One Shot - Pigtail Pulling (Emmett/Alice)
Pigtail Pulling
Genre: Twilight - Romance/Humor
Characters: Alice, Emmett
Rating: T/M for some language and brief sexy times
Status: Complete/Oneshot
Beta'd By: wearingwords
Summary: A prank that goes too far lands the most unlikely suspects in a situation where more than just annoying habits get revealed.
Pigtail Pulling
~:: Round One ::~
Fucking McCarty.
He was so irritating. Unbelievably annoying.
Infuriatingly good-looking, and frustratingly nice.
Yes, nice.
I hate nice people. Wait... that's a lie, I actually like nice people. My best friend is nice. He's a total sweetheart and everyone loves him because he's - for lack of a better word - nice.
Yet, Emmett McCarty... Emmett McCarty is the opposite of 'nice' nice. He's the nice that makes you want to slap it off his face. So nice you want to kick him hard in the shin to get him to leave you alone with his sweetness. The nice that makes you hope he'll push you against the lockers and kiss you silly.
Not that I want that.
Fucking Emmett McCarty.
It's all his fault we're in here. The fucking principal's office of all places. This is so embarrassing, I can feel my face flushing blood red, yet that sucker... that 'nice' fucker is casually standing beside me with a fucking smirk on his face.
Damn his dimples. Stupid blue-eyed, curly-haired, 'nice' asshole. Nicehole. Heh, that fits him perfectly.
"Is there anything you have to say for yourselves?"
I shrug and notice Nicehole copies. Ugh, can't even come up with his own nonchalant move.
"Nothing? Nothing at all after the incident that has probably single-handedly cut the extra funding we'd just managed to snare for the Music Department? Something I know you hold dearly, Miss Brandon?"
"Me?" I squeak more like squawk, astonished that he can possibly be blaming this on me. Before I can even catch myself, my mouth spews forth more words than a person of my stature should have room for in her lungs .
"You think this is my problem? I'll have you know, Principal Banner, that it was his fault. His fault that I had to take matters into my own hands, because simply asking him to stop wasn't enough. Is it not bad enough that he torments me in the hallways, disturbs me in every class and constantly sweet talks Mrs. Cope into giving him the one hall we have for my cheerleading rehearsals so his stupid jocks can roll around on the floor in tights?"
"It's a leotard, Al."
I roll my eyes and refuse to look at him. He can't make me look at him. "It's Alice, you moron. How many times do I have to tell you this?"
I feel him shrug his shoulders and sigh, "You say tights, I say Al. It's an easy fix, Al."
Thirty years to life is starting to look good right about now. I am pretty and crafty, maybe I won't be someone's bitch, but thebitch instead. McCarty is just pushing all the wrong buttons. I can pull off an orange jumpsuit. I'm blessed with a most neutral skin tone.
"Miss Brandon, Mr. McCarty. The shenanigans of the past year have gotten completely out of hand, as witnessed by the PTA and the entire school population yesterday in the parking lot. I don't think either of you want me to mention the bus race across state lines that you were both involved in last spring. Nor do I think you would want to know about half the phone calls I've received this morning from parents wanting to know just exactly what I was going to do about the pair of you after the so-called car wash this weekend."
Banner's face is starting to go as red as mine, though his is more from anger. He has that trademark Banner spittle growing at the corner of his lips. Even I know that this means we've pushed him too far.
Stupid fucking McCarty.
"In my defense, the bikinis she had the cheer squad in were white, we had to step it up a notch or we wouldn't have made a single dollar. What's really that bad about red thongs anyway? I'll have you know, Principal Banner, that two of my boys were offered modeling contracts for the next edition of Wrestling Weekly," Nicehole points out as he throws himself into the small, uncomfortable plastic chairs that Banner has in his office as some sort of deterrent for wanting to spend any time in here at all.
"Wrestling Weekly? Isn't that some offshoot of the school paper that you not only organize, but run?" I ask, finally turning to face him because if he believes he can get away with throwing around the word "contracts" and get out of whatever mess we're in, he's wrong.
"Money is still money, Al, and it's good promotion for the team and the school."
"It's a local magazine."
"We all gotta start somewhere, sweets."
"Sweets? Sweets?" I stare at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed and desperately trying to think of something, anything that can relay just how fucking annoyed I am at him, but nothing comes out.
He grins wider, dimples deepening and I swear to god there's one of those Disney sparkles in his eyes.
There's a letter opener on the desk. Surely it would be sharp enough to pierce his elephant hide. I could say he fell on it... he's six-foot gigantor something, he probably hasn't seen his toes since he was three!
"Mr. McCarty - " Banner starts with a slightly furrowed brow, and if I'm not mistaken, the corner of his spittle mouth twitching.
Fucking men's club.
Emmett interrupts, raising his huge hands up in the air in a forgiving gesture. "Sorry, slipped out."
"Slipped? Out?"
Emmett reaches over and touches his stupid sausage finger to my elbow. Yes, that's our height difference even when he's sitting down. What exactly is poking me in the arm going to do but aggravate me some more? He's always pulling stunts like this. Overgrown MAN CHILD.
Just when I think I've ignored him properly, he's doing it once more, but a little harder. I flinch and glare at him, bitch brow quirked right up into my bangs. He grins and I've blocked out anything that Banner may be saying. It's when he touches me with that finger a third time that I grab it, and in a few short moves have his arm pinned behind his back and he's crying uncle.
Heh. Self Defence 101, Nicehole!
"ENOUGH!" Banner shouts and it's a frighteningly loud enough sound that I drop my hold on Nicehole for a microsecond which is enough for Emmett to free himself. He shakes me off and rubs at his arm, grinning at me like a fucking loon.
Freak.
"I've tried with you both this year, making allowances and turning a blind eye, all for the f both of you being the best teachers we've had for the highest selling points this high school has to offer. I just can't do it anymore, this nonsense has to end."
"But he-"
"But she-"
"NO! Whatever plans you had for this weekend, unplan them. Cancel, make an excuse, I don't care because you won't be making it to whatever cake making class," he stares at me, "or knitting circle you have lined up." He stares at Emmett… knitting? "Mr Gerandy's Senior Astronomy class is camping out at the Old Stanley place and unfortunately or fortunately for them you two have just offered to chaperone seeing as Denis has injured his ankle due to one of your stunts."
Fuck.
"Fuck." Emmett, the gigantic assinator, actually voices my thought and doesn't even get a glare from Banner.
See? Men's club.
"Indeed, Mr. McCarty. Now, I suggest you take the rest of this afternoon to pack because you'll be needed back here promptly in one hour."
He has the audacity to grace us with one final toothy smile.
"Have a lovely weekend, Miss Brandon, Mr. McCarty."
~:: Round Two ::~
"God, you can't even get it up right."
"Oh, I assure you, I can."
"Well, from where I'm standing it doesn't look like it."
"Maybe that's because you're too far away, come a little closer, Al."
"For fruit's sake, don't. Call. Me. Al. Nicehole!"
"What did you call me?"
Fuckity.
He drops the side of the tent he's been attempting to put up for the last hour, and those irksome-see-everything-eyes of his are staring at me with interest.
"Nothing." I mutter and attempt to look anywhere but into those blue tractor beams of his.
"Oh, yes you did, you called me a name. And not even a real word at that!" He's laughing now and I want to slap his face, push him down into the dirt and grind myse no. I do not.
"And you said 'fruit' instead of fu-" he stops just shy of repeating a word that even though the kids we're here with know, we both have to show a little restraint with.
I straighten my shoulders and square myself off to face him where he's now failing at hiding his amusement. The small group of ten students we have with us have stopped setting up the several different sized telescopes and are staring.
"Mr. McCarty-"
"I've told you, Al, it's Mac when we're off the clock."
I roll my eyes. "We're not 'off the clock' or whatever you want to think this is, Mr. McCarty, especially when we have children in our presence."
"We're not kids, Miss B," a nasally whine calls from to my left.
"Thank you, Eric. I'm aware of that."
"Not a problem, Miss B." And I know Eric is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Ugh.
Emmett's lips twitch at the sides and I feel my face heat up with rage at this whole situation. I was supposed to be at my cake decorating class with Jasper's mother, doing some 'mother-I-wanted-a-daughter-but-got-a-son-and-even-though-he's-more-girly-than-I-am-I-have-to-go-to-these-things bonding session. Jasper thinks it's hilarious that Esme guilts me into doing all these weird arts and crafts classes at the community college with her. I don't mind, really, my own mother lives out of state and miles away and I actually like learning. Not that I'd ever tell Jasper that.
I like having that extra sway of 'I do these things with your mom so you don't have to, now you owe me' over him.
"I'm not even supposed to be here," I mumble and pick up my side of the large two-room dome tent that was all we had left for Emmett and me to sleep in. I plan on making him sleep outside, it's a cloudless night and it's the end of spring. He'll be fine.
Plus, he has a layer of blubber to shield him from the cold.
"Thirty seven? THIRTY SEVEN!" Emmett shouts and I look up from where I've been attempting to stuff the thin plastic pole into the little flap, wondering just what the hell he's on about now.
I raise my right brow and give him that 'what?' look. He's smiling, a big proper smile with those dimples so deep into his cheeks. Damn he's so pretty sometimes. Shame about the personality.
"Yeah, I mean aside from the cheating, we were a great couple. I mean that's what high school was about, algebra, bad lunch, and infidelity."
"What?" I spit out. He's obviously lost his mind.
"People say crazy shit during sex. One time I called this girl Mom."
"Mr. McCarty!"
"It's Clerks, Miss B," Tyler calls out from where he was tapping the last peg of the boys' tent into the ground.
"What is Clerks, Tyler?"
Emmett's eyes widen and when he tilts his head to look at me, a little stunned, his curls flop down over his ears and I feel a tingle in my fingertips to brush them back.
They're in the way of his eyes. And we all know that when hair gets in your eyes it can lead to infection. I am not spending the weekend listening to a sick man whine. I in no way wanted to play with Emmett's hair. None.
"Weren't you quoting Clerks before?"
I know I was, but I'm kind of embarrassed that I didn't notice the random quotes he was so obviously trying to impress me with now, so I remain aloof.
"I was merely stating that I wasn't supposed to be here today."
"Thirty seven? THIRTY SEVEN! I'm THIRTY SEVEN!" Ben calls from where he had been glued to Angela Webber in a make out session that hasn't stopped since we met at the school a few hours ago.
"Mr. Cheney. I do believe you and Miss Webber need to make a start on collecting the firewood."
"But -" Ben starts and then stops, realizing I'm giving him an out to be alone with Angela somewhere a lot more private than the large field we're standing in.
"Yes, Miss Brandon. Thanks," he calls over his shoulder as he drags a giggling Angela behind him.
