Cool, rich, and aloof, Justin Tanner, never expected buttoned-up, class valedictorian, Emily St. Vincent to attend his Valentine's Day bash, much less end up in his shower. 

This story was contributed by Paulapdx

I tip the beer bottle slowly up to my mouth as I watch the scene play out before me.

Emily St. Vincent—school valedictorian, senior class president, and all-around "good girl"—is taking a swing at Ryan Decker, our school's star wide receiver and my best friend.

Luckily, he easily ducks, and she misses, but the sheer force of her punch has her spiraling into the arms of Clive Seymour, our star defensive end. He heaves her upright and back onto her feet again. But this inadvertent tackle, combined with the five beers he's had, all within the last half hour, must have pushed him over the edge.

Because, before you know it, he bends over and barfs up his 4-for-a-$1 taco special all over the front of Emily's sweater.

Aw, man....seriously?

Time to intervene.

I slice my way through the crowd and grab Emily by the hand, then immediately escort her upstairs to my parents' bedroom, where she can clean up in private. It's all the way at the end of the hall, in their wing of the house—a well-known, off-limits zone for any party I'm hosting.

I flip on the lights and shut the door behind us, then I point to my parents' master bathroom.

"You can clean up in there," I say without looking at her, because for some reason, the sight of a drunken, disheveled, barf-ridden Emily St. Vincent is really hard for me to bear. She's always so prim, so put together. But tonight, she's a hot mess.

"Thank you, Justin," she whispers, and I look up to see her heading for the bathroom. Suddenly she stops in the doorway, her hand propped against the door frame to keep her steady and standing. Then, she turns around and looks at me.

"I'm sorry I made such a spectacle of myself," she says quietly. She's not wearing a lot of makeup, but her mascara is smudged, and she's got those raccoon eyes. And the lost, forlorn look she's giving me is so devastating. It's weird, but I've admired those coffee-colored eyes for years, and not once, have I ever seen such sadness within them.

I shove my hands in my pockets because I'm not sure what else to do.

"Don't worry about it." I shrug and then look away for a second to figure out how to say this. I look back at her. "So, I heard what happened. You caught your boyfriend with Katy Klein in the downstairs closet?"

She bows her head and nods.

"Damn. Sorry about that," I say. Then, I shift on my feet. "But, uh, can I ask...how did Ryan get mixed up in all of this?"

She lets out a long sigh, then says, "He was there when I caught them." She scrunches up her face in disgust, probably at the memory, then her features relax a bit. "I think he was just trying to comfort me when he saw me crying, but he was too touchy-feely about it, you know? I guess taking a swing at him was my way of telling him to back off." She chuckles, then softly claps a hand to her forehead and lets out a low groan. "I'm not really thinking very clearly right now."

"Yeah, well, the shower's all yours. I'll go find you something to change into." I'm about to head to my mother's closet when Emily stops me.

"Justin?"

I turn around. "Yeah?"

"Will you stay with me in there...make sure I don't fall asleep or anything?" She shakes her head slowly. "I've read such horrible stories about people getting drunk and then, you know, drowning in the bathtub...or the shower." She chuckles lightly again, as if the thought of this actually happening is both ludicrous and inevitable at the same time.

"Uh..." I stall for a moment, not entirely sure what she's asking me to do.

She looks up and frantically waves a hand before her, brushing away any improper thoughts I might have.

"No, no, no...I'm not asking you to join me in the shower or anything like that." She waves her hand again. "In fact, I'd really appreciate it if you could just, maybe, keep your face to the wall? I just..." She blinks rapidly, as if all of a sudden, I'd gone fuzzy on her or something. "I just want someone around to make sure that nothing bad happens to me."

"Sure." I shrug. "I guess that makes sense." And then, I follow her inside.

My parents' bathroom is like a full-on luxury spa. It's ridiculous. There's a long marble counter with two sinks that line the back wall, a huge window above the whirlpool tub, a ton of plants, and an enormous, walk-in shower that no one, on this planet, has a right to own.

Emily eyes the shower with such reverence, I have to laugh.

She turns to look at me, sheepishly. "Oh, sorry. I've just never seen a bathroom this big...or this nice before!" She turns in a slow circle and takes it all in.

