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He still doesn’t let go of my hand.
She rolls her eyes, stomps her foot and goes back to her spot a few feet from us to resume her yelling directed at the field.
When the game ends, everyone is on their feet as the players make their way off the field. Only now does Emmett let go of my hand as he claps guys on the shoulder as they pass. The two guys he pointed out earlier make their way to us, helmets in their hands. Number eleven comes up to Madison and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight to his chest and kissing her deeply on the lips. I look away and can feel my cheeks heating.
I learned almost everything I know about sex from textbooks and the romance books I’ve read. I know how it works, but I still feel like I know nothing. I’ve rarely seen people kiss so passionately. I’ve never seen a naked body in real life outside of my own. I haven’t even dared touch myself, even though I’ve thought about it. Some of the more intense books I’ve read left me with a strange sensation that builds between my legs and I have to stop reading because I get overwhelmed.
Even though I know, logically, sex isn’t as taboo or sacred as the church makes it out to be–years of being told that having sex for pleasure and not just procreation with your spouse is a sin, can be a hard fallacy to leave behind. I find myself wondering if Emmett’s had sex. I’m staring at him as he talks to his friends, trying to see if there’s something I can see in him that might answer this question when I hear my name and it jerks me from my daydreaming.
“I’m sorry–what?” I say to Emmett, who’s staring at me with a smile on his lips.
“I asked if you wanted to come hang out with me and my friends,” he says, his hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans.
“Oh. Thank you, but I really should be getting home,” I say, glancing toward the exit that everyone is heading toward.
“Oh. Okay,” he says. “Can I at least give you a ride?”
I think about this for a minute. I guess it would be nice to save the time it would take to walk home.
“Okay,” I say.
Emmett turns back to his group of friends to say goodbye to them, and they all wave or say bye back.
“Bye Aubrey,” Madison says, her arms still wrapped around her boyfriend's waist.
I give her a small wave and smile before I turn and follow the crowd toward the exit, Emmett walking in step by my side.
Emmett swings his keys around on his finger as we walk out to the parking lot. I follow him to his car and he opens his passenger door for me, closing it behind me once I’m inside. I inhale deeply as he walks around the car to his own door. The inside of the car smells like him; a mix of leather and citrus. I imagine it’s the cologne he must wear, it's intoxicating. I’ve never worn perfume, it’s another thing that most everyone my age has experienced that I haven’t.
The first half of the car ride is quiet except for the low music coming from the radio.
“Did you have fun?” Emmett asks, quickly glancing my way before refocusing on the road.
“I did,” I say, smiling to myself because I truly did have fun.
“Do you miss it?” I ask Emmett. “Playing football?”
Emmett doesn’t answer right away, but instead sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. The sight brings back the flutter in my stomach and I silently scold it.
“Yeah,” he says. “Hopefully, I won’t have to miss it long. I’m hoping I’m back out on the field soon. Then you’ll really have fun watching the games.”
He looks over at me, his eyebrows raised, a tight-lipped smile on his face that I think is trying to convey something, but I’m not quite sure what. The look he gives me heats my cheeks and I have to look away. He lets out a low chuckle to himself and pulls off the main road onto the one that leads to my house.
“Can you uh–just drop me off up here, please?” I say, pointing towards the clearing near the water tower.
He pulls off the road into the clearing and puts the car in park. I reach for the handle on the car and Emmett stops me, placing his hand on my thigh.
“Woah, what’s the rush?” he asks.
“My parents will be home soon,” I admit, one hand still on the car door handle.
I don’t tell him though that the longer I stay in this car, this close to him, surrounded by his scent, the less annoyed with him I am and the lower the butterflies travel.
“Aubrey,” Emmett says.
His voice is low and deep, my name nearly a whisper.
I look him in the eye, and he has a look that’s a mix between nervous and what I’m nearly certain is how desire is described in books. I’m so transfixed I don’t even acknowledge him, and he eventually continues.