"Now back to the subject at hand. Mr. McCarty, I do believe you told me we'd have this tent done in seconds?" I place my hands on my hips and he shakes his head, before returning to his side of the tent.
"Let's take this nice and slow, Al. You can't rush perfection."
"It's, Alice."
Hate him.
~:: Round Three ::~
I should have been asleep hours ago, yet I'm lying here listening to that big oaf outside toss and turn.
And snore.
Yes, I made him sleep outside. There was not a hope in hell of having him anywhere near me in my pajamas. After that incident at the school swim meet where he 'accidentally' cut the strings of my bikini, causing a most unfortunate wardrobe malfunction and a group of passing eighth graders to instantly bone up, I am very careful of where Emmett and my boobs share the same vicinity.
Finally, finally, all is quiet and I roll onto my side and close my eyes.
.
. .
. . .
Only to wake up, eyes wide, body shaking after what feels like seconds. My blood is pounding in my ears and it's all I can hear. I can't breathe, as the adrenaline pumps ridiculously quick around my veins. I lay still, attempting to calm myself when I get this feeling that someone or something is close by.
I swallow hard, trying to form a word but everything is sticking in my chest.
Then I see it, my eyes having finally adjusted to the little light from where the lantern is on low, and it's this dark shape right above me.
I can't scream. I can't shout. I can't move.
"You know you want it, Al." … warm breath on my neck, sickly sweet cheap bourbon clouding around me…. "You've always wanted it."
"I-I don't.. Stop!" … a thick leg between mine, pushing, shoving. My hands slapping, scratching and nothing…. Nothing making him stop.
… "No. No. NO!"
"Alice? Alice! Stop, it's me, it's just me!" I blink and blink and wrestle against the tight grip he has my hands in. Too close. Too big. Too much.
"No! STOP!"
I'm sobbing and he's pulling me up onto his lap and against that broad chest that seconds ago I was flailing against.
I can't hear what Emmett says. I know it's soothing. I know he's telling me it was just a dream. If only he knew. If only he knew that it wasn't like that, it was a living nightmare. Another large form that was over me, another large form that called me Al and one that I'll never forget.
I'm brought back from the past with the familiar scent of his cologne, even through all the dirt of today and the campfire… he smells so good. Soon I'm nuzzling against his neck and as the shudders of fear slow, and still it is still his warmth that is grounding me to the now. Holding me to it as much as he is holding me to him. I grip one hand hard into his shirt and the other wraps around his side. I can feel his lips press against my forehead, soft and sweet, but as reassuring as his words are, his touch means so much more.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass and all I know is that he holds me and I feel safe. Not scared, not hurt, not dirty - a feeling I haven't found with a man since that night in college so very long ago.
When I wake in the morning it is in his arms. Strong, and not too tightly wrapped around me, but enough so that I know he is near and hasn't left me during the night. I watch him sleep, his broad chest rise and fall under my ear as I've managed to snuggle against him during the rest of the night and into this early dawn. His left nostril keeps making this whistling noise with every breath and I fight the urge to block it just to make the noise stop.
I don't know how long I lay there, content, amazed that I'm beside this man who usually I cannot stand to be in the same room with for more than five seconds, yet in this moment, I can't think of another place I'd rather be.
It's only when his large dinner plate size hand slides down from the safe area of my waist to rest on my ass and squeezes that I remember who he is and why I've always fought any attraction I've felt to him at all.
Those hotdog sized fingers squeeze my tush and I tweak his nose in response - almost immediately.
He smirks and does it again murmuring a quiet, "and a good morning to you, too."
I sit up quickly and roll myself out of his arms. I should know better than to trust the untrustworthy. The sheet moves with me and I'm greeted with the sight of a tent in his pants that's almost as big as the one we're currently laying in. Nicehole is packing a serious salami under his Spongebob Square Pants sleep shorts. Even though its him, I'm still a girl who's dry patch has gone on for far too many years - my mouth waters and I feel that place at the juncture of my thighs tighten in appreciation-or want.
He stretches his arms above his head, the thin grey sweatshirt that has his alma mater emblazoned on the front rides up, revealing toned, tanned skin and I have to swallow a moan. The muscles in his arms bulge, the cuffs tight around his biceps, and then he winks, those warm blue depths revealed as I lick my lips in appreciation of the form I once thought of as Shrek-like.
I resist rolling my eyes as he quirks one brow in what I'm sure is his 'like what you see here?" move and cross my arms in front of me after throwing the sheets back at him. Emmett lets them lay balled over his stomach - my attempt to cover his stunning body absolutely pitiful - and then his smirk is gone, his dimples disappearing to reveal a new look.
Concern.
Right… last night.
I chew on my lip, a tic I picked up in therapy and speak softly, concentrating on where the paint in the letter A on his shirt has started to peel off with age. "Thank you, for, um, last night," I stutter.
He sits up, careful not to be too close and reaches a hand out between us, but doesn't touch me. "I'm sorry I scared you, Alice. I heard you and thought maybe it was one of the boys in here playing a trick. I didn't think any of them would… you want to tell me what that was all about?"
I say nothing, struggling to blink away the stinging that is starting in my eyes. I will not cry. Not anymore.
"It's me, isn't it? I thought it might be me." He sighs, running a hand over his face, the sound of his stubble scratchy and loud in our quiet. "I never mean anything I say, Alice, maybe I took joking with you about the wolves out here too far."
I stiffen and it's noticeable. I know he sees, because he stiffens too and then he does reach out that little bit further, the tips of his fingers brushing my knee that's closest. Instead of flinching at this, I feel my body soften, relax and I start talking before I realize I am.
"It's not you… well, sort of," I start, because it's the truth and after last night I feel like I should tell him. I need to be honest. "I know you've always wondered why we don't get along. It's not that I hate you, Em, it's never been that. It's just…"
"I scare you. I know I scare a lot of people, I'm pretty loud."
"And obnoxious." I smile a little and he chuckles in response.
"And obnoxious," Emmett echoes, shifting closer and I turn so his hand is between us, his palm up and I release the hold I've had on myself to trace the lines of life that are deep and varied across his bronze skin.
He flips his hand so our fingers are intertwined and I look at the difference between us, my hand almost swallowed by his. Then up into his eyes, where only care and a need to understand shines through the blue, that now I'm closer is more aqua - a perfect blend of cool waters and warm ocean currents and I tell him.
I tell him it all.
Junior year of college, bright and naive and thinking that being on the cheer squad was enough to keep me safe at night when walking home from one keg party too many. That having the captain of the football team taking me out regularly was enough to keep me out of the hands of those that would take what I didn't want to offer.
But it didn't. He was the one who came in even though I said good night. He was the one to push me to the bed and take and take until I had locked myself in so far away from all the hurt and pain and broken trust that it took two years of intense therapy to get me to even go out at night. Catatonic they'd said in those first weeks. My classes passed with no question to stop charges being laid. He was going to win the Heisman Trophy, couldn't have a black mark against his name.
By the time I'm finished, Emmett is squeezing my hand too tight, the muscles in his jaw working overtime and his eyes - they're blazing blue fire.
I touch his cheek and he comes back. "I'm sorry."
That's all he says. It's all I need and thank you doesn't seem to be enough. He rests his forehead against mine, the fire slowly dying in his eyes as they return to calmer waters. We breathe. His rough and ragged, eventually evening out to my own and I wonder where this man has been under all the jokes and annoying pranks that have had me wanting to rip my hair out or his clothes off for the better part of three years . Back when I thought he was some dorky jock wannabe with a double degree in mathematics and physical education. Emmett releases my hand, cups my face so softly, and his thumb brushes over my cheek.
"I'd never hurt you, Alice. Never."
My heart pounds and I can't stop staring into his eyes. He means this. He really means it. I'm swept away by simple words, his scent, the gentle in the giant and I think he's leaning in and I'm leaning in and his lips… his lips are rosy and a little weather worn from being outside most of the night, but he licks them and turns his head just a little, angling in as he gets even closer and I press forward too. We're so close, so close I'm breathing his breath.
Yes…
"Miss Brandon? Have you seen Coach anywhere? I think I heard a grizzly in the bushes over by the shitter."
And our moment is gone when Emmett pulls back and wipes at his lips and I press my fingers to my own. He shakes his head, stands up, adjusting the salami stick none too discreetly and calls out that he's just checking that I hadn't used poison oak as toilet paper the night before.
I laugh, it's nervous and light but say nothing. However, before we leave I do manage to lace his underwear with itching powder that has him going crazy the entire bus ride home.
~:: Round Four::~
The next four weeks pass easily. We don't get hauled into Banner's office any more-or less than usual, anyway. He still interrupts my Dance and Drama classes to ask if my fridge is running and other inane jokes. I still have the Laundromat in town 'accidentally' send the team back pink leotards before a few meets.
Business as usual, or so it would seem.
He never calls me Al anymore. I smile back when I see him in the halls.
Graduation night is fast approaching and for awhile I hardly see him - he's busy with his Mathletes, and me with Glee club and midyear Dance recitals for the little company I co-run with Jasper outside of school.
It's the morning of graduation that we both find ourselves in Banner's office, in the positions that have become familiar since the moment Emmett put salt in my tea the first morning he started working here and I retaliated by throwing it in his face.
He'd also forgotten to put boiling water in. Such a clown.
We're in our regular places, Emmett sprawled in the stiff plastic chair like he owns the place, and I walk in a little late, not acknowledging him as I sit with my feet crossed at the ankles and tucked under me. Banner smiles and his mustache - that's a recent edition - wiggles.
"Well, you're probably wondering why I called you both in here."
I nod, because I really haven't a clue and I have a million other things I could be doing this afternoon, none of which involve either of the men I'm in here with now.
"Could you maybe hurry this up, Derek, I've got three letters of recommendation to complete for MIT before the afternoon is out," Emmett cuts in, sounding rather tired and for the first time I really notice him, he's got these little tortoise shell frames on that look even tinier when he lifts them with his hand as his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose.
When he settles them back down again, they only serve to magnify the lines and dark circles that surround his eyes, and I wonder if it's something other than just end of year school work giving him that exhausted look.
It's probably that blonde that's been subbing for Senora Aguilar's Spanish class while she goes on maternity leave. She's got big tits and legs that go on for miles. I've seen them talking in the halls, seen him offering to show her around. Maybe she's the reason I've seen less and less of him, heard less and less of his voice and his crude jokes? Thinking about it, he hasn't interrupted my class once this week.
This pang hits my chest, right about where my heart is and I flinch, my hand coming to cover the hurt.
Sausage fingers graze my elbow, remaining for longer than I deem necessary and I turn toward him, worry etched in his features and I shake him off.
