My jaw drops, my eyes narrowed at him, causing him to laugh. “I’m just playin’, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Josh and I wait until he’s in his room, the door closed after him before facing each other. “So,” he says.

It should be physically impossible to smile as much as I am.

He lowers his voice, his breath warming my neck. “I’ve always wondered what your room looks like in person.”

Standing up, I take his hand and lead him to my room. I shut and lock the door behind us and when I turn around, he’s standing close. Almost too close. He smirks, looking at me in a way I’ve seen many times before. I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it, too.

We’re in so much trouble.

“I like your room,” he says.

He hasn’t even looked at my room.

Lying, I sign, “I have my period.”

He squints, his lips pressed tight. “I don’t know that last one. Spell it for me?”

“P E R I O—”

“Shit,” he cuts in. But recovers quickly. “I mean, that’s cool. It’s not like that’s the reason why I came to see you.”

I push on his chest until the back of his legs hit my bed and he falls back, landing on the mattress.

Josh’s eyes widen as I start to strip out of the stupid coveralls work makes me wear. He leans up on his elbows, his eyes taking in every movement, every inch of skin I reveal until I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my underwear. He sits up completely—his hands finding my hips, fingers dipping into the band of my panties and twisting them, pulling the fabric against my center, making my eyes drift shut in pleasure. He says, his voice husky, “I thought you said you…”

“I lied,” I sign, opening my eyes when I feel his tongue sweeping my navel.

He glances at the door.

I click my fingers to get his attention. “It’s locked,” I sign.

He smiles. “You’re in so much trouble.”

*     *     *

I watch him from the doorway of my bathroom… watch the muscles in his back outlined by the dim light of the lamp on my nightstand. He’s facing away from me, his head moving, eyes scanning the wall of pictures and articles of him I’d found online. They sit above my desk where I normally sit when we video chat. He’s had no idea they’d existed until now. I’d started collecting them the day after his return at SK8F8, but I’d kept them hidden, just like my true feelings for him. It wasn’t until our time together during spring break that I was finally ready to admit to myself that those feelings weren’t going away.

They never had.

He turns when he must hear me approaching, his carefree smile making me weak. “Stalk much?” he says, arm around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side.

I nod, my thumb between my teeth, slightly embarrassed about what he might be thinking. But then I remember what his mom had shown me and I forget my insecurities and get lost in his embrace. With warm lips, he kisses my forehead. “I’m kind of stupidly crazy about you, Becs. Just so you know. And if I thought for a second that it wouldn’t make you mad, I’d shout it from the rooftops.”

I grasp his hand and lead him to my bed, where we settle on our sides, our eyes locked, searching, consuming each other’s presence, knowing our time is limited. It always is. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, lazily playing with a strand of my hair.

I blink once.

“Why do you smell like ketchup?”

I laugh into his chest and reach over him for the phone on my nightstand. I have no idea how I’d even begin to sign the answer. I work at a ketchup factory, watching the bottles go by on a conveyer belt and making sure they all have that little aluminum cover that keeps them fresh on the shelves.

He reads my note more than once and asks, “How did I not know this?”

Chewing my lip, I type, Because I didn’t want you to know. You’d make it into something it’s not and it would become a bigger deal than it really is.

His mouth opens. Closes. And opens again. “So what… you’re doing that as well as the internship and the hours at Say Something?”

I nod.

“Why? Do you need money for something? I have money, Becs. Lots of it. You shouldn’t have to be spending your summer working two jobs and—what do you even need the money for? College? Equipment? You’ve booked your tickets to see your Grams, right? Because if you need it for that, I can cover you.”