Beastly (The Ever After Collection) (16 page)

Emma allowed a smile to pull at her lips for the first time since arriving at Heath’s house. “That’s true, I guess,” she conceded.

Obviously sensing victory, Heath tugged Emma onto his lap. He seemed to prefer her there whenever they were alone, and Emma certainly wasn’t going to argue. “And if it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you can ask me one more of those questions you’ve concocted up, but only one, and only if I get to ask you one in return.”

Only one?
That meant that it had to count.

Of course, Emma already knew which one it was going to be. She took a deep breath. “Where do you disappear to every Saturday at three?”

Heath looked honestly taken aback. He was probably expecting her to ask something asinine like his favorite animal, judging by her previous random questions. Emma was about to withdraw the question when he had the audacity to smile. “I forgot that I hadn’t told you yet,” he said.

Emma blinked.

“I didn’t mean to make it such a mystery,” he continued. “It’s just,” he paused, showing the first sign of hesitation, “I have therapy at three. The Potters insisted I start going when they took me in.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Emma repeated dumbly. That actually made a lot of sense. “Does it help?”

Heath shrugged. “I admit that I hated going at first; I didn’t want some shrink trying to analyze me. Mrs. Carpenter – that’s my therapist’s name – says that I seem to be getting better since I’ve met you, though, so she must not be
completely
full of it.”

Emma looked down at her lap –
their
laps, really – as an unexpected warmth started to grow in her belly at his confession.

“Ready for my question for you?”

Emma looked up, forcing herself to refocus. “Sure.”

Heath smiled, taking both of her hands in his. “Emma Belrose, will you go on a proper date with me?”

Emma couldn't have stopped the elated grin from spreading across her face ear to ear if she’d tried. “Really?”

“Yeah, you’re worried that we don’t know enough about each other so let’s do just that – get to know each other – properly.” He pressed his forehead to hers.

“Okay,” she agreed softly. Like she could – or would ever want to – say “no” to that.

“And for the record,” he said, pulling away just slightly and releasing her hands so that he could play with a strand of her hair, “the reason that I like brown so much is because this girl I know has the prettiest head of brown hair that I’ve ever seen.” He reached up and rubbed a thumb over the sensitive skin beneath one of her eyes. “And the most potent whiskey-colored eyes; I could get drunk just looking into them.”

“Suck up,” Emma accused, but her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I know,” he agreed, leaning forward. “Now can I kiss you, please?”

“Technically, that was two questions-”

He cut her off by darting forward and pressing his mouth to hers.

* * *

Emma and Heath went on their much anticipated date the next weekend. It mostly consisted of one disaster after another.

Heath had chosen a restaurant with an abundance of stellar online reviews to dine at in the town over. Unfortunately, the food they’d ordered had managed to be delivered both burnt and cold. The movie they’d gone to afterwards had been appalling bad – a zombie “love” story that had contained more blood and guts than anything resembling romance. And to top it all off, Heath’s car had stalled on the way home to Maple Valley, and it had started to rain.

They’d had to drive to Springfield, which was nearly an hour away, to get to the only decent theater in the area so they spent a long time together in Heath’s dark car waiting for Mrs. Potter to come pick them up. Ignoring the rain/slush mixture that pitter pattered against the windows, Emma used the time to reacquaint herself with the feel of Heath’s lips against her own and the sensation of his stubble against her cheeks. She also learned how Heath’s calloused hands felt against the smooth skin of her belly.

By the time Mrs. Potter finally arrived, Emma found that she no longer cared that she didn't know Heath’s favorite book or whether he preferred country or pop music.

All in all, it was the best date she’d ever been on.

CHAPTER TWELVE

January had faded into February when the inevitable happened.

The school bell had just finished echoing out through the building, signaling that classes were over for the day, and Emma was lounging against her locker, searching the crowded hallway for Heath, when Gunther approached her.

She didn’t see him until he was nearly upon her, the sea of students naturally parting for its perceived king. Tension began gathering in her shoulders as soon as she realized that he was heading in her direction. Even more damning was the fact that he was looking right at her. A thrill of fear shot down her spine, but Emma firmly told herself that Gunther wouldn’t dare do anything to her in public. Besides, Heath would be there soon.

And were those…
flowers
in Gunther’s hands? He held an impressively colorful bouquet of yellow, orange, and pink Gerber daisies.

Before Emma could seriously consider running in the opposite direction, Gunther had taken three more steps forward and thrust the bouquet at her, the flowers nearly smacking her in face.

Hadn’t he ever heard of personal space?

When Emma didn’t immediately accept the flowers, Gunther lowered them enough so that Emma could again see. It seemed like the entire population of Maple Valley High’s jocks had gathered behind Gunther. Folding her arms tightly across her chest, Emma tried to ignore the way everyone else seemed to have suddenly stopped what they were doing so that they, too, could stare at her. She even spotted Maribeth in her peripheral vision, the blonde sporting pursed lips and scorched red cheeks.

