Chapter Four
Crossing Lines
Ethan
Age 16
I really need Emma to come with me tonight. Jaxon’s been blowing up my phone about this party all week, and he just sent me another text about it five minutes ago. Normally, I’d brush it off or come up with an excuse not to go, but something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time with Emma lately, just the two of us, and I’m starting to feel like it’s getting harder to separate how much I want to be around her from how much I need to.
I tell myself it’s not a big deal, that I just don’t want her to miss out, but deep down, I know that’s not the full truth. I want her there because I can’t stand the thought of spending a night without her nearby, of her not being in the same room, laughing or rolling her eyes at something dumb Jaxon says. And yeah, maybe a small part of me just wants to see how she’ll look—what she’ll wear, how she’ll hold herself in a crowd of people who don’t know her the way I do. How they’ll probably look at her, realizing what I’ve been trying not to admit to myself: that she’s amazing.
The thought of someone else noticing what I see when I look at her twists something in my chest I don’t want to name. But I shake it off. It’s just a party, right? Nothing serious. Just another excuse to hang out with her, even if I don’t fully understand why it’s so important to me.
Jaxon : Bro, u better not bail. This party’s gonna be LIT
Me : Chill, man. I’m coming.
Jaxon : Good. Bring Emma if you want. I saw her at the store with her mom the other day… Dude, when did she get so hot? Nearly popped a boner in the cereal aisle.
I clench my jaw, staring at the screen, feeling this weird mix of annoyance and something sharper, something I can’t quite name. It’s not like Jaxon’s wrong. I’ve noticed it too—Emma’s changed. She’s more confident, more vibrant, and there’s this way she carries herself now that makes people notice her in a way they didn’t before.
But hearing Jaxon talk about her like that—as if she’s just some random chick for the next notch on his bedpost—makes my blood simmer. It’s not just a protective instinct; it’s something deeper, something possessive that I’m not sure I want to admit. I want to tell him to leave her alone, to quit acting like she’s just another girl. She’s not. She’s Emma.
Ethan : Don’t be gross, man. She’s my best friend.
Jaxon : What? Just saying, dude! You’re lucky you got dibs. But if you’re not making a move, maybe I should.
I grip my phone tighter, irritation prickling under my skin. The last thing I want is Jaxon—or anyone—thinking about Emma like that.
Ethan : Not happening. Leave her the fuck alone, Jaxon.
Jaxon : Geez, chill, dude. I’ll behave. Just don’t forget to show up, and bring her if you can. She’ll be safe with you, right?
I roll my eyes, pocketing my phone. Part of me wants to not ask Emma, to keep her out of this whole scene. But I want her there with me tonight, even if it’s for purely selfish reasons.
This party is something everyone’s gonna be talking about for weeks, and yeah, it’s just a party, but there’s something about having her there that feels important. Maybe it’s because I can’t imagine having fun without her, or maybe it’s because, deep down, I want her to see a different side of me—one that doesn’t just belong to football and normal mundane routines .
So here I am, on her front porch, ready to beg if I have to.
I knock on her door and she answers almost immediately, something she usually does. I’m sure it’s because she hears my dad’s car coming up her driveway.
“Hey you… what are you doing here?”, she asks.
I absently rub the back of my neck, “So, Jaxson Summers is throwing a party tonight and I want you to come with me.” I blurt out.
“Umm, yeah… no thanks! You know that’s not my scene. I’d rather stay here and curl up with a good book.” She says, rolling her eyes like I have the audacity to ask her to come to a party.
“Come on, Em, it’ll be fun. You need to get out of your shell a little and let loose.” I say, giving her my best pleading look as she joins me on the porch and we sit on the steps.
She shakes her head, crossing her arms, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Ethan, you know parties aren’t my thing. It’s just a bunch of people I barely know… and a bunch of people I don’t know at all.”
“Exactly,” I say, leaning forward. “Perfect chance to meet new people. Come on, everyone’s gonna be there. ”
“Yeah, which is exactly why I don’t want to go,” she mutters, looking away.
