“Cheerful is overrated,” I tell him, “And this movie is fantastic. Just give it a chance. I promise, you’ll love it.” He raises an eyebrow at my fervid vow. “Well...” I amend, “I promise you won’t absolutely despise it, anyway.”
If it were any other day, I’m sure Emerson would never submit to watching an old, tragically romantic movie with me. I can practically see him swallowing his pride like a big old bite of mushroom risotto as he says, “Fine. Put it on. I’ll try not to fall asleep.”
With a gleeful squeak, I queue up the film and settle back against the couch. As the opening theme swells to fill our living room, Emerson eases over on the couch so that our bodies are almost, almost touching. His closeness, his kindness, and his understanding very nearly erase the upsetting events of this afternoon. I let myself get swept up in the film, in his company, in the wonderful, unprecedented feeling of comfort that’s wrapped around me like so many blankets.
As we fill our bellies and turn our attention toward the movie, I’m amazed at how normal this all feels. Spending time with Emerson feels natural. Easy. Maybe there was a little silver lining to being so vulnerable in front of him earlier today, scary as it was. Of their own accord, our bodies drift closer together over the course of the long film. The big meal has made me happy and sleepy, and I can feel my eyelids growing heavy. Emerson’s long, built body relaxes next to mine. And as we both lose ourselves in epic story, he casually encircles me with a strong, muscular arm.
I’m elated to be close to him, but more surprised at how effortlessly our bodies fit together. I snuggle against his side, resting my head on his shoulder. The warmth of his body is like a balm to my frayed nerves, and we stay cozied up for the duration of the film. At long last, when the final credits roll, I’m reluctant to reach for the remote, to let reality come sweeping into this perfect, suspended moment. I think I can sense hesitation in him too, but that could just be a lot of wishful thinking.
At long last, the screen goes black. The house is almost entirely dark without the blue glow of the TV. But even so, neither of us makes the first move to disentangle our bodies. If there was any question before, I know that this embrace is more than merely platonic. Emerson’s hand moves slowly along my side, sending sensation sparking along each nerve he brushes. I turn my face gently toward his, peering up in the dim light. His blue eyes gleam even in the darkness, and his caring expression gives me the courage to rest a hand on the firm panes of his chest. I take a deep, steadying breath, willing myself to be strong. Steady.
“Thank you for this,” I say, unsurprised to find that my voice has slipped low in my register with wanting him. “I know you were out to make me feel better after this afternoon, and...well. It worked. This was exactly what I needed.”
“I’m glad,” he says, tugging me just a hair tighter against him. “I hated seeing you so upset back at the restaurant. I figured dinner and a movie was the least I could do. Was that a panic attack, or—?”
“Anxiety attack, yeah,” I reply, scooting up so that our faces are level. “I’ve been having them for a few years now.”
“Did they start when your mom passed away?” he asks.
“Um. No,” I say, averting my eyes, “Not exactly.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Emerson insists.
“No. I do want to. I want you to know what today was about, I just...” I sigh, trying to find the right words. “Hardly anyone knows. And this whole us-getting-along thing is pretty new, you know? I just need to know...that I can trust you.”
I swallow a gasp as Emerson lays a hand on my cheek, his eyes burning intently into mine. “You can trust me,” he says, “I promise you that much, Abby. How can I prove it to you?”
“Trade me a secret for a secret?” I laugh, only half joking.
“OK,” he replies, his gaze unwavering, “Deal.”
“Wait, seriously?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.
“Seriously,” he says, letting his fingertips trail over my shoulder, down my arm. “I want you to know I’m for real. I’ll tell you a secret if you’ll let me in on one of yours.”
I try my best to take deep breaths, suddenly afraid of knowing Emerson’s secrets, being bound to share mine as well. But I know I have to be bold, now. I’ve spent too much time living in shame and fear.
“OK,” I whisper, inching closer toward him, “Tell me a secret, Emerson. Make it a good one, too.”
“All right,” he says, his voice hoarse and low, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for two weeks straight. Since the night of the party. I got to see a side of you that night I’d never seen before. In the closet, during that stupid game...you were so direct. So ready. And so fucking sexy. If the cops hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what would have happened. But I damn well know what I wanted to happen.”
“What?” I breathe, so close to him that I can feel his warm breath against my skin. “What did you want to happen?”
His eyes glint with something that looks like longing. Lust. Can this seriously be happening right now? Is someone about to leap out from behind a houseplant and tell me I’ve been Punk’d or what?
“It would probably be better for me to show you than tell you,” he growls. “Is that OK?”
Unable to formulate a single word, I simply nod my assent. With a fiery intensity I’ve never seen in him before, Emerson catches my face in his broad hands. I can feel my heart barreling against my ribcage as he takes one long, steady look at me. Before I can take another breath, he’s brought his lips to mine in a searing, earnest kiss. The entire world shrinks down to our two bodies as I feel myself subsumed by the sensation. His lips are unbelievably soft, his mouth so strong as it works against mine. I open myself to him, closing my eyes in rapturous bliss as his tongue glances against my own. The taste of him electrifies my senses. In this moment, there is nothing but him.
I gasp softly as Emerson pulls me onto his lap. I straddle him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as his tongue probes deeper and deeper. Pressing myself flush against him, I let a low groan escape from between my lips. I can feel through his signature blue jeans that he’s hard for me. The full, stiffening length of him presses against my sex, exactly where I’ve been dreaming of feeling him for the better part of four years.