But, of course, no one who’d be willing to help her – Heath, Collette, Luca, or any teacher whatsoever – was there.

“Emma Belrose, today’s your lucky day,” Gunther informed her smugly, and her attention was redirected back to the domineering boy. “It would be an honor – for both of us, I imagine – if you’d agree to be my date for prom.”

The question (if it could even be called that) was so utterly ridiculous – both how it was delivered and the request itself – that the fear that had filled her at Gunter’s abrupt approach all but fled, escaping her body much like air would a popped balloon. Incredulity replaced it.

“What?”

Gunther turned around to face his friends – or flock of admirers, more accurately. “I think she’s in shock,” he joked loudly.

The jocks erupted into laughter.

Maybe Emma
was
in shock. But not for the reason they thought. That Gunther was asking her to prom… that after what had happened, he had the audacity to… that he actually thought…

She couldn't even string a sentence together in her own mind, let alone out loud.

Emma had wondered at times if Gunther was working with a full deck of cards, and
this
certainly cemented the answer for her.

“It’s okay. I know how pleasantly surprised you are. My looks alone can be intimidating, and that’s not even taking into consideration my outstanding wit or-”

Emma knew from experience that this self-congratulatory spiel could go on for a while so she took a deep breath though her nose in an attempt to compose herself before opening her mouth. “No.”

Gunther’s mouth snapped shut, true surprise shining in his narrowed eyes as he stared at her. “What was that?”

As if he hadn’t heard her.

“No,” Emma repeated sternly. “As in no, I won’t go to prom with you.” It was only through sheer force of will that she managed to refrain from adding that she’d rather gauge her own eyes out with a rusty spoon.

Gunther took yet another step into her space, forcing Emma to back up further into her locker, the metal handle digging painfully into her back. “I think you misunderstood the question.”

Emma was debating whether or not it would be worth seeing the expression on his face if she told him that it was
he
who seemed to have a functional misunderstanding of the word “no” when suddenly Heath was there.

She didn’t even have a chance to feel relieved, however, before he was taking action. Her heart leapt into her throat as he grabbed Gunther by the back of his dark head of perfectly styled hair and slammed his forehead so hard into the locker directly to the right of Emma’s that a loud
bang
reverberated throughout the hallway.

A gasp traveled through the gathered crowd, whispers of the word “fight” reaching Emma’s ears.

And while she was grateful that Gunther was no longer towering over her, Emma was rapidly filled with very real fear for Heath’s physical wellbeing. Especially considering the horde of Gunther’s jock buddies who were looking on with expressions ranging from startled to furious.

Where was a teacher when you actually needed one?

Gunther whipped around to face Heath, a dark red mark already blossoming across his forehead.

“Keep the hell away from Emma,” Heath spat.

Emma braced herself for the boys to attack each other, shocked when neither immediately made a move, considering Heath’s “greeting”.

She wondered for the first time if Gunther may be afraid of Heath. He was probably the first person to have ever outright defied him, after all. Well, the first person big enough to defend him or herself anyway.

And then Gunther opened his mouth. “Who do you think you are, worthless freak?”

Worthless freak.

The words struck a chord in Emma, forcing her to remember the list of horrible names that Heath had confided in her that he’d been called over the years. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to stop from going after Gunther – Heath or
herself
– when she made a grab for Heath’s hand, linking her fingers through his and squeezing tightly. “Heath is my… boyfriend,” she said.

The word didn’t seem like it was enough somehow. But Emma didn't know of
any
word that accurately described her relationship with Heath. That described the way she felt about him, the way she felt
with
him. And Emma knew a lot of words.

Gunther stared at her incredulously. “You mean you actually got with this punk?” He gestured at Heath with the bouquet he still held in one hand. “This little piss-ant that you’ve been using to try to make me jealous?”

And now it was Emma turn to gape.

Is that seriously what Gunther had deluded himself into thinking?

He had seen her hanging out with Heath and assumed it was some ploy for his attention? It was so crazy that for a long moment, Emma had no idea what to say.

And then, suddenly, she did.

She forced herself to squarely meet Gunther’s dark green eyes. “I’m going to be as crystal clear with you as I possibly can, Gunther. I don’t like you. I never have and I never will.” She paused a second to let that sink in. “I wouldn’t go to prom with you if you got down on your hands and knees and begged me like the dog you are.”

More murmurs swept through the crowd of onlookers as they took in her derogatory words. She heard a loud “you go, girl!” and was finally able to spot Collette and Luca in the mass.

It sure would have been nice if they’d managed to get there five minutes earlier.