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Em, please. Just this once? For me?” I put on my best puppy-dog eyes, hoping it’ll break her resolve. “I need a wingman, well a wingwoman in this case. You wouldn’t leave me to fend for myself with all those thirsty girls, would you?”
She raises an eyebrow, her eyes widen in surprise then she tries to hide a smile. “You? Need a wingman? Sorry, wingwoman?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding emphatically. “And you’re my best friend. It’s in the job description to come to at least one high school party with me.”
She rolls her eyes again, but I can tell she’s wavering. “I don’t know… I’ll just be standing there awkwardly while you’re off with your other friends.”
“Not if you’re with me,” I say, scooting closer. “Look, if you come with me, I promise I’ll stay by your side the whole time. I’ll even ditch the football guys if you want. Just…come. It’ll be good for you, Em. Step out of that comfort zone of yours a little.” I bump her shoulder to emphasize it.
She sighs, looking down at her hands. “This really means that much to you?”
“Yes,” I say, grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll have me there, I swear. If you’re miserable, we can leave anytime. But first you need to change, I don’t think your pj’s are appropriate.”
She looks down at her body and her face reddens. “Uhh…yeah. What time are we going?”
“Now, go change. I’ll wait here,” I reply, tugging lightly on the ends of her braids. “And lose the braids—your hair looks better down.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering something about me being bossy, but she doesn’t argue. As she heads inside, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the air, and my hand drops to my side. For a second, I just stand there, staring after her, and before I can stop it, a thought slips into my mind.
Her hair has always been something I’ve loved, that deep shade of golden blonde that gets streaked with white blonde the more time she spends outside. It’s sunshine, soft and warm, and I can’t help wondering for a second what it would feel like to wrap my hand around it. To hold it, pull her in, and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
The image is a punch to the gut, sharp and sudden, and I jerk my gaze to the porch floor, swallowing hard. My pulse kicks up a notch, heat rushing through me in a way that feels both completely out of control and entirely too natural. Damn it. Not good. Not good at all. She’s my best friend. Thinking about her like that—it’s wrong. Right? Dangerous. Stupid .
I shift on my feet, shoving my hands into my pockets as if that’ll help me steady myself. But the thought lingers, hot and insistent, making me glance toward the door again. I need to get my head on straight before she comes back, before she can read whatever’s written all over my face right now. Not to mention the fact that I’m getting fucking hard.
Subtly, I adjust myself, trying to will my body to calm the hell down. Focus. Coach screaming in my face during practice, that time Jaxon puked on my cleats, or the idea of eating a week-old tuna sandwich. Anything but her. But it’s harder than it should be. Because even when she’s not here, she’s here. In my head, messing me up in ways I don’t even understand.
When she steps back outside a few minutes later, her braids undone and her hair spilling over her shoulders, I look away fast, pretending to check my phone. My mouth goes dry, and for a second, I have to remind myself to breathe. If I stare too long, I know I’m in trouble.
……………………………………………………………
The music hits me as soon as we step through the front door. Jaxon Summers doesn’t do anything halfway, and tonight’s no exception. The house is packed with people, half of whom I don’t even recognize. It’s loud, chaotic, and the air’s already thick with the smell of cheap beer and too much cologne. Typical Jaxon .
Emma’s next to me, her eyes wide as she takes it all in. She’s not exactly a party person—not that I am either—but Jaxon begged me to come, and I thought maybe it’d be fun. Now, I’m not so sure. When I told her to change I didn’t expect that she’d put on a short semi tight sundress that shows off way too much cleavage. It’s distracting and it won’t be just me noticing. Fuck! Why did she have to get hot while I was gone?
“Hey, there you are!” Jaxon’s voice booms out, and he strides over, clapping me on the shoulder. “Took you long enough, man.” He glances at Emma, his smile widening. “And you brought Emma. Nice.”
Emma gives a small smile, shifting closer to me, and I can tell she’s feeling out of her element. I want to tell Jaxon to back off, as he eyes her up and down and luckily he’s already being pulled away by some girl in a short skirt, and I let out a small breath in relief.