"Don't," I whisper, but it's harsh even to my ears as I spin back around and squish myself against the plastic in the corner furthest from his touch.
"Aly?" he starts and I silence him once more.
"It's Miss Brandon."
The silence is palpable in the room after my outburst. I feel ill and heart sore, and I have no reason. No claim on him, so whatever he does or doesn't do with the Spanish Barbie doll has nothing to do with me.
Banner clears his throat and I vaguely hear Emmett mumbling something to the side of me. I breathe in as deep as my lungs currently allow and focus on the man in front of us.
"Where were we? Oh, right. I actually called you both in here to commend you on your change in behavior over the past month. It appears that the little astronomy get away helped. I've also written a letter to your new high school, Miss Brandon, that I think is quite glowing. We'll be very sorry to lose you here, but I understand the need to spread your wings and all that," he finishes with a sad smile that I return.
"You're leaving?" Emmett's voice is loud and full of… an emotion that I'm not sure I want to recognize.
"Yes." I answer.
"Oh."
Before anything else can be said, I excuse myself without looking at Emmett, and go back to my classes.
The days pass agonizingly slowly. Soon, it's my last and my students are full of surprises with flowers and candy, presents and little skits and shows, and my cheer squad performs a special number out on the field with a few graduating members of the football team as dance partners.
I'm a mixed bag of emotions and manage to just rein it in when it's time for final goodbyes at the graduation ceremony. I shed more than a few tears when caps go flying into the air. There are hugs, photos, and introductions to out of state family members, as more than only me say goodbye to the school that's been my home for more years than I care to count.
It's as the crowd dwindles and I'm walking to my car, hoping to make a get away without gathering too much attention that I hear him.
He calls and calls my name - always Alice - and it's only when he changes to Miss Brandon that I stop. I ground myself, take a deep breath and turn to face him.
His face is red, and forehead sweaty, but he still looks amazing. The glasses are gone and he's squinting into the afternoon light with hands on hips, bent forward as he catches his breath. I wait and tap a toe. I don't know what he wants to talk about ,but that pain is back in my chest again when I spot Senora Contrares staring in our general direction.
"Christ ,woman, didn't you hear me calling your name?" he splutters, finally standing up straight and towering over me as usual.
I step back. "I must have missed it. I have places to go Mr- "
"Stop right now with that shit, Al."
My back stiffens ramrod straight.
He curses under his breath and reaches out with his large hand toward me, I shrink back again and grip my keys a little harder. I know my car is close.
"Sorry, Alice." He shoves his hands in the deep pockets of his black dress pants and it pulls the front tight right across where I know lives a large member of his anatomy. I disregard that thought as soon as it enters my head and cross my arms over my chest.
"What is it you want?"
"I just, I didn't want you to go without saying goodbye." His voice is so soft that I have to lean in to hear it. So unlike the man that once called out 'nice underoos Raggedy Ally' across a football field and had me tumble from the top of the pyramid I was showing my squad how to do. I was in a cast for six weeks and we lost the championship to our rival school.
Impressed at his vocal skills, I was not.
"Well goodbye then, Mr. McCarty. It's been…" I stop, a pleasure isn't the right phrase. It's been fun and annoying and he's been like a mosquito in your room that you can't see but can hear all night annoying you - but a pleasure? There hasn't been much of that. "It's been," I finish and turn again.
His hand grips my elbow, the one he's always poked and I spin once more out of his reach and find myself backed up against the door of my car. Emmett steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body above my own and for a second, just a second I fall into the past that he knows about and he jumps back like I burned him.
"Sorry! Oh fuck, so sorry, Alice. I didn't.. I wasn't… this isn't what I wanted to say at all."
I turn with shaking hand and attempt to put my key in the lock. I can't wait till my new pay rate begins at this new school so I can rid myself of my tiny hunk of junk car and finally have something with automatic locking doors.
"Please, Alice. Just give me a chance here. We've never talked about that night."
I stiffen again, my body shaking not with remnants of fear, but with anger that he'd bring that up here. Here of all places where anyone could hear. It was private, something I only told him because of what happened.
"I don't want to talk about that night. I'd prefer to imagine it didn't happen at all and I'd appreciate it if you spoke to no one about it. I may be leaving, but I still have a reputation at this school that is mostly unblemished."
His big blues widen and his mouth drops he stutters something, but I'm jiggling the door handle trying to get it to open and pay no attention to his half words.
A sputtering choke and then wheeze indicates one of the students' cars has stopped close by, and by the smell of exhaust now surrounding me it, has to be Tyler and his van.
"Hey Miss B, Coach, now that we're all finished with school and stuff would you like to come to a party with us?"
"We'd love to," Emmett finishes and drags me by the arm to the sliding door that I can see Ben Cheney opening. A flood of sweet smelling smoke escapes, then the door is closed and I'm still crouching inside of the van as I hear Emmett tap the roof and slide into the front seat.
I snap up the last piece of bench space beside Jessica Stanley, the least talented of all my dance students and we're off, more smoke billowing, I'm sure, as Mike Newton hands me a bong made out of an apple. He laughs at the irony and then wonders aloud at where the word irony came from.
I pass it on to Jessica and let the conversation go on around me as I stare daggers into a head of black curls in the passenger seat.
When we get to the party, at Stanley's grandparents farm, the same farm where we'd been in the tent those few weeks before, I'm out the door and stomping off toward the house before he can get his belt undone. He wants me to be here, then I'll be here.
And I'll have fun while I'm at it.
~:: Knockout ::~
"I told you I was Queen of Beer pong!" I slur and waver on my feet, leaning against someone for support. I think my partner was Angela, but she seems to be gone and someone a lot taller is the wall I'm leaning on.
"Sure you are, and I'm the Dalai Llama," this voice I would know anywhere answers.
"Hey." I push off him; falling against the table making a few cups tip over.
"I think you've had enough Miss Brandon." His large hand cups my elbow. That same elbow he always touches and my body comes alive at the contact.
"Miss Brandon, now is it?" I ask, attempting to turn and poke him in the chest, but end up rubbing my palm over it instead. So firm.
"Seriously, Alice, I think it's time to stop."
"Who are you?" I snort. "My dad? I've got news for you, buddy, he's cold and been in the ground for the last two years now. So suck on that!"
Emmett tells me he remembers, and I know he does. He was the first to offer me condolences and I heard from my mother later that he sent her a card and flowers. I'm making no sense, but talk of my Dad has me all melancholy now, and I sway to the side, but Emmett catches me.
I blink and my stomach rolls. "Oh, I don't feel so good."
My ears have this new roaring sound and then my world is askew, my legs off the floor and I realize as he puts my arms around his neck that Emmett has picked me up.
Oh hell no.
"Oh hell yes," he answers, either reading my mind or answering me because I actually said it out loud, and I'm arguing the entire way through a crowd of wolf whistles and upstairs until the thump of the stereo is the only thing left to hear. He places me down on the bed, like I'm going to break if he moves too fast and I tell him that I feel sick. He's gone, I call for him the moment he leaves my eye line and then there's cool and wet on my forehead.
I sigh and close my eyes, letting myself fall back onto whoever's mattress this is and Emmett follows, the wonderful cool thing on my head comes too.
My hand lays over his on my head and I breathe slowly in and out, concentrating on how good the cloth feels on my head and ignoring my slightly queasy stomach. Emmett uses his free hand to stroke my hair behind my ear after it is obvious I'm not moving. It feels nice and I tell him so.
We're quiet like this for... ages. So long that I think I might have fallen asleep for some part, but when I open my eyes again he's staring at me. Big baby blues just gazing at my face and he looks sad. I raise my hand, using the back of my knuckles to draw down the underside of his jaw. He leans into my touch and my hand slides round the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. I want him close, I need to breathe him in, forgetting that all the stupid things have gone on and that he is actually a nice guy. I want to remember the last time I was alone with him, this close with him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, finally laying down beside me, his head propped up on one bent arm.
"Tell you what?" I whisper in return, turning my head but not my body because I'm still not sure on how that would end up.
Emmett strokes the hair out of my face again, his fingers lingering on my skin, my eyes close at the intimacy of his touch, but I force them open. I want to see him when he talks.
"That you were leaving this year. Why didn't you tell me?"
I'm slightly confused, I knew that keeping my transfer a secret was probably a bad idea, but I wasn't one for a lot of fanfare, so I asked Banner to keep it quiet.
"Because I didn't think you'd care. It's not like it affects you."
Blue eyes widen and his fingers stop their trail over my forehead and down to my ear.
"Didn't think I'd care? Are you kidding me, Alice? Of course I care."
"Oh, you're just upset you're going to be losing your favorite target to practice on. Who will it be when I'm gone? Maybe Senora Contrares. Oops!" I stop, covering my mouth with one hand. "Looks like I've said too much." I giggle, but it's forced, the turn in our conversation taking me to someplace serious, someplace where the beer in my veins no longer keeps me in a comfortable numb but has me coming shockingly fast to the surface of reality.
"What are you talking about, Alice? There's nothing going on with me and Katerina."
I roll my eyes and attempt to roll away from him on my other side.
Bad move.
The floor is there, but I don't meet it, only come within an inch, because yet again, my knight in polyester armor is there to save me.
"I'll have you know my shirt is actually a poly-cotton blend, thank you very much," Em huffs and I realize the brain to mouth filter has yet again gotten clogged up with alcoholic beverages and is no longer working.
I also realize that his nose is very close to my nose, that his lips are hovering above mine.
Now I can blame it on the alcohol. I can blame it on the fact we've been nice to each other for the past four weeks and never once spoken about that near kiss we had in the tent or anything...
But I kiss him. Hard.
Which is obviously a good move, because he flips us back onto the bed, him on his back and me laying at this awkward angle over him, and kisses me back. Hard.
God, he tastes good. I probably taste like beer and that one cigarette I bummed from Tyler, but he's just... there are no words to describe. My hands meet his hair and proceed to comb every square inch of that sable mess, as his meet my hips and hold me tightly against him.
He feels amazing too.
Until he doesn't.
And my back goes bouncing on the bed once more. The only sounds in the room now are the rasps of heavy breaths attempting to slow into something a lot more neutral.
"Sorry," we say at the same time and I feel the side of his hand laying right beside mine. The closeness of his skin to mine makes my fingers tingle and because being drunk or once drunk means I've lost nearly all my inhibitions, I don't hesitate to touch my pinky to his.
He doesn't move, just sighs and covers his eyes with the back of his forearm.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whines, almost impossible for me to hear but I do.
"Wasn't it?"
"No." He shakes his head pulling our hands up between us and threading his large fingers through mine. "I had a plan. Well, sort of a plan."
I nod, even though I'm not entirely sure he can see me. It's dark up here, save for the few party lights below on the patio lighting up the bedroom.
