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I freeze and turn slowly back around as Emmett jogs over to me. He’s not wearing athletic pants or shorts like I’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in. He’s got on dark jeans and a black and gold polo with the school's logo on it. A black hat on his head. I’m realizing now I’m not sure what his hair looks like because I’ve never seen him without a baseball hat or beanie on.
“You weren’t leaving, were you?” he asks.
“I-yeah, I was. I shouldn’t have come,” I say and start turning to leave again.
I’m stopped by him grabbing my hand and the feel of his large, warm hand wrapping around mine leaves me standing there like a stone statue.
“No way, come on, come meet my friends,” he says as he drags me back to where he came from, never letting go of my hand. “Madison, Taylor, this is Aubrey. She’s gonna watch the game with us.”
The blonde, Taylor, goes wide-eyed as she notices how Emmett is still holding my hand and I jerk free of his grasp. Her lips turn up into a smile.
“Hi Aubrey. I’m sorry you got roped into watching the boring game, but at least we have this comfy spot!” she says, patting the couch.
The brunette comes up and offers me her hand, and I shake it.
“Hi Aubrey–I’m Madison, we’ve kind of met. Onion rings to-go, yeah?” she says and I nod my head in response.
After she lets go of my hand, her attention is immediately back at the game and she’s yelling something toward the field. I jump, startled by how loud she’s yelling.
Emmett notices and offers me a smile.
“Madison is a little football obsessed. You get used to it.” he shrugs and sits on the couch next to Taylor, patting the space left next to him for me to sit.
There isn’t a lot of room left. If I sit, there will be no way to avoid having the side of my body pressed against his. Emmett must notice my hesitation and he smirks at me.
“I won’t bite,” he says.
I roll my eyes at him and sit in the small space. If anything, just to prove to him he has no effect on me–or maybe I’m trying to prove it to myself.
But when he grabs a blanket and uses it to cover both of our laps, it makes the small space seem even smaller, more intimate. I can’t control the feeling of fluttering that erupts low in my stomach. I get a tingling sensation across my arms as our skin meets there when he gets comfortable and his body relaxes next to mine. My body and my senses are betraying me.
“That’s Taylor’s boyfriend, Jesse, number 52. And the quarterback, number 11, is Ender, Madison’s boyfriend,” he tells me, pointing them out on the field.
“What was your number?” I ask.
“80. But it’s notwas, smart girl. It’s still my number and I’ll be wearing it again.”
His lips press together tightly and he goes quiet, leaning forward, watching the game–no longer relaxed. I’m still learning about social norms and how to interact with people outside the church, and I fear I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. What concerns me more, though, is how my heart aches knowing I may have hurt Emmett.
Hesitantly, I reach my hand out and place it on top of Emmett’s–not quite holding it, just gently letting it rest there.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
He turns his hand over quickly and clasps mine in his. Intertwining our fingers and I let him. I don’t pull away. I let him take our hands and place them under the blanket covering us and I let him take his free hand and rearrange the blanket so it’s tucked in around us.
When he’s finished, his gaze catches mine, and he gives me one of his wide smiles I’ve become accustomed to.
“I know you didn’t,” he says, giving my hand a quick squeeze and turning his attention back to the field in front of us.
We spend the rest of the football game with our fingers intertwined under the blanket. That feeling of a swarm of bees in my stomach that I’m starting to actually enjoy is there the entire time. It’s different from the feeling I got when I would see Adam in the library. It’s warmer. It’s more comforting and less of a “I wanna throw up” feeling. As much as I’ve been telling myself that Emmett irritates me, I still don’t pull my hand away.
Emmett explains the game to me as it plays out. Madison stays standing near us the entire time; completely transfixed on the game, yelling and screaming at the players. At one point she started to stomp away. Emmett shot his legs out, stopping her and grabbing onto her wrist, preventing her from moving further.
“You don’t want to do that,” Emmett says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, wrenching herself free from Emmetts’ grip and crossing her arms.
“Leave the coaches alone, Madison, or they’re gonna kick you off the sidelines,” he tells her, narrowing his eyes at her.
