fumbled clumsily into the hall. Instead of galloping down the stairs to the party, she turned the other direction and dove into a room one door down.
She shut the door just as Garrett stepped into the hall. “Sutton?” he called. Emma crouched next to the door. She heard him spinning around, his footsteps soft on the carpet. “Sutton?” he called again.
Emma didn’t move, forcing herself to breathe quietly and praying he wouldn’t come in.
After a moment, Garrett groaned. A door slammed, and a few seconds later opened again. Emma heard his footsteps down the staircase, then stomping through the foyer.
She turned and slumped against the door, sighing in relief. The room she was in had two diamond-shaped night-lights that illuminated a bed with a black-and-white striped bedspread. A white-and-pink egg chair sat in the corner. An avant-garde mobile hung by the window and millions of photos of girls lined the walls. Emma blinked hard at the three-way mirror on the wall by the closet. She frowned at the MacBook Air on the desk and the flat-screen TV on the low bureau. This looked exactly like Sutton’s room, but in reverse. So this was . . . Laurel’s room?
Emma’s knees cracked as she slowly rose to her feet. She’d never seen inside Laurel’s room before—Laurel always kept the door closed. Emma flipped on a light at Laurel’s desk and peered at the photos on the bulletin board. The picture of Sutton and her friends in front of the monkey house at the zoo looked oddly familiar. So did the one of Sutton, Madeline, and Charlotte waving cookie-batter spoons at one another. They were exactly the same photos from Sutton’s room—Laurel wasn’t even in most of them.