"I like you, Alice. I've always liked you. I liked you since that first day I came by to check out the facilities. You were wearing this tiny charcoal skirt-"
"I don't have a charcoal skirt."
A sigh. "Not now, but you did three years ago. Anyway, you had this tiny-"
"Tiny? How short? Because I really don't -"
"It was mid-thigh, and you have great thighs, not too muscular, not too thin, so I noticed okay?"
I giggle and he smiles and continues. "I remember the skirt, I remember your hair brushed out into this bob around your face, a lot shorter than it is now. I remember you dropping this big pile of papers you were holding and I remember checking out your ass when you kneeled down to pick them up."
My hand becomes a fist and smacks his chest at that line.
"Ow! I know, but I'm telling you my story here, babe."
The babe thing is new, but I let it go as he continues talking.
"So, I saw you having dropped these papers and I was checking out your mighty fine ass when you caught me. You stood up and you gave me this look that I guess if I already hadn't found you hot I would have been withered with. But, I did that thing I've always done with girls I'm interested in. I panicked. I actually said something stupid."
"I remember." I chuckle and roll on my side so I can see his blue eyes, so I can see his face as he tells me his list of embarrassing moments. I don't' want to not look at him anymore. "I asked you if you wanted to help, and you said -"
"That you looked like you were doing a damn fine job and I could throw down more paper for you to pick up if I wanted."
I roll my eyes because I vaguely remember this interlude and how annoying I found him.
"Then you walked past and tipped over what I'd already bundled up."
"You could have gone to Banner and told him I was an ass, but you didn't."
(I did.)
"You could have chased after me like I wanted you to, but you didn't. You just put that book on 1940s etiquette in my office. I still have it," he mutters and he actually looks a little sheepish.
"Well, you deserved it. You've been so annoying over the years and even now. Do you not want to kiss me? Does my breath smell really bad or something? I thought..."
He turns to face me and his eyes, those pretty blues are dark and serious. "I do. I really do, but I have to tell you why I've been such an ass to you for so long. It's simple and stupid but.. I just didn't know how else to gain and keep your attention."
My right brow rises way up into my hairline of its own accord at his surprising statement. "So you're saying that you liked me this whole time, but the only way you felt comfortable showing it was to virtually be like a kindergartner pulling my hair?"
He nods and laughs low and I just stare at him. He likes me. All these games we've played over the past three years could have been solved so long ago. Because I like him too.
"I didn't know what else to do to keep your attention. You're so... you and I'm so... me."
This I don't understand. "What does that mean?"
He sighs and closes his eyes. "It means you're you. You have the entire school population in the palm of your hand. Boys dream of dating you and girls all want to be you when they grow up. You're smart, self confident and take no crap from anyone. I'm, well I'm just this geek disguised as a wrestling coach who desperately wants to use his maths and statistics skills with a football team instead, but has to wait 'his turn.'" He pauses and opens his eyes once more, slight hesitation evening out as he realizes I'm not giving him anything to be worried about. I'm listening to him much how he listened to me that night in the tent.
"I'm a big guy, I know girls can be afraid of me. They think I'll like it rough or will hurt them with my so-called "giant bear hands.'" I cringe a little at that, I know it as one of my own names that comes to mind whenever he has gone to touch me in the past (that and sausage fingers, but I'm fairly certain I've never said that aloud before.)
"There was this girl, in High School. I really liked her, and we went ice skating on our first date, she slipped and I went to grab her and... well, she broke her hand. I broke her hand. I was stopped her head from hitting the ice, but I never quite forgave myself for hurting her. It's why I've always been so gentle with you. You're fucking tiny, Alice."
I smile and squeeze his hand in mine.
"That wasn't your fault. You tried to he-"
"I know, I tried. But the thing is, it's always in the back of my head when I touch someone or shake someones hand. And I couldn't hurt you, Alice. I meant what I said that night, I could never hurt you."
"I believe you," I finish, taking his hand that is still joined with mine between us, and rotate it a little so I can press my lips to each of his knuckles as I admit something of my own.
"The first time I saw you was before that. You were just in the hallway outside the office and you were talking to someone on the phone, I think it was your mom. Telling her how much you liked it up here, the fresh air, the good school environment and you just... you had this look on your face that I hadn't seen on myself in a long time. Like talking to her took you back home. To safety and love and to being with the people you care about. I fell a little in love with you that day, Emmett. And I think, I've fallen a little more each and every day since."
There is quiet. Not a sound after my basic admission that I'm in love with him. Love him.
His lips meet mine and our eyes stay open as his tongue traces the line of my bottom lip. My mouth opens with a soft moan from one of us, then he's deepening the kiss and I'm reciprocating and pulling at our joined hands, needing to touch him again. Needing to feel him under my fingertips.
The kiss stops nearly as fast as it starts, I say no, I don't want to stop yet and pull his face back again with my free hand. His hair is so soft, and there's so much of it. These dark curls that have haunted my dreams for far too long. As has this mouth that is now working its way down my neck and scraping teeth over my shoulder as he presses flesh against flesh.
He stops when he gets to my chest, resting his head there as he eases me onto my back. My hand still runs through his curls, sorting them into random patterns, "I'm sorry I made you feel bad or if I made you uncomfortable with all these games, Ally. Does anyone else know about that-"
"No," I cut him off. He's the only one apart from my brother James who I've ever told - not counting therapy. James only knew because when my roommate found me catatonic the next morning, she called him and he made me tell him what went wrong. He was nearly suspended for hitting Felix later that afternoon, once I'd been admitted to hospital and he knew I was safe. From then on he'd been as overprotective as any older brother could be.
Another reason I'd picked this school, so far away from where I'd originally lived to get away from him.
"James would like you," I say, still combing my fingers through his hair, and he stills.
"James, as in your boyfriend?"
I laugh. "No, my brother. He'd like you. He's awfully picky about who I date. But he's not here so... I think even if he didn't like you, you're safe."
"Oh," he answers and we fall into comfortable silence once more. I can't stop touching him and his fingers now trail over my stomach, somehow my shirt had become knotted over my bra earlier in the evening and he's touching my skin. Those big fingers doing delicate things with the curve of my hip and waistline. It's heavenly.
"Do you realize what we're doing here?" I ask Emmett when the silence between us gets too much and the bass from the stereo downstairs stops thumping so madly and returns to a normal beat.
"No," he says and turns his face to lick a line from my neck down, down, along my breastbone to the where the material stops his journey short.
"We're in someone else's bed, someone's parents' bed, making out."
He looks around, lifting his head and showing me those brilliant aqua eyes .
"Making out? Has it been so long for you, Alice Brandon, that you aren't aware of what 'making out' is anymore?" He smirks, dimples flashing.
He leans over me, being careful not to put his full weight on my body, or any of his weight really. I love that he does this, this extra way to show me that he has control, that he knows what I've been through and he'll never push too hard. It'll always be me that sets the pace. I cup his face and pull him close.
"I do believe I need your lips for that, Mr. McCarty."
"It's Emmmm," and that's the last word that is spoken for a long while.
~:: Rematch :: ~
The next morning we do the walk of shame, much to the students' evident humor as I've lost my bra somewhere in that room (he knows how to take them off one-handed but can he make it land somewhere safe?). He lost his pants and walks down the stairs and out the front door in nothing more than a pair of South Park boxers. I have to laugh.
Then again so does half the senior population.
Oh, this man. He's made me feel more like a teenager in the last month than I ever did when I actually was a student. I never had that guy who would pick on me to let me know he was interested. I never had that guy that would listen to things I had to say and not make me feel like it was all my fault.
He is my teenage dream. He is the guy I would have chosen ten or so years before.
We manage a ride back to the school where both our cars are parked with Jessica's parents of all people, and he kisses me passionately at my car before tucking me inside and making me promise to call the instant I get in the door at home. I do, and then look outside when he asks me to because he's there.
He figures that we can conserve water and save the world by having a shower for two. He stays for breakfast, cooking me pancakes and bacon with lashings of maple syrup because he's brought too much to feed just one and I wouldn't want him to be wasteful. He naps on the couch with me, watching some action movie I let him choose out of the many that were once James' and are now in my collection until he gets back from his tour of Afghanistan or wherever it is that the Army's Special Ops have sent him now.
He makes Jasper laugh and they bitch on the chicks on Project Runway when Jasper drops by unannounced, catching me lying in some 'strange mans' arms. He stays for dinner, ordering in because he wants someone to share the extra egg rolls (when he really eats them all himself.)
He stays the night, and I'm lost in him. His taste, his touch, his scent. The way the soft hair on this legs tickles between mine, the claw marks I'm most definitely leaving over his broad back and the way he feels when he moves inside me. I can't get enough. Don't want it to ever be enough. But when the sun's rays rise once more, playing white gold through my bare window sill and onto his bronze back, I can't help but feel saddened that we've wasted all this time and had this briefest of brief moment that is to be our last and nothing more.
There's no way I'm doing a long distance relationship. It wouldn't be fair for either of us.
But I don't want to let him go.
Soon, he's shifting and he rolls from his stomach to his side, pulling me close and nuzzling into my neck with a, "good morning sweet thing." I run my hands through his unruly curls and his kisses wind their way up the column of my neck until he pulls back, eyes wary.
His thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Hey now, what are the tears for?"
I shake my head and lean up to find his lips, soft, warm, waiting. He kisses me back for a moment then gives me a look that is obviously him waiting for an answer.
"I just... I've just found you and I don't want to leave you," I admit, tears rolling down my cheeks unchecked now, hot and heavy.
He laughs and I really don't understand why as he pulls me closer than before.
"Oh silly girl. You're not losing me."
"I-I-I am!" I wail. "I leave tonight!"
He laughs harder and I jab him with my elbow on some part of his body that gives.
"Now, who's hurting who?"
"You're laughing? You think this is funny? We finally admit how we really feel and I'm leaving and we'll never see-"
He stills me with a sausage finger over my lips. I bite the fleshy pad enough to bruise but not break skin. I hate being laughed at and he's done so since I admitted I didn't want to let him go.
And Nicehole returns.
"Didn't you hear?" he asks. "I've been transferred to Maryland too. An old college friend of mine needs a offensive coach and I accepted."
Now I'm in shock.
"Guess you're not losing me after all, Ally. And better yet, we'll be working even closer together than before." He smirks and I laugh and we tumble under the sheets once more.
.
..
...
...
...
a/n - As always the standard disclaimer of other people own the recognizables and I own the plot. ilsuocantante brings the pretty in beta form and this is the LAST of my little bits for the 30 Days of Em challenge, which means back to finishing the last 2 ish chapters of Subway Strangers and then.. ?
Thanks for reading, Boo.
