Paint Me Beautiful

Saturday,” I say. If I had known calling him would cost me, I'd have stuck with Leanne. I could've at least bullied her into dropping me off at home. Emmett Sinclair is nice, but he isn't the type of person who lets themselves be bullied into anything.
    “ Right, but after our Friday date, I was going to ask you out on Saturday anyway, so you still owe me.” He winks at me, but I'm not buying what he's selling, not yet.
    “ You don't even know if we're compatible,” I say.
    “ Yes, I do,” he tells me with a confident look tossed in my direction. I cross my arms over my chest, and in my irritation with this sexy, scruffy boy, forget about the fashion industry for one, brief, indescribably beautiful moment. He sees my look and rushes to explain himself, words tumbling from his full lips in a flurried jumble, like he's never done this before, said these things before. What Emmett Sinclair tells me then and there is not a line, a hook, something to get in my pants. He's just telling me how he feels, and one day, I'll find that pretty damn admirable. Right now, it just confuses me. “Have you ever kissed someone and seriously felt like you were touching their soul with your mouth?”
    “ That's weird,” I tell him, but I can't keep our two kisses out of my brain. I feel myself leaning forward involuntarily and have to put a stop the arduous desire that's bubbling deep down and threatening to burn me with its intensity. I decide to just answer the damn question. “No.”
    “ Exactly,” Emmett whispers, eyes focused on the road, but twinkling. I notice his arms tensing imperceptibly, his chest expanding as he takes in a massive breath. The skin between his eyebrows crinkles as he tries to explain himself. “When I kissed you, Claire, I felt you.”
    “ Okay,” I say. I'm not trying to be rude, but what else am I supposed to do? I don't even know the guy and his heart is open and beating bloody on a table for all the world to see. Emmett slides his full lower lip under his teeth and then runs his tongue across his mouth unconsciously. I find myself copying the motion and look away.
    “ I think … ” he begins and pauses. “I know somehow that you need me.”
    I snort.
    “ Seriously. And I think I need you, too.”
    “ Wow,” I say, putting my hands up to either side of my face. “This is kind of a lot to take in, Emmett. We just met. I don't know anything about you.”
    “ What do you want to know?” he asks me, but I'm a little stunned, so I don't say anything. Emmett keeps talking, obviously still full of words and thoughts and feelings. “I just think we could really learn a lot from one another.” He pauses. “At the very least, I think we could paddle a mean boat.”
    “ That's Saturday,” I tell him. “Look, I'm tired, and I just got done with a really stressful casting call – ” Emmett interrupts me.
    “ Let me take you to lunch. I know a great place on the west side of town. They serve dessert burritos.”
    “ I'm not hungry.”
    “ Okay then, let's go to the aquarium.”
    “ Why are you so desperate to hang out with me?” I ask him. He shrugs, loose and easy.
    “ I like you.” I sigh.
    “ Why don't you come over?” I ask him. “We can watch a movie or something?”
    “ I'd be delighted,” he tells me with a big, fat grin. I look at Emmett Sinclair, and I wonder if I'm making the world's biggest mistake or the smartest decision of my entire life. It's either one or the other, and I'm not sure which. There is no in between, not now, not with this. I don't know how or why, but somehow, this moment is going to change my life.
    I just hope it's for the better.

 

    When we get back to the house, I'm relieved to find that both of my parents are gone. It's not like I need permission to bring a guy over, but I appreciate not having to explain myself. Also, I'm not a big fan of having my father eavesdrop outside my door. God, I need to move out, I think as I stop in the kitchen and fill my water bottle from the tap.
    “ Can I get you something to drink?” I ask as Emmett slips his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and glances around the room like he's never seen it before.
    “ This is a really cool place,” he says as I turn around and follow his eyes up to the mantel and the elk head that's giving me another look. Who are you, Claire? it asks. I mean inside, who are you really? I glance away and focus on the plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that are