We make our way through the crowd, finding a spot in the living room where it’s a little quieter. A few people nod at me, and I see some of the guys from the football team giving me knowing looks. The kind that usually comes with a smirk or a teasing comment. I ignore them, my jaw tightening as I shift my attention back to Emma. I don’t want their looks, their jokes, or whatever crap they’re thinking right now.
She’s not just some girl I’m walking into a party with, and I don’t want them seeing her as anything less than what she is: my best friend. The one person who actually gets me. The one person I don’t want them turning into a punchline.
Still, I can feel their eyes on us, but I keep my focus on Emma, on the way she looks around trying to take it all in without letting it overwhelm her. This is her first party, and for some reason, I feel like I need to be the one who makes it okay for her.
“You alright?” I ask, leaning in so she can hear me over the noise.
She nods, smiling up at me. “Yeah, it’s…a lot, but I’m fine.”
Just as she says that, some guy stumbles past us, barely avoiding spilling his drink all over her. I shoot him a look, but he doesn’t even notice, too busy laughing with a couple of other guys. I feel my jaw tighten, and I’m suddenly very aware of how crowded this place is, and how many guys are looking at Emma.
“Want something to drink?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
She hesitates, then nods. “Sure. Maybe just a soda?”
I nod, weaving through the crowd toward the kitchen, where a makeshift bar’s been set up. There’s a mix of bottles and cans, most of it the cheap stuff that high school parties are known for. I grab a can of soda for Emma and a beer for myself, cracking it open as I make my way back to her.
But when I get there, she’s not alone.
Some guy I don’t recognize—tall, dark hair, leaning too close—is talking to her, his eyes focused on her in a way that makes something in me snap. She’s laughing, looking a little nervous but not exactly uncomfortable, and I feel this strange twist in my chest. I don’t like it.
“Hey,” I say, stepping in, maybe a little closer than I need to. I hand Emma her soda, shooting the guy a look that hopefully says back the fuck off.
“Oh, hey, man,” he says, holding up his hands like I’m the one who’s overreacting. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Catch you later Em.” He gives Emma one last smile before disappearing into the crowd, and I exhale my frustration.
“Friend of yours?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, but I know I sound irritated.
Emma laughs, shaking her head. “No, just some guy who wanted to know if I’d seen his friends. He was harmless, Ethan.”
“Right.” I take a long pull of my beer, hoping it’ll dull the knot tightening in my chest. I’ve seen her talk to guys before, but tonight… every glance, every laugh, every little movement of hers is tugging at so mething I can’t quite explain. Like the air’s shifted, heavier somehow, and I can’t shake the feeling that everything feels different.
We find a quieter spot near the back patio, where a few people are lounging on outdoor furniture, deep in conversation. I recognize some of them—Mason and Connor from the football team, and Emily, who’s been in a few of my classes. They nod at us, and Mason gives me a grin that’s a little too knowing.
“Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” he says, raising an eyebrow, then skimming over Emma. Asshole.
“Yeah, well, here we are,” I say, shrugging. I don’t owe him an explanation, but the way he’s looking between me and Emma makes me feel like I do.
“Hey, Emma,” Emily says, smiling. “I didn’t know you were a party person.”
Emma laughs, glancing at me. “I’m not, really. But Ethan dragged me out tonight.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, nudging her. “You make it sound like I forced you.”
She grins, taking a sip of her soda. “Okay, maybe not forced. Maybe strongly encouraged?”
Everyone laughs, and for a moment, things feel normal. But then Emily leans forward, looking at Emma with that curious, slightly nosy expression she always gets. “So…are you two, like, a thing?”
I freeze, my brain scrambling for a response. I glance at Emma, and she looks just as taken aback as I am.
“No,” Emma says quickly, laughing it off. “We’re just friends.”
“Yeah,” I add, forcing a smile. “Just friends.”
But as the words leave my mouth, I feel a weird pang in my chest. That’s a lie—not just to Emily, but to myself. Emma’s not just my friend, not anymore. I don’t know when it happened, but suddenly, the idea of her with anyone else makes me feel like I’m going to lose my mind and it shouldn’t. That would be crazy and I would lose my best friend.