Genre: Twilight - Romance/Humor
Characters: Alice, Emmett
Rating: T/M for some language and brief sexy times
Status: Complete/Oneshot
Beta'd By: wearingwords
Summary: A prank that goes too far lands the most unlikely suspects in a situation where more than just annoying habits get revealed.
Pigtail Pulling
~:: Round One ::~
Fucking McCarty.
He was so irritating. Unbelievably annoying.
Infuriatingly good-looking, and frustratingly nice.
Yes, nice.
I hate nice people. Wait... that's a lie, I actually like nice people. My best friend is nice. He's a total sweetheart and everyone loves him because he's - for lack of a better word - nice.
Yet, Emmett McCarty... Emmett McCarty is the opposite of 'nice' nice. He's the nice that makes you want to slap it off his face. So nice you want to kick him hard in the shin to get him to leave you alone with his sweetness. The nice that makes you hope he'll push you against the lockers and kiss you silly.
Not that I want that.
Fucking Emmett McCarty.
It's all his fault we're in here. The fucking principal's office of all places. This is so embarrassing, I can feel my face flushing blood red, yet that sucker... that 'nice' fucker is casually standing beside me with a fucking smirk on his face.
Damn his dimples. Stupid blue-eyed, curly-haired, 'nice' asshole. Nicehole. Heh, that fits him perfectly.
"Is there anything you have to say for yourselves?"
I shrug and notice Nicehole copies. Ugh, can't even come up with his own nonchalant move.
"Nothing? Nothing at all after the incident that has probably single-handedly cut the extra funding we'd just managed to snare for the Music Department? Something I know you hold dearly, Miss Brandon?"
"Me?" I squeak more like squawk, astonished that he can possibly be blaming this on me. Before I can even catch myself, my mouth spews forth more words than a person of my stature should have room for in her lungs .
"You think this is my problem? I'll have you know, Principal Banner, that it was his fault. His fault that I had to take matters into my own hands, because simply asking him to stop wasn't enough. Is it not bad enough that he torments me in the hallways, disturbs me in every class and constantly sweet talks Mrs. Cope into giving him the one hall we have for my cheerleading rehearsals so his stupid jocks can roll around on the floor in tights?"
"It's a leotard, Al."
I roll my eyes and refuse to look at him. He can't make me look at him. "It's Alice, you moron. How many times do I have to tell you this?"
I feel him shrug his shoulders and sigh, "You say tights, I say Al. It's an easy fix, Al."
Thirty years to life is starting to look good right about now. I am pretty and crafty, maybe I won't be someone's bitch, but thebitch instead. McCarty is just pushing all the wrong buttons. I can pull off an orange jumpsuit. I'm blessed with a most neutral skin tone.
"Miss Brandon, Mr. McCarty. The shenanigans of the past year have gotten completely out of hand, as witnessed by the PTA and the entire school population yesterday in the parking lot. I don't think either of you want me to mention the bus race across state lines that you were both involved in last spring. Nor do I think you would want to know about half the phone calls I've received this morning from parents wanting to know just exactly what I was going to do about the pair of you after the so-called car wash this weekend."
Banner's face is starting to go as red as mine, though his is more from anger. He has that trademark Banner spittle growing at the corner of his lips. Even I know that this means we've pushed him too far.
Stupid fucking McCarty.
"In my defense, the bikinis she had the cheer squad in were white, we had to step it up a notch or we wouldn't have made a single dollar. What's really that bad about red thongs anyway? I'll have you know, Principal Banner, that two of my boys were offered modeling contracts for the next edition of Wrestling Weekly," Nicehole points out as he throws himself into the small, uncomfortable plastic chairs that Banner has in his office as some sort of deterrent for wanting to spend any time in here at all.
"Wrestling Weekly? Isn't that some offshoot of the school paper that you not only organize, but run?" I ask, finally turning to face him because if he believes he can get away with throwing around the word "contracts" and get out of whatever mess we're in, he's wrong.
"Money is still money, Al, and it's good promotion for the team and the school."
"It's a local magazine."
"We all gotta start somewhere, sweets."
"Sweets? Sweets?" I stare at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed and desperately trying to think of something, anything that can relay just how fucking annoyed I am at him, but nothing comes out.
He grins wider, dimples deepening and I swear to god there's one of those Disney sparkles in his eyes.
There's a letter opener on the desk. Surely it would be sharp enough to pierce his elephant hide. I could say he fell on it... he's six-foot gigantor something, he probably hasn't seen his toes since he was three!
"Mr. McCarty - " Banner starts with a slightly furrowed brow, and if I'm not mistaken, the corner of his spittle mouth twitching.
Fucking men's club.
Emmett interrupts, raising his huge hands up in the air in a forgiving gesture. "Sorry, slipped out."
"Slipped? Out?"
Emmett reaches over and touches his stupid sausage finger to my elbow. Yes, that's our height difference even when he's sitting down. What exactly is poking me in the arm going to do but aggravate me some more? He's always pulling stunts like this. Overgrown MAN CHILD.
Just when I think I've ignored him properly, he's doing it once more, but a little harder. I flinch and glare at him, bitch brow quirked right up into my bangs. He grins and I've blocked out anything that Banner may be saying. It's when he touches me with that finger a third time that I grab it, and in a few short moves have his arm pinned behind his back and he's crying uncle.
Heh. Self Defence 101, Nicehole!
"ENOUGH!" Banner shouts and it's a frighteningly loud enough sound that I drop my hold on Nicehole for a microsecond which is enough for Emmett to free himself. He shakes me off and rubs at his arm, grinning at me like a fucking loon.
Freak.
"I've tried with you both this year, making allowances and turning a blind eye, all for the f both of you being the best teachers we've had for the highest selling points this high school has to offer. I just can't do it anymore, this nonsense has to end."
"But he-"
"But she-"
"NO! Whatever plans you had for this weekend, unplan them. Cancel, make an excuse, I don't care because you won't be making it to whatever cake making class," he stares at me, "or knitting circle you have lined up." He stares at Emmett… knitting? "Mr Gerandy's Senior Astronomy class is camping out at the Old Stanley place and unfortunately or fortunately for them you two have just offered to chaperone seeing as Denis has injured his ankle due to one of your stunts."
Fuck.
"Fuck." Emmett, the gigantic assinator, actually voices my thought and doesn't even get a glare from Banner.
See? Men's club.
"Indeed, Mr. McCarty. Now, I suggest you take the rest of this afternoon to pack because you'll be needed back here promptly in one hour."
He has the audacity to grace us with one final toothy smile.
"Have a lovely weekend, Miss Brandon, Mr. McCarty."
~:: Round Two ::~
"God, you can't even get it up right."
"Oh, I assure you, I can."
"Well, from where I'm standing it doesn't look like it."
"Maybe that's because you're too far away, come a little closer, Al."
"For fruit's sake, don't. Call. Me. Al. Nicehole!"
"What did you call me?"
Fuckity.
He drops the side of the tent he's been attempting to put up for the last hour, and those irksome-see-everything-eyes of his are staring at me with interest.
"Nothing." I mutter and attempt to look anywhere but into those blue tractor beams of his.
"Oh, yes you did, you called me a name. And not even a real word at that!" He's laughing now and I want to slap his face, push him down into the dirt and grind myse no. I do not.
"And you said 'fruit' instead of fu-" he stops just shy of repeating a word that even though the kids we're here with know, we both have to show a little restraint with.
I straighten my shoulders and square myself off to face him where he's now failing at hiding his amusement. The small group of ten students we have with us have stopped setting up the several different sized telescopes and are staring.
"Mr. McCarty-"
"I've told you, Al, it's Mac when we're off the clock."
I roll my eyes. "We're not 'off the clock' or whatever you want to think this is, Mr. McCarty, especially when we have children in our presence."
"We're not kids, Miss B," a nasally whine calls from to my left.
"Thank you, Eric. I'm aware of that."
"Not a problem, Miss B." And I know Eric is pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Ugh.
Emmett's lips twitch at the sides and I feel my face heat up with rage at this whole situation. I was supposed to be at my cake decorating class with Jasper's mother, doing some 'mother-I-wanted-a-daughter-but-got-a-son-and-even-though-he's-more-girly-than-I-am-I-have-to-go-to-these-things bonding session. Jasper thinks it's hilarious that Esme guilts me into doing all these weird arts and crafts classes at the community college with her. I don't mind, really, my own mother lives out of state and miles away and I actually like learning. Not that I'd ever tell Jasper that.
I like having that extra sway of 'I do these things with your mom so you don't have to, now you owe me' over him.
"I'm not even supposed to be here," I mumble and pick up my side of the large two-room dome tent that was all we had left for Emmett and me to sleep in. I plan on making him sleep outside, it's a cloudless night and it's the end of spring. He'll be fine.
Plus, he has a layer of blubber to shield him from the cold.
"Thirty seven? THIRTY SEVEN!" Emmett shouts and I look up from where I've been attempting to stuff the thin plastic pole into the little flap, wondering just what the hell he's on about now.
I raise my right brow and give him that 'what?' look. He's smiling, a big proper smile with those dimples so deep into his cheeks. Damn he's so pretty sometimes. Shame about the personality.
"Yeah, I mean aside from the cheating, we were a great couple. I mean that's what high school was about, algebra, bad lunch, and infidelity."
"What?" I spit out. He's obviously lost his mind.
"People say crazy shit during sex. One time I called this girl Mom."
"Mr. McCarty!"
"It's Clerks, Miss B," Tyler calls out from where he was tapping the last peg of the boys' tent into the ground.
"What is Clerks, Tyler?"
Emmett's eyes widen and when he tilts his head to look at me, a little stunned, his curls flop down over his ears and I feel a tingle in my fingertips to brush them back.
They're in the way of his eyes. And we all know that when hair gets in your eyes it can lead to infection. I am not spending the weekend listening to a sick man whine. I in no way wanted to play with Emmett's hair. None.
"Weren't you quoting Clerks before?"
I know I was, but I'm kind of embarrassed that I didn't notice the random quotes he was so obviously trying to impress me with now, so I remain aloof.
"I was merely stating that I wasn't supposed to be here today."
"Thirty seven? THIRTY SEVEN! I'm THIRTY SEVEN!" Ben calls from where he had been glued to Angela Webber in a make out session that hasn't stopped since we met at the school a few hours ago.
"Mr. Cheney. I do believe you and Miss Webber need to make a start on collecting the firewood."
"But -" Ben starts and then stops, realizing I'm giving him an out to be alone with Angela somewhere a lot more private than the large field we're standing in.
"Yes, Miss Brandon. Thanks," he calls over his shoulder as he drags a giggling Angela behind him.
