A second goes by where Taylor doesn't kiss back, and then another, and then Emma feels her smile deflate, and she pulls back. "What the fuck?" she asks, shaking her head and making a face that feels like her cheek's trying to head-butt her eyeball. She's been told by certain people that it looks like she's having a stroke. Certain people have been told to go fuck themselves.
"This is weird," Taylor breathes. She collapses back into her chair. "You brought Andrew."
"So? He's my friend."
"That's not what people are saying," Taylor mutters.
Emma frowns even harder. At this rate, all this expression-making is going to crack her foundation. This is why make-up sucks. It makes the simple act of feeling things and displaying those feelings uncomfortable.
Under any other circumstances, she would tell Taylor this, and Taylor would tell her she's going to have a conniption before twenty-three if she aims to erase everything remotely anti-feminist from her life, even the things she enjoys having in it. Taylor tries pretty hard to follow Emma's rants when Emma goes on them, but she's still... well. She has different priorities. Let's just leave it at that.
"It's not my fault I can't hang out with a dude without a tabloid deciding we got married in Atlantic City after I confessed to him I was pregnant with Jesse Eisenberg's future bastard child," Emma points out, really fast but really clearly.
Taylor's eyes narrow. That never bodes well. "But you've never..."
"With Jess?" Emma laughs. "No. Or Andrew."
Taylor nods, saying, "Okay," a few times as if to herself, and then she gets off the chair and sits next to Emma on the couch. Emma looks at her. "Okay," Taylor says again, quieter this time, and brings a hand to Emma's cheek. Her lips are almost on Emma's when Emma opens her mouth.
Not that way. The wrong way. "I mean there may have been some making out here and there when I was drunk but you can hardly hold that against me," she blurts out, the corners of her mouth crinkling up. Taylor throws her head to the side, like she doesn't want Emma to see her frustration but actually she totally does.
Taylor likes her dramatic gestures a lot. It's one of the many things Emma both hates and loves about her. Like, it's not great when Taylor means them. But it is fucking awesome to have someone who will spend seven hours with you watching Gone with the Wind and playing out the memorable bits like it's a comedy. It evens out. Emma's sure Taylor feels the same way about her. She just doesn't push Emma's buttons on purpose.
"Taylor," Emma says. When Taylor continues to stare at her hands in her lap, her lips all pouty and offended, Emma touches her hand, wraps fingers around her wrist. "I'm just teasing."
"It doesn't count as pure teasing if it's true," Taylor points out, but she's finally looking at Emma, and smiling a little.
"I came to your show!" Emma says cheerily, hoping it'll distract Taylor while she laces their fingers together. It doesn't, but Emma only knows that because Taylor squeezes back, and goes with it when Emma lifts both their hands and brushes her knuckles along Taylor's jaw. "And I was hoping I could save you from being all lonely in your hotel bed." She sticks out her thumb and strokes Taylor's chin, humming low through her nose.
Taylor sighs and scrunches up her nose. "Hotel beds can be very lonely." Emma pulls lightly at Taylor's bottom lip with her thumb.
"Very," Emma agrees, nodding firmly as she leans in. Taylor laughs when their lips touch, but this time, she doesn't stay still: this time she kisses back.