Kidnap My Heart

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Will and Emma

A/N: I had a crazy busy week and was unable to write more than 300 words the entire week. It was awful. I just now had time to write, so sorry for the unusually long wait (which was actually only a week but whatever.) 

So yeah. Well. It's past 1 AM and I haven't proofread this and I am barely keeping my eyes open right now and there's something about Nazis playing on TV (how long has this been on....) so if there are typos or strange things please ignore them. I'll fix them in the morning. 

Otherwise, enjoy! 

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Kidnap My Heart

Chapter 37: Will and Emma

Will  

We danced in the middle of the dining room for God knows how long; we lost track of the time. I was too wrapped up in the slightly-terrifying joy I felt when I had Emma in my arms. She fit in my arms so perfectly, like she belonged there. Like she was made for me—which she was. I was convinced of that. It explained why I’d never felt anything for any of the girls I’d dated or messed around with. They weren’t Rage.

There were some fast songs included in the mix CDs I made Eric play while Emma and I danced, songs I apparently “absolutely butchered” when I attempted to sing along to them. Emma told me she had “genuinely feared for her eardrums.”

Note to self: do not try to serenade Emma. She will run.

Overall, my attempt to recreate the spring dance Emma had missed while she was over here—this piece of information was courtesy of Sniffles—went really well. There were a few missteps, sure, like the music at the beginning and my lack of dancing skills, but I didn’t think those really made a difference. They’d just made her laugh, and that was never a bad thing. A big part of being the cat onesie was making her feel comfortable and happy and making her laugh, and that was what I planned to do for the rest of our lives, assuming she let me.

Some of the highlights of the night wouldn’t have happened had I not added those faster songs. Like I’d said before, I wasn’t much of a dancer, but that sure as hell didn’t stop me from trying. I thought Emma was going to bust a lung when I tried doing the Bernie—in my defense, Emma was a shitty teacher—and basically looked like I was being electrocuted, and when I followed in Emma’s footsteps and tried twerking on the wall... well, let’s just say I wasn’t sure how she was still breathing—and not just because of her laughter. I almost crushed her when I fell down.

Hey, she moved out of the way in time.       

Eventually, Eric ran out of music to play, and Emma and I decided to just call it a night. She was pretty tired by the end of the night. The last few songs were all fast ones, and dancing was probably more physical exertion than she was used to, what-with her yoga and Pilates workouts. I mean, what the fuck was Pilates?

“You’re all sweaty,” Emma complained as I wrapped an arm around her and led her back up the stairs to my room.

“You are, too, but you don’t see me complaining,” I said, pulling her in even closer just to spite her. I loved riling her up.

She looked at me in disdain. “Not as sweaty as you. Sweating isn’t in my genes.”

I shrugged. “That’s why showers were invented. And you know, showering together would really preserve water—”

She elbowed me in the side. “Are you ever going to stop suggesting that?”

“That depends. Are you ever gonna say yes?”