I down the rest of my beer, trying to shake off the feeling, but it sticks with me, even as the conversation shifts to other things. Emma’s laughing with the others, looking relaxed and happy, and I can’t stop watching her, wondering how it would be if things were different—if I could tell her everything I’m feeling without risking everything we have. Probably just the buzz I have going on doing the talking… or is it thinking.
As the night goes on, I find myself leaning against the wall, nursing another beer, just watching her. It’s stupid, really, this knot in my chest that tightens every time some guy so much as glances in her direction. And it’s even stupider that I can’t shake the feeling, that something between us is just waiting to break free.
At some point, someone cranks up the music even louder, and people start dancing, turning the living room into a makeshift dance floor. Emma’s caught up in it, laughing as she’s pulled into the crowd. She’s not dancing with anyone in particular, just moving with the beat, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
Then, almost like she feels my gaze on her, she looks over, her eyes meeting mine across the room. For a second, everyone else disappears. It’s just us, and the music, and the weight of everything I’m feeling but can’t say.
I push through the crowd, reaching her just as the song changes to something slower. She smiles up at me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, and without thinking, I take her hand, pulling her closer.
“Dance with me?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the music.
She nods, and we move together, her hands resting on my shoulders, my arm around her waist. It feels complete, like we’re meant to be right here, right now. She’s looking up at me, her expression soft, and for a moment, I think about closing the distance between us, about kissing her right here, in front of everyone .
But then I remember I’ve been drinking, and I shouldn’t risk doing something that might ruin everything. But as she looks up at me, her green eyes so close and so trusting, something snaps.
Before I can stop myself, I lean in, my hand moving up to cup her face as my lips meet hers. She freezes, just for a second, and I think maybe I’ve made a huge mistake. But then she’s kissing me back, soft and warm, and suddenly nothing else matters.
I pull her closer, my hand tangling in her hair, letting myself get lost in the moment, in the way she feels against me, like she’s always belonged there. Her fingers graze the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and everything else fades away. It’s just us, in this perfect, impossible moment that feels like it’s been building forever.
But then, somewhere in the haze, a voice in the back of my mind reminds me—she’s my best friend. And I’m buzzed, I’m not thinking clearly. I break away, my chest heavy, looking at her with a mix of disbelief and regret.
“Emma…” I whisper, her name catching in my throat. I want to say something, to apologize or explain, but the words don’t come.
She stares up at me, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, and I can see the questions in her eyes—the hope, the confusion. And I know, right then, that I can’t risk it. I can’t let this go any further. She means too much to me to gamble everything on a moment of an almost drunken impulse.
When the song ends, I force myself to pull back completely, to give her a small, easy smile that I don’t really feel. “ We should probably head home, it’s getting late. Can you drive? I’m too drunk.”
She nods at me and attempts to take my hand but I pull it away at the last second as I turn toward the door. I can see out of the corner of my eye that she’s taken aback. I always take her hand and lead her through crowded places because it makes her feel safe. But I don’t trust myself right now, especially after that damn kiss.
The drive is a quiet one, mostly due to me, I just don’t know what to say so I pretend that I’m asleep, leaning against the window. Once we get to her house, she nudges my shoulder, “We’re back Ethan,” her voice almost a whisper, almost nervous. Fuck! I made her uncomfortable.
I walk her to the front porch, “Thanks for coming with me. You were a good wingman… wingwoman.” I say, totally brushing over the fact that we kissed.
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” she says, sounding almost sad.
“Goodnight, Em,” I say, my voice rough. “See you tomorrow when I pick up the car.”
I’m going to leave my car in her driveway, I don't want to risk driving with alcohol in my system. I could probably drive, but the shock of realizing I just kissed my best friend crashes over me, knocking the air from my lungs.. But I won’t risk it.
She nods, looking a little dazed, and I walk away, trying to ignore the ache in my chest, the feeling that I’ve just left a part of myself behind with her. And tomorrow, I’m going to have to pretend like this never happened, as if it was just a kiss, a mistake. Or just ignore it altogether. Because if I tell her how I really feel…if I cross that line…then I might lose her for good.
And that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.