Free Delicate Monsters by Stephanie Kuehn

into his pocket for his phone. Smashed up against backs and shoulders, and wedged tight to a speaker, Emerson grew sweaty. Then queasy, like maybe he really was inside one of those brazen bulls, being slowly roasted from below. Someone tried shoving a beer in his hand, but he pushed it away.
    Where was she?
    â€œTake it!” the beer shover shouted, and Emerson was this close to knocking the drink to the ground when he realized Trey was the one holding it. He breathed a sigh of relief. Took the beer. Downed it.
    â€œYou seen May?” he asked.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œMay!” he shouted.
    Trey pointed to a doorway directly behind Emerson. “In there.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œYeah. Just did a shot with her. Girl’s nuts tonight. Go get her.”
    â€œThanks, man.”
    Trey gave him a thumbs-up. Danced off into the crowd.
    *   *   *
    Sure enough, May was right where Trey said she’d be. The room was an alcove off the kitchen and she stood at a marble island, playing quarters with the rest of the girls from the volleyball team. And not very well. Something in the way she leaned and swayed told Emerson she’d probably had more than her fair share of alcohol tonight. Southern Comfort, from the looks of it.
    She also took his breath away. May wore a dress that was gauzy and pale, with fabric so thin he could see straight through to her legs, her hips, her ethereal softness. She was so beautiful an actual moan escaped Emerson’s lips, leaving him torn between wonder and lust, as if he might either weep with joy from being in her presence or else walk over, lift that dress up, and have his way with her, right there in the kitchen, in front of God and everybody.
    But then, like the day they’d shopped together in the creamery and she’d asked about his brother, it seemed May could actually read his mind, because right as the most forbidden of thoughts bubbled into Emerson’s consciousness, she turned.
    And she saw him.
    He blushed. Held up a hand in a shy wave of greeting.
    What happened next was like a dream. Or a movie. She bounded for him, falling straight into his arms, her body warming him in the best and realest of ways. All around them, people whistled, laughed.
    May looked right into his eyes and smiled.
    â€œYou,” she said.

 
    chapter fifteen
    Sadie watched Emerson from across the room. She stood with her back against the kitchen wall, shoulders pinned to plaster, plastic cup of tepid beer held in one hand. A steady stream of huge guys and skinny girls pushed past her, but Sadie’s attention was homed in on Emerson Tate and the long willowy black girl who had her hands all over him. Sadie hadn’t expected to see Emerson after hearing about his brother and the hospital. But now that he was here, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
    Not even if she wanted to.
    The girl he was with was wasted. Beyond wasted: she was a sloppy mess. Sadie could see that the same way she could see male-patterned baldness and a future of divorce and despondency in the asshole who’d just spilled his drink on her good jeans. There were about fifteen shots written in the way the girl’s legs twisted around themselves. Emerson tried holding her up, while at the same time tugging her skirt down. The girl writhed away from him once, throwing her arms in the air and dancing to the music beneath the spinning beam of a projected disco ball. She had no bra on, and her giant breasts shuddered and shook with each flail of her body. To Sadie they looked like flying udders, which was to say, gross, but the straight guys in the room clearly disagreed with this assessment. They stopped to gawk. And point.
    Emerson reached to grab her, to stem the tide of spectacle. The girl grinned, put both hands on his cheeks, and kissed him hard. Sadie stood on her tiptoes, straining to see more. Emerson was kissing the girl back, but his eyes were open and he had one hand on