"Yeah." I roll my eyes. "It's totally over the top in my book; but then again, I don't pay the mortgage, so no one gives a shit what I think."

It was an offhand comment, but something in my tone, I guess, catches Emily's attention, and she tilts her head to look at me. She gives me this long, soulful look that fills me with a sense of warmth and a sense of dread at the same time...like she sees me, like, she really, really sees me.

And, I don't like it.

So, I turn around and go over to sit by the door to give her some privacy. I'm facing the wall, with my head bent, just staring down at my jeans. But I can hear her as she gets undressed, and my mind can't help but wonder what she looks like under those corduroy skirts and cardigan sweaters she always wears.

I shake the thought away.

She turns on the shower, and I hear her step inside, the door closing softly behind her.

We're quiet for a minute, and then she says, "Oh, my word! This soap smells amazing!"

I laugh.

"No, seriously," she says. "It's like lemon, and lavender, and something else. I can't tell, but it's divine!"

Who calls soap, divine?

"I think it's French," I say.

Whoa! Not sure where that bit of knowledge came from.

"Hmm...I'm not surprised," she says, and I can hear her soaping up lavishly. "So, Justin?"

"Yeah," I essentially say to the door because I've still got my back to her.

"Why are you hosting a Valentine's Day party?"

"Uh...because my parents are out of town?"

And because I'm rich, and the star quarterback, and I always have to throw the best parties, whether I want to or not...I think, but don't say.

"Oh, that's nice," she says from the shower. And then, she begins to hum while she's, like, washing her hair or something.

An awkward silence—well, awkward for me—falls between us. And I try not to let my mind dwell on the fact that Emily St. Vincent—the girl who I've admired from afar for over four years and who's never once given me the time of day—is standing, naked, in my shower, when suddenly I hear...

"Oh! What's this?"

There's a moment of silence, and then I hear it. The 360-degree power jets kick in and Emily squeals with delight, shocked by the force of the water hitting her from all sides.

I smirk. Yeah, there's no way to brace for that one.

But then, everything goes quiet, real quiet, and I remember what she said about preventing her from falling asleep in the shower and I panic.

"Em?"

Nothing. I sit up straighter.

"Em?" I say more loudly this time.

Total silence.

So, I jump to my feet and make a beeline for the shower, convinced that Emily is drowning. I'm about to rip the shower door off its hinges, when I hear a low moan come from inside the stall.

My hand freezes, hovering above the door handle. And then, I hear...

"Ohhh...(pant, pant, pant)...Oh, this is...(pant, pant, pant)...Oh, wow, this is like...(pant, pant, pant)...Ohhhhhh! My! God!"

This is followed by a loooong, hollow gasp, and a sloooow, satisfied sigh.

Frozen, I blink.

Did she just...?

I clear my throat. "Um, Em?"

"Mmm...hmm..." Is all I get in reply.

"You, uh, you okay in there?"

"Mmmmm...hmmmm..." Her voice is low and husky and totally sexy, and I'm at an utter loss for words.

With my heart thumping in my chest, I return to my seat on the floor, over by the wall.

But, no matter what I do, I just keep shifting around, aimlessly. I can't get comfortable. Because as funny and entertaining as that moment with Emily was...it was also hot...as...

Oh, no, no, no... I scrub my face with my hands. I can't go there.

"Uh, Em?" My voice cracks and I clear my throat again. "You almost done?"

"Yeah." I hear her scrambling around a bit. "Yeah, yeah, I think I'm done." She sounds totally exhausted. And weirdly, I'm jealous. It's like I'm pissed that I wasn't the one to wear her out like that. I wasn't the one to elicit that amazingly satisfied sigh from her lips. I wasn't the one who...

Aww, man... I shake my head furiously. I gotta get the hell outta here.

So, I stand and grab one of the ginormous bath towels my mom keeps in all our bathrooms, and I toss it over the frosted, shower stall door. "Incoming!" I yell, barely giving Em enough warning. But I guess she managed to catch it because I don't hear it hit the floor.

I look around for a robe to give her too, but then I realize it's out in the bedroom, hanging on the closet door. And, I'm about to tell Em to hold tight, I'll get it for her when she suddenly emerges from the shower, all ethereal and angelic-like.

