“Are you seriously pointing at my vagina right now?”

He looks at where he’s pointing.

“And now you’re looking at it?”

His eyes snap to mine, his lips pressed tight to stop his smile from forming.

I sigh, half amused, half still confused. “What are you doing, Dylan?”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bags again. “I got you chocolate, chips, Gatorade, some girly books and DVDs… I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, and I even got you some stuff to take care of…” he points to my vagina again. “…that.”

“Stop pointing at my vagina.”

“Stop calling it a vagina.”

I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh.

“I guess I’m hoping that by buying your friendship it would help get me back in your bed.” His eyes widen. “Room. Bedroom. I meant bedroom. Not, like—so anyway…” He rocks on his heels and glances up at the sky. “It’s a nice day out. Weatherman says it’s going to be warm but I don’t know. It’s a little chilly at the moment. Kind of wish I had somewhere warm and cozy to hide out.” He looks back at me. “Do you like turtles, Riley? I like turtles. Not the ninja type ones, but the real ones. They’re so slow. So cute. They’re like—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I burst out laughing. I can’t help it.

Then he smiles and I curse the damn butterflies for defying me.

I grasp his shirt and pull him inside, taking the bags from him at the same time. His smile remains as he walks backward down the hallway toward my room, watching me pull out the block of chocolate from the bag. “Riley?”

“Yeah?”

He stops in my doorway, blocking me from going in. “Are we going to ignore what happened the other day?”

I stop in front of him. “I don’t think I’m ready to deal with it yet. Can we just…” I motion to my room. “…be?”

His smile reaches his eyes. “We can be whatever you want, Hudson. As long as I’m with you.”

I switch on the TV and tell him to pick one of the DVDs he bought while I jump in the shower. When I return, he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, facing the TV. He smiles when he looks over at me.

“I was thinking…” I tell him, unwrapping the towel from my head. I sit down next to him and start drying my hair.

“You were thinking what?” he asks, turning to me with his leg up, knee bent, on the bed.

His knee brushes against mine and I pull away. Having him here is one thing, having him touch me is another. “How long were you in the navy for?”

“Riley,” he deadpans.

“What?” I ask, flipping my hair back and facing him.

“That’s not hot at all,” he mumbles. Then stands up and moves to the corner of the room. Not my corner, but the one where my bookshelf is. He picks up the books he’d bought and places them next to my other ones. “And you smell.”

“I smell?” I drop the towel and sniff my armpits. “I just showered.”

“Not in a bad way.” He shakes his head and turns back to me, but doesn’t close the gap between us. “And Marines, by the way. Not Navy.