Emma flinched, thoughts of her friends’ horrible timing fleeing her mind, when Gunther took a hasty step forward and was abruptly in her face again.

She squeezed Heath’s hand impossibly tighter, urging him not to react.

Gunther smirked at her reaction. “You’ll regret this, Emma,” he assured her, his words a barely audible hiss, and then retreated from her space before she could no longer hold Heath back.

Then louder, and for everyone else’s benefit, Gunther laughed. “Like I would really want an uptight bitch like you anyway.”

Without further ado, he threw the bouquet of flowers down at her feet and walked away, his band of merry followers trailing behind him. With the show apparently over, the rest of the curious onlookers – sans Collette and Luca – began to disperse as well.

Emma turned to look at Heath, who still had a tight grasp on her hand. She frowned at the tension radiating from his tall form, at the biceps she could see straining against his shirt and the hard line of his jaw. His blue eyes softened, though, when they took in her worried expression. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I think you made your opinion of him pretty clear, but I don’t suppose that another reminder of the fact that you’re taken will hurt?”

Recognizing the teasing lit, Emma allowed a small grin to pull at the corners of her mouth. “No?”

“No.”

A beat later, his mouth was fused to hers and all was right with the world.

At least until – to her chagrin – he pulled away.

“Heath…” Emma protested despite her friends’ obvious relief.

“Jesus Christ, you two,” Collette complained. “Get a room. The janitor’s closet is right there, for God’s sake.”

“Yes, I’m sure you two are intimately familiar with it,” Emma snarked at the same time Luca exclaimed, “Why, Collette, I never knew you to be so religious!”

Heath completely ignored them.

“I almost forgot,” he said, pulling what Emma recognized as an origami rose from seemingly out of nowhere. “I realize that the timing is awful, but… here.”

He handed the delicate masterpiece over, and Emma had to admit despite the fact that she didn’t care for things like homecomings or proms, a happy warmth settled in her belly at the word – a question, really – written so precisely on every petal.

Prom?

“Well?” Heath asked, and Emma realized she had yet to answer.

She didn’t reply with words, choosing instead to launch herself at Heath, throwing her arms around his neck and reconnecting her lips with his. She sighed into his mouth and allowed his tongue to gently trace her bottom lip.

She didn’t care one iota about her friends’ pretend gagging either.

Nor could she find it in herself to give Gunther’s vague threat another thought.

Perhaps, however, she should have.

* * *

With March just around the corner, the snow on the ground was finally beginning to melt. As the white slush thawed, patches of green and yellow grass began sprouting up where the unseasonably warm sun had eradicated it completely.

Of course, most high school seniors were too hyper-focused on the upcoming prom in April to give the resurrection of spring much thought.

Emma was distracted too. Not by a silly dance like many others, but by something else entirely. Something much more important: college. Specifically, how she was going to afford it.

Which was precisely why instead of cuddling on the couch with Heath, watching a movie and nursing a cup of hot chocolate like she desperately wanted to do, Emma was sitting at her kitchen table, bent over a half dozen scholarship applications and furiously writing away. At her insistence, Heath was with her, sitting across the table and frowning down at his own stack of forms.

The applications weren’t hard to fill out. Emma’s grades were excellent across the board and she was apt enough at writing that the essays most of the forms required didn’t give her much pause.

Heath, unfortunately, was struggling.

“This is pointless,” he grouched for the umpteenth time, angrily flipping through the stapled bunch of papers he’d been working on for close to an hour.

As much as Emma adored him, Heath’s attitude was starting to get under her skin. She reluctantly looked up from her pile of forms.

“It’s not pointless,” she disagreed as calmly as possible. It was hard when she felt like she’d explained this about
twelve
times already. “Even the smallest of these scholarships award a thousand dollars to the winner. You’ll never know if you’ll be awarded one if you don’t even try.”

Heath scoffed. “Right.”

Emma frowned, setting down her pencil. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Heath said, slamming the pen he’d been fiddling with down on the table as well, “that even if I fill out every line of these stupid applications, I don’t have a chance in hell of winning any of these scholarships. Not with my shoddy background.” He shrugged, and added with an air of nonchalance, “I’m not smart enough for college anyway.”

He said it like he actually believed it. And it was so incredibly ridiculous that for the first time in a long time, Emma felt real anger at Heath. It burned brightly in her chest and urged her to take action. “Why would you say that?” she demanded hotly.

Heath reacted to her burst of temper with a show of his own. “Because it’s goddamn true, Emma, that’s why!” He stood up, the force of the abrupt movement causing the chair’s legs to scrape noisily across the kitchen’s tiled floor.

He stomped into the adjoining living room, but Emma wasn’t about to let him get away so easily. She abandoned her work and immediately followed him, secretly relieved when he flopped down on the couch instead of making a beeline for the front door.

“What’s this really about?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.