She's got this thick, white bath towel wrapped tightly around her body, and her long, dark hair is wet and straight and draped over her right shoulder.

I stand there in awe. Because with the steam from the shower billowing around her, she looks like she stepped off a cloud from heaven.

She grabs a smaller towel from the counter and begins to dry her hair, and my jaw practically hits the floor. Skin...there's so much skin, all right there before me—smooth, beautiful, and so soft, my fingers itch to touch her. Then, as she leans in to look more closely at her face in the mirror, I catch the barest hint of cleavage, and I'm...dead.

I whip around and head for the door, mumbling something about finding her that robe.

She follows me outside and murmurs something, but I can't hear her, so I turn around.

"Huh?"

"I said," she speaks up, "although I feel about a million times better, I don't think I'm sober enough to drive home."

"Stay here!" The words fly out of my mouth before I even realize what I'm saying.

She looks at me, all wide-eyed. "Really? Your parents won't mind?"

"They're in Europe. They won't be back for a week." I shrug. "Hell...you can sleep in their bed for all I care."

She looks around at my parents' sinfully decadent bedroom, and for a moment, I can tell she's tempted.

Then, I add, "Or, I can take you home, whatever you want."

She bites her bottom lip. "I am kind of exhausted." She looks over at the bed.

I reach for the fluffy, white robe hanging on the back of the closet door, and then I hand it to her.

"Make yourself at home."

She takes it, gratefully, and then bats her long, wet lashes at me. "You can join me if you want."

I shake my head twice, then stare at her for a moment.

"You mean you want me to...?"

She nods slowly. "I mean, only if you want to." She holds the robe up before her, tucked under her chin all adorable like, and I swallow hard.

Daaaammmnnn...

I've actually dreamt about this moment, more times than I can count, and actively fantasize about it whenever I get bored in class...which is a lot.

I've thought about us getting together in my bedroom, in the pool, in a dark closet at school with all the other students walking by. Hell, I've even fantasized about having sex with her at the movie theater, during a matinee, when we have the whole place to ourselves, but there's still a chance someone might walk in on us.

But never here, like this.

I look at her standing there, dripping water onto the carpet, her body starting to shake from the chill, and she looks so vulnerable, I just want to scoop her up in my arms, lay her on the bed and hold her, like, seriously hold her. Even if nothing happened, I'd give an arm and a leg just for a chance to keep her warm.

But then I realize she's still drunk, so...yeah, no. That's not gonna happen.

I walk across to the other side of the room, turn around, and lean back against the door. I need to put some distance between us.

"Look, Em." I run my fingers through my hair. "You have no idea how tempting an offer that is. Like, seriously, I've never had the courage to let you know how I feel about you. How much I admire you, and am in awe of you, and find—you probably won't believe me—but find you really, really hot. But, uh...I don't think it's a good idea if I stay. I don't want to, in any way, take advantage of you."

"But, Justin," she takes a step forward, her eyes quietly pleading with me. "I know I haven't shown it before, but I've liked you for a really long time too."

My heart jumps into my throat. I, honest to God, did not see that coming.

"Okay..." I can't think of a single thing to say in response, and then my brain finally kicks back in. "Um...maybe we can talk about it in the morning?" I reach behind me for the door handle. "If I get up before you, I'll make you breakfast." I smile. "I make a killer omelette."

She smiles back at me, all big and bright. "That'd be nice."

I open the door. "Okay, then. Um, sleep tight."

"You too," she says.

I begin to slip out into the hallway, when I hear her say, "Oh, Justin?"

I stop, half in, half out.

"Yeah?"

"Happy Valentine's Day." She smiles at me again and my heart soars.

I smile back at her, the kind of smile I haven't smiled for years. "Yeah, Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Em."

I step out into the hall, then close the door behind me, and confused, anxious, and excited, shudder out a long, slow breath.

***************

If you've ever read my stories, namely, "The Otherworlders", "What If...?", and "The Descendants", then you'll know I find the concept of "longing" very, very sexy...and utterly adorable...and I write about it...a lot...amongst a host of other themes. So, if you want more stories like this one, please check them out! Read more from Paula here