"Now back to the subject at hand. Mr. McCarty, I do believe you told me we'd have this tent done in seconds?" I place my hands on my hips and he shakes his head, before returning to his side of the tent.
"Let's take this nice and slow, Al. You can't rush perfection."
"It's, Alice."
Hate him.
~:: Round Three ::~
I should have been asleep hours ago, yet I'm lying here listening to that big oaf outside toss and turn.
And snore.
Yes, I made him sleep outside. There was not a hope in hell of having him anywhere near me in my pajamas. After that incident at the school swim meet where he 'accidentally' cut the strings of my bikini, causing a most unfortunate wardrobe malfunction and a group of passing eighth graders to instantly bone up, I am very careful of where Emmett and my boobs share the same vicinity.
Finally, finally, all is quiet and I roll onto my side and close my eyes.
.
. .
. . .
Only to wake up, eyes wide, body shaking after what feels like seconds. My blood is pounding in my ears and it's all I can hear. I can't breathe, as the adrenaline pumps ridiculously quick around my veins. I lay still, attempting to calm myself when I get this feeling that someone or something is close by.
I swallow hard, trying to form a word but everything is sticking in my chest.
Then I see it, my eyes having finally adjusted to the little light from where the lantern is on low, and it's this dark shape right above me.
I can't scream. I can't shout. I can't move.
"You know you want it, Al." … warm breath on my neck, sickly sweet cheap bourbon clouding around me…. "You've always wanted it."
"I-I don't.. Stop!" … a thick leg between mine, pushing, shoving. My hands slapping, scratching and nothing…. Nothing making him stop.
… "No. No. NO!"
"Alice? Alice! Stop, it's me, it's just me!" I blink and blink and wrestle against the tight grip he has my hands in. Too close. Too big. Too much.
"No! STOP!"
I'm sobbing and he's pulling me up onto his lap and against that broad chest that seconds ago I was flailing against.
I can't hear what Emmett says. I know it's soothing. I know he's telling me it was just a dream. If only he knew. If only he knew that it wasn't like that, it was a living nightmare. Another large form that was over me, another large form that called me Al and one that I'll never forget.
I'm brought back from the past with the familiar scent of his cologne, even through all the dirt of today and the campfire… he smells so good. Soon I'm nuzzling against his neck and as the shudders of fear slow, and still it is still his warmth that is grounding me to the now. Holding me to it as much as he is holding me to him. I grip one hand hard into his shirt and the other wraps around his side. I can feel his lips press against my forehead, soft and sweet, but as reassuring as his words are, his touch means so much more.
Seconds, minutes, hours pass and all I know is that he holds me and I feel safe. Not scared, not hurt, not dirty - a feeling I haven't found with a man since that night in college so very long ago.
When I wake in the morning it is in his arms. Strong, and not too tightly wrapped around me, but enough so that I know he is near and hasn't left me during the night. I watch him sleep, his broad chest rise and fall under my ear as I've managed to snuggle against him during the rest of the night and into this early dawn. His left nostril keeps making this whistling noise with every breath and I fight the urge to block it just to make the noise stop.
I don't know how long I lay there, content, amazed that I'm beside this man who usually I cannot stand to be in the same room with for more than five seconds, yet in this moment, I can't think of another place I'd rather be.
It's only when his large dinner plate size hand slides down from the safe area of my waist to rest on my ass and squeezes that I remember who he is and why I've always fought any attraction I've felt to him at all.
Those hotdog sized fingers squeeze my tush and I tweak his nose in response - almost immediately.
He smirks and does it again murmuring a quiet, "and a good morning to you, too."
I sit up quickly and roll myself out of his arms. I should know better than to trust the untrustworthy. The sheet moves with me and I'm greeted with the sight of a tent in his pants that's almost as big as the one we're currently laying in. Nicehole is packing a serious salami under his Spongebob Square Pants sleep shorts. Even though its him, I'm still a girl who's dry patch has gone on for far too many years - my mouth waters and I feel that place at the juncture of my thighs tighten in appreciation-or want.
He stretches his arms above his head, the thin grey sweatshirt that has his alma mater emblazoned on the front rides up, revealing toned, tanned skin and I have to swallow a moan. The muscles in his arms bulge, the cuffs tight around his biceps, and then he winks, those warm blue depths revealed as I lick my lips in appreciation of the form I once thought of as Shrek-like.
I resist rolling my eyes as he quirks one brow in what I'm sure is his 'like what you see here?" move and cross my arms in front of me after throwing the sheets back at him. Emmett lets them lay balled over his stomach - my attempt to cover his stunning body absolutely pitiful - and then his smirk is gone, his dimples disappearing to reveal a new look.
Concern.
Right… last night.
I chew on my lip, a tic I picked up in therapy and speak softly, concentrating on where the paint in the letter A on his shirt has started to peel off with age. "Thank you, for, um, last night," I stutter.
He sits up, careful not to be too close and reaches a hand out between us, but doesn't touch me. "I'm sorry I scared you, Alice. I heard you and thought maybe it was one of the boys in here playing a trick. I didn't think any of them would… you want to tell me what that was all about?"
I say nothing, struggling to blink away the stinging that is starting in my eyes. I will not cry. Not anymore.
"It's me, isn't it? I thought it might be me." He sighs, running a hand over his face, the sound of his stubble scratchy and loud in our quiet. "I never mean anything I say, Alice, maybe I took joking with you about the wolves out here too far."
I stiffen and it's noticeable. I know he sees, because he stiffens too and then he does reach out that little bit further, the tips of his fingers brushing my knee that's closest. Instead of flinching at this, I feel my body soften, relax and I start talking before I realize I am.
"It's not you… well, sort of," I start, because it's the truth and after last night I feel like I should tell him. I need to be honest. "I know you've always wondered why we don't get along. It's not that I hate you, Em, it's never been that. It's just…"
"I scare you. I know I scare a lot of people, I'm pretty loud."
"And obnoxious." I smile a little and he chuckles in response.
"And obnoxious," Emmett echoes, shifting closer and I turn so his hand is between us, his palm up and I release the hold I've had on myself to trace the lines of life that are deep and varied across his bronze skin.
He flips his hand so our fingers are intertwined and I look at the difference between us, my hand almost swallowed by his. Then up into his eyes, where only care and a need to understand shines through the blue, that now I'm closer is more aqua - a perfect blend of cool waters and warm ocean currents and I tell him.
I tell him it all.
Junior year of college, bright and naive and thinking that being on the cheer squad was enough to keep me safe at night when walking home from one keg party too many. That having the captain of the football team taking me out regularly was enough to keep me out of the hands of those that would take what I didn't want to offer.
But it didn't. He was the one who came in even though I said good night. He was the one to push me to the bed and take and take until I had locked myself in so far away from all the hurt and pain and broken trust that it took two years of intense therapy to get me to even go out at night. Catatonic they'd said in those first weeks. My classes passed with no question to stop charges being laid. He was going to win the Heisman Trophy, couldn't have a black mark against his name.
By the time I'm finished, Emmett is squeezing my hand too tight, the muscles in his jaw working overtime and his eyes - they're blazing blue fire.
I touch his cheek and he comes back. "I'm sorry."
That's all he says. It's all I need and thank you doesn't seem to be enough. He rests his forehead against mine, the fire slowly dying in his eyes as they return to calmer waters. We breathe. His rough and ragged, eventually evening out to my own and I wonder where this man has been under all the jokes and annoying pranks that have had me wanting to rip my hair out or his clothes off for the better part of three years . Back when I thought he was some dorky jock wannabe with a double degree in mathematics and physical education. Emmett releases my hand, cups my face so softly, and his thumb brushes over my cheek.
"I'd never hurt you, Alice. Never."
My heart pounds and I can't stop staring into his eyes. He means this. He really means it. I'm swept away by simple words, his scent, the gentle in the giant and I think he's leaning in and I'm leaning in and his lips… his lips are rosy and a little weather worn from being outside most of the night, but he licks them and turns his head just a little, angling in as he gets even closer and I press forward too. We're so close, so close I'm breathing his breath.
Yes…
"Miss Brandon? Have you seen Coach anywhere? I think I heard a grizzly in the bushes over by the shitter."
And our moment is gone when Emmett pulls back and wipes at his lips and I press my fingers to my own. He shakes his head, stands up, adjusting the salami stick none too discreetly and calls out that he's just checking that I hadn't used poison oak as toilet paper the night before.
I laugh, it's nervous and light but say nothing. However, before we leave I do manage to lace his underwear with itching powder that has him going crazy the entire bus ride home.
~:: Round Four::~
The next four weeks pass easily. We don't get hauled into Banner's office any more-or less than usual, anyway. He still interrupts my Dance and Drama classes to ask if my fridge is running and other inane jokes. I still have the Laundromat in town 'accidentally' send the team back pink leotards before a few meets.
Business as usual, or so it would seem.
He never calls me Al anymore. I smile back when I see him in the halls.
Graduation night is fast approaching and for awhile I hardly see him - he's busy with his Mathletes, and me with Glee club and midyear Dance recitals for the little company I co-run with Jasper outside of school.
It's the morning of graduation that we both find ourselves in Banner's office, in the positions that have become familiar since the moment Emmett put salt in my tea the first morning he started working here and I retaliated by throwing it in his face.
He'd also forgotten to put boiling water in. Such a clown.
We're in our regular places, Emmett sprawled in the stiff plastic chair like he owns the place, and I walk in a little late, not acknowledging him as I sit with my feet crossed at the ankles and tucked under me. Banner smiles and his mustache - that's a recent edition - wiggles.
"Well, you're probably wondering why I called you both in here."
I nod, because I really haven't a clue and I have a million other things I could be doing this afternoon, none of which involve either of the men I'm in here with now.
"Could you maybe hurry this up, Derek, I've got three letters of recommendation to complete for MIT before the afternoon is out," Emmett cuts in, sounding rather tired and for the first time I really notice him, he's got these little tortoise shell frames on that look even tinier when he lifts them with his hand as his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose.
When he settles them back down again, they only serve to magnify the lines and dark circles that surround his eyes, and I wonder if it's something other than just end of year school work giving him that exhausted look.
It's probably that blonde that's been subbing for Senora Aguilar's Spanish class while she goes on maternity leave. She's got big tits and legs that go on for miles. I've seen them talking in the halls, seen him offering to show her around. Maybe she's the reason I've seen less and less of him, heard less and less of his voice and his crude jokes? Thinking about it, he hasn't interrupted my class once this week.
This pang hits my chest, right about where my heart is and I flinch, my hand coming to cover the hurt.
Sausage fingers graze my elbow, remaining for longer than I deem necessary and I turn toward him, worry etched in his features and I shake him off.
"Don't," I whisper, but it's harsh even to my ears as I spin back around and squish myself against the plastic in the corner furthest from his touch.
"Aly?" he starts and I silence him once more.
"It's Miss Brandon."
The silence is palpable in the room after my outburst. I feel ill and heart sore, and I have no reason. No claim on him, so whatever he does or doesn't do with the Spanish Barbie doll has nothing to do with me.
Banner clears his throat and I vaguely hear Emmett mumbling something to the side of me. I breathe in as deep as my lungs currently allow and focus on the man in front of us.
"Where were we? Oh, right. I actually called you both in here to commend you on your change in behavior over the past month. It appears that the little astronomy get away helped. I've also written a letter to your new high school, Miss Brandon, that I think is quite glowing. We'll be very sorry to lose you here, but I understand the need to spread your wings and all that," he finishes with a sad smile that I return.
"You're leaving?" Emmett's voice is loud and full of… an emotion that I'm not sure I want to recognize.
"Yes." I answer.
"Oh."
Before anything else can be said, I excuse myself without looking at Emmett, and go back to my classes.
The days pass agonizingly slowly. Soon, it's my last and my students are full of surprises with flowers and candy, presents and little skits and shows, and my cheer squad performs a special number out on the field with a few graduating members of the football team as dance partners.
I'm a mixed bag of emotions and manage to just rein it in when it's time for final goodbyes at the graduation ceremony. I shed more than a few tears when caps go flying into the air. There are hugs, photos, and introductions to out of state family members, as more than only me say goodbye to the school that's been my home for more years than I care to count.
It's as the crowd dwindles and I'm walking to my car, hoping to make a get away without gathering too much attention that I hear him.
He calls and calls my name - always Alice - and it's only when he changes to Miss Brandon that I stop. I ground myself, take a deep breath and turn to face him.
His face is red, and forehead sweaty, but he still looks amazing. The glasses are gone and he's squinting into the afternoon light with hands on hips, bent forward as he catches his breath. I wait and tap a toe. I don't know what he wants to talk about ,but that pain is back in my chest again when I spot Senora Contrares staring in our general direction.
"Christ ,woman, didn't you hear me calling your name?" he splutters, finally standing up straight and towering over me as usual.
I step back. "I must have missed it. I have places to go Mr- "
"Stop right now with that shit, Al."
My back stiffens ramrod straight.
He curses under his breath and reaches out with his large hand toward me, I shrink back again and grip my keys a little harder. I know my car is close.
"Sorry, Alice." He shoves his hands in the deep pockets of his black dress pants and it pulls the front tight right across where I know lives a large member of his anatomy. I disregard that thought as soon as it enters my head and cross my arms over my chest.
"What is it you want?"
"I just, I didn't want you to go without saying goodbye." His voice is so soft that I have to lean in to hear it. So unlike the man that once called out 'nice underoos Raggedy Ally' across a football field and had me tumble from the top of the pyramid I was showing my squad how to do. I was in a cast for six weeks and we lost the championship to our rival school.
Impressed at his vocal skills, I was not.
"Well goodbye then, Mr. McCarty. It's been…" I stop, a pleasure isn't the right phrase. It's been fun and annoying and he's been like a mosquito in your room that you can't see but can hear all night annoying you - but a pleasure? There hasn't been much of that. "It's been," I finish and turn again.
His hand grips my elbow, the one he's always poked and I spin once more out of his reach and find myself backed up against the door of my car. Emmett steps closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body above my own and for a second, just a second I fall into the past that he knows about and he jumps back like I burned him.
"Sorry! Oh fuck, so sorry, Alice. I didn't.. I wasn't… this isn't what I wanted to say at all."
I turn with shaking hand and attempt to put my key in the lock. I can't wait till my new pay rate begins at this new school so I can rid myself of my tiny hunk of junk car and finally have something with automatic locking doors.
"Please, Alice. Just give me a chance here. We've never talked about that night."
I stiffen again, my body shaking not with remnants of fear, but with anger that he'd bring that up here. Here of all places where anyone could hear. It was private, something I only told him because of what happened.
"I don't want to talk about that night. I'd prefer to imagine it didn't happen at all and I'd appreciate it if you spoke to no one about it. I may be leaving, but I still have a reputation at this school that is mostly unblemished."
His big blues widen and his mouth drops he stutters something, but I'm jiggling the door handle trying to get it to open and pay no attention to his half words.
A sputtering choke and then wheeze indicates one of the students' cars has stopped close by, and by the smell of exhaust now surrounding me it, has to be Tyler and his van.
"Hey Miss B, Coach, now that we're all finished with school and stuff would you like to come to a party with us?"
"We'd love to," Emmett finishes and drags me by the arm to the sliding door that I can see Ben Cheney opening. A flood of sweet smelling smoke escapes, then the door is closed and I'm still crouching inside of the van as I hear Emmett tap the roof and slide into the front seat.
I snap up the last piece of bench space beside Jessica Stanley, the least talented of all my dance students and we're off, more smoke billowing, I'm sure, as Mike Newton hands me a bong made out of an apple. He laughs at the irony and then wonders aloud at where the word irony came from.
I pass it on to Jessica and let the conversation go on around me as I stare daggers into a head of black curls in the passenger seat.
When we get to the party, at Stanley's grandparents farm, the same farm where we'd been in the tent those few weeks before, I'm out the door and stomping off toward the house before he can get his belt undone. He wants me to be here, then I'll be here.
And I'll have fun while I'm at it.
~:: Knockout ::~
"I told you I was Queen of Beer pong!" I slur and waver on my feet, leaning against someone for support. I think my partner was Angela, but she seems to be gone and someone a lot taller is the wall I'm leaning on.
"Sure you are, and I'm the Dalai Llama," this voice I would know anywhere answers.
"Hey." I push off him; falling against the table making a few cups tip over.
"I think you've had enough Miss Brandon." His large hand cups my elbow. That same elbow he always touches and my body comes alive at the contact.
"Miss Brandon, now is it?" I ask, attempting to turn and poke him in the chest, but end up rubbing my palm over it instead. So firm.
"Seriously, Alice, I think it's time to stop."
"Who are you?" I snort. "My dad? I've got news for you, buddy, he's cold and been in the ground for the last two years now. So suck on that!"
Emmett tells me he remembers, and I know he does. He was the first to offer me condolences and I heard from my mother later that he sent her a card and flowers. I'm making no sense, but talk of my Dad has me all melancholy now, and I sway to the side, but Emmett catches me.
I blink and my stomach rolls. "Oh, I don't feel so good."
My ears have this new roaring sound and then my world is askew, my legs off the floor and I realize as he puts my arms around his neck that Emmett has picked me up.
Oh hell no.
"Oh hell yes," he answers, either reading my mind or answering me because I actually said it out loud, and I'm arguing the entire way through a crowd of wolf whistles and upstairs until the thump of the stereo is the only thing left to hear. He places me down on the bed, like I'm going to break if he moves too fast and I tell him that I feel sick. He's gone, I call for him the moment he leaves my eye line and then there's cool and wet on my forehead.
I sigh and close my eyes, letting myself fall back onto whoever's mattress this is and Emmett follows, the wonderful cool thing on my head comes too.
My hand lays over his on my head and I breathe slowly in and out, concentrating on how good the cloth feels on my head and ignoring my slightly queasy stomach. Emmett uses his free hand to stroke my hair behind my ear after it is obvious I'm not moving. It feels nice and I tell him so.
We're quiet like this for... ages. So long that I think I might have fallen asleep for some part, but when I open my eyes again he's staring at me. Big baby blues just gazing at my face and he looks sad. I raise my hand, using the back of my knuckles to draw down the underside of his jaw. He leans into my touch and my hand slides round the back of his neck, pulling him toward me. I want him close, I need to breathe him in, forgetting that all the stupid things have gone on and that he is actually a nice guy. I want to remember the last time I was alone with him, this close with him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, finally laying down beside me, his head propped up on one bent arm.
"Tell you what?" I whisper in return, turning my head but not my body because I'm still not sure on how that would end up.
Emmett strokes the hair out of my face again, his fingers lingering on my skin, my eyes close at the intimacy of his touch, but I force them open. I want to see him when he talks.
"That you were leaving this year. Why didn't you tell me?"
I'm slightly confused, I knew that keeping my transfer a secret was probably a bad idea, but I wasn't one for a lot of fanfare, so I asked Banner to keep it quiet.
"Because I didn't think you'd care. It's not like it affects you."
Blue eyes widen and his fingers stop their trail over my forehead and down to my ear.
"Didn't think I'd care? Are you kidding me, Alice? Of course I care."
"Oh, you're just upset you're going to be losing your favorite target to practice on. Who will it be when I'm gone? Maybe Senora Contrares. Oops!" I stop, covering my mouth with one hand. "Looks like I've said too much." I giggle, but it's forced, the turn in our conversation taking me to someplace serious, someplace where the beer in my veins no longer keeps me in a comfortable numb but has me coming shockingly fast to the surface of reality.
"What are you talking about, Alice? There's nothing going on with me and Katerina."
I roll my eyes and attempt to roll away from him on my other side.
Bad move.
The floor is there, but I don't meet it, only come within an inch, because yet again, my knight in polyester armor is there to save me.
"I'll have you know my shirt is actually a poly-cotton blend, thank you very much," Em huffs and I realize the brain to mouth filter has yet again gotten clogged up with alcoholic beverages and is no longer working.
I also realize that his nose is very close to my nose, that his lips are hovering above mine.
Now I can blame it on the alcohol. I can blame it on the fact we've been nice to each other for the past four weeks and never once spoken about that near kiss we had in the tent or anything...
But I kiss him. Hard.
Which is obviously a good move, because he flips us back onto the bed, him on his back and me laying at this awkward angle over him, and kisses me back. Hard.
God, he tastes good. I probably taste like beer and that one cigarette I bummed from Tyler, but he's just... there are no words to describe. My hands meet his hair and proceed to comb every square inch of that sable mess, as his meet my hips and hold me tightly against him.
He feels amazing too.
Until he doesn't.
And my back goes bouncing on the bed once more. The only sounds in the room now are the rasps of heavy breaths attempting to slow into something a lot more neutral.
"Sorry," we say at the same time and I feel the side of his hand laying right beside mine. The closeness of his skin to mine makes my fingers tingle and because being drunk or once drunk means I've lost nearly all my inhibitions, I don't hesitate to touch my pinky to his.
He doesn't move, just sighs and covers his eyes with the back of his forearm.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whines, almost impossible for me to hear but I do.
"Wasn't it?"
"No." He shakes his head pulling our hands up between us and threading his large fingers through mine. "I had a plan. Well, sort of a plan."
I nod, even though I'm not entirely sure he can see me. It's dark up here, save for the few party lights below on the patio lighting up the bedroom.
"I like you, Alice. I've always liked you. I liked you since that first day I came by to check out the facilities. You were wearing this tiny charcoal skirt-"
"I don't have a charcoal skirt."
A sigh. "Not now, but you did three years ago. Anyway, you had this tiny-"
"Tiny? How short? Because I really don't -"
"It was mid-thigh, and you have great thighs, not too muscular, not too thin, so I noticed okay?"
I giggle and he smiles and continues. "I remember the skirt, I remember your hair brushed out into this bob around your face, a lot shorter than it is now. I remember you dropping this big pile of papers you were holding and I remember checking out your ass when you kneeled down to pick them up."
My hand becomes a fist and smacks his chest at that line.
"Ow! I know, but I'm telling you my story here, babe."
The babe thing is new, but I let it go as he continues talking.
"So, I saw you having dropped these papers and I was checking out your mighty fine ass when you caught me. You stood up and you gave me this look that I guess if I already hadn't found you hot I would have been withered with. But, I did that thing I've always done with girls I'm interested in. I panicked. I actually said something stupid."
"I remember." I chuckle and roll on my side so I can see his blue eyes, so I can see his face as he tells me his list of embarrassing moments. I don't' want to not look at him anymore. "I asked you if you wanted to help, and you said -"
"That you looked like you were doing a damn fine job and I could throw down more paper for you to pick up if I wanted."
I roll my eyes because I vaguely remember this interlude and how annoying I found him.
"Then you walked past and tipped over what I'd already bundled up."
"You could have gone to Banner and told him I was an ass, but you didn't."
(I did.)
"You could have chased after me like I wanted you to, but you didn't. You just put that book on 1940s etiquette in my office. I still have it," he mutters and he actually looks a little sheepish.
"Well, you deserved it. You've been so annoying over the years and even now. Do you not want to kiss me? Does my breath smell really bad or something? I thought..."
He turns to face me and his eyes, those pretty blues are dark and serious. "I do. I really do, but I have to tell you why I've been such an ass to you for so long. It's simple and stupid but.. I just didn't know how else to gain and keep your attention."
My right brow rises way up into my hairline of its own accord at his surprising statement. "So you're saying that you liked me this whole time, but the only way you felt comfortable showing it was to virtually be like a kindergartner pulling my hair?"
He nods and laughs low and I just stare at him. He likes me. All these games we've played over the past three years could have been solved so long ago. Because I like him too.
"I didn't know what else to do to keep your attention. You're so... you and I'm so... me."
This I don't understand. "What does that mean?"
He sighs and closes his eyes. "It means you're you. You have the entire school population in the palm of your hand. Boys dream of dating you and girls all want to be you when they grow up. You're smart, self confident and take no crap from anyone. I'm, well I'm just this geek disguised as a wrestling coach who desperately wants to use his maths and statistics skills with a football team instead, but has to wait 'his turn.'" He pauses and opens his eyes once more, slight hesitation evening out as he realizes I'm not giving him anything to be worried about. I'm listening to him much how he listened to me that night in the tent.
"I'm a big guy, I know girls can be afraid of me. They think I'll like it rough or will hurt them with my so-called "giant bear hands.'" I cringe a little at that, I know it as one of my own names that comes to mind whenever he has gone to touch me in the past (that and sausage fingers, but I'm fairly certain I've never said that aloud before.)
"There was this girl, in High School. I really liked her, and we went ice skating on our first date, she slipped and I went to grab her and... well, she broke her hand. I broke her hand. I was stopped her head from hitting the ice, but I never quite forgave myself for hurting her. It's why I've always been so gentle with you. You're fucking tiny, Alice."
I smile and squeeze his hand in mine.
"That wasn't your fault. You tried to he-"
"I know, I tried. But the thing is, it's always in the back of my head when I touch someone or shake someones hand. And I couldn't hurt you, Alice. I meant what I said that night, I could never hurt you."
"I believe you," I finish, taking his hand that is still joined with mine between us, and rotate it a little so I can press my lips to each of his knuckles as I admit something of my own.
"The first time I saw you was before that. You were just in the hallway outside the office and you were talking to someone on the phone, I think it was your mom. Telling her how much you liked it up here, the fresh air, the good school environment and you just... you had this look on your face that I hadn't seen on myself in a long time. Like talking to her took you back home. To safety and love and to being with the people you care about. I fell a little in love with you that day, Emmett. And I think, I've fallen a little more each and every day since."
There is quiet. Not a sound after my basic admission that I'm in love with him. Love him.
His lips meet mine and our eyes stay open as his tongue traces the line of my bottom lip. My mouth opens with a soft moan from one of us, then he's deepening the kiss and I'm reciprocating and pulling at our joined hands, needing to touch him again. Needing to feel him under my fingertips.
The kiss stops nearly as fast as it starts, I say no, I don't want to stop yet and pull his face back again with my free hand. His hair is so soft, and there's so much of it. These dark curls that have haunted my dreams for far too long. As has this mouth that is now working its way down my neck and scraping teeth over my shoulder as he presses flesh against flesh.
He stops when he gets to my chest, resting his head there as he eases me onto my back. My hand still runs through his curls, sorting them into random patterns, "I'm sorry I made you feel bad or if I made you uncomfortable with all these games, Ally. Does anyone else know about that-"
"No," I cut him off. He's the only one apart from my brother James who I've ever told - not counting therapy. James only knew because when my roommate found me catatonic the next morning, she called him and he made me tell him what went wrong. He was nearly suspended for hitting Felix later that afternoon, once I'd been admitted to hospital and he knew I was safe. From then on he'd been as overprotective as any older brother could be.
Another reason I'd picked this school, so far away from where I'd originally lived to get away from him.
"James would like you," I say, still combing my fingers through his hair, and he stills.
"James, as in your boyfriend?"
I laugh. "No, my brother. He'd like you. He's awfully picky about who I date. But he's not here so... I think even if he didn't like you, you're safe."
"Oh," he answers and we fall into comfortable silence once more. I can't stop touching him and his fingers now trail over my stomach, somehow my shirt had become knotted over my bra earlier in the evening and he's touching my skin. Those big fingers doing delicate things with the curve of my hip and waistline. It's heavenly.
"Do you realize what we're doing here?" I ask Emmett when the silence between us gets too much and the bass from the stereo downstairs stops thumping so madly and returns to a normal beat.
"No," he says and turns his face to lick a line from my neck down, down, along my breastbone to the where the material stops his journey short.
"We're in someone else's bed, someone's parents' bed, making out."
He looks around, lifting his head and showing me those brilliant aqua eyes .
"Making out? Has it been so long for you, Alice Brandon, that you aren't aware of what 'making out' is anymore?" He smirks, dimples flashing.
He leans over me, being careful not to put his full weight on my body, or any of his weight really. I love that he does this, this extra way to show me that he has control, that he knows what I've been through and he'll never push too hard. It'll always be me that sets the pace. I cup his face and pull him close.
"I do believe I need your lips for that, Mr. McCarty."
"It's Emmmm," and that's the last word that is spoken for a long while.
~:: Rematch :: ~
The next morning we do the walk of shame, much to the students' evident humor as I've lost my bra somewhere in that room (he knows how to take them off one-handed but can he make it land somewhere safe?). He lost his pants and walks down the stairs and out the front door in nothing more than a pair of South Park boxers. I have to laugh.
Then again so does half the senior population.
Oh, this man. He's made me feel more like a teenager in the last month than I ever did when I actually was a student. I never had that guy who would pick on me to let me know he was interested. I never had that guy that would listen to things I had to say and not make me feel like it was all my fault.
He is my teenage dream. He is the guy I would have chosen ten or so years before.
We manage a ride back to the school where both our cars are parked with Jessica's parents of all people, and he kisses me passionately at my car before tucking me inside and making me promise to call the instant I get in the door at home. I do, and then look outside when he asks me to because he's there.
He figures that we can conserve water and save the world by having a shower for two. He stays for breakfast, cooking me pancakes and bacon with lashings of maple syrup because he's brought too much to feed just one and I wouldn't want him to be wasteful. He naps on the couch with me, watching some action movie I let him choose out of the many that were once James' and are now in my collection until he gets back from his tour of Afghanistan or wherever it is that the Army's Special Ops have sent him now.
He makes Jasper laugh and they bitch on the chicks on Project Runway when Jasper drops by unannounced, catching me lying in some 'strange mans' arms. He stays for dinner, ordering in because he wants someone to share the extra egg rolls (when he really eats them all himself.)
He stays the night, and I'm lost in him. His taste, his touch, his scent. The way the soft hair on this legs tickles between mine, the claw marks I'm most definitely leaving over his broad back and the way he feels when he moves inside me. I can't get enough. Don't want it to ever be enough. But when the sun's rays rise once more, playing white gold through my bare window sill and onto his bronze back, I can't help but feel saddened that we've wasted all this time and had this briefest of brief moment that is to be our last and nothing more.
There's no way I'm doing a long distance relationship. It wouldn't be fair for either of us.
But I don't want to let him go.
Soon, he's shifting and he rolls from his stomach to his side, pulling me close and nuzzling into my neck with a, "good morning sweet thing." I run my hands through his unruly curls and his kisses wind their way up the column of my neck until he pulls back, eyes wary.
His thumbs stroke my cheeks. "Hey now, what are the tears for?"
I shake my head and lean up to find his lips, soft, warm, waiting. He kisses me back for a moment then gives me a look that is obviously him waiting for an answer.
"I just... I've just found you and I don't want to leave you," I admit, tears rolling down my cheeks unchecked now, hot and heavy.
He laughs and I really don't understand why as he pulls me closer than before.
"Oh silly girl. You're not losing me."
"I-I-I am!" I wail. "I leave tonight!"
He laughs harder and I jab him with my elbow on some part of his body that gives.
"Now, who's hurting who?"
"You're laughing? You think this is funny? We finally admit how we really feel and I'm leaving and we'll never see-"
He stills me with a sausage finger over my lips. I bite the fleshy pad enough to bruise but not break skin. I hate being laughed at and he's done so since I admitted I didn't want to let him go.
And Nicehole returns.
"Didn't you hear?" he asks. "I've been transferred to Maryland too. An old college friend of mine needs a offensive coach and I accepted."
Now I'm in shock.
"Guess you're not losing me after all, Ally. And better yet, we'll be working even closer together than before." He smirks and I laugh and we tumble under the sheets once more.
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a/n - As always the standard disclaimer of other people own the recognizables and I own the plot. ilsuocantante brings the pretty in beta form and this is the LAST of my little bits for the 30 Days of Em challenge, which means back to finishing the last 2 ish chapters of Subway Strangers and then.. ?
Thanks for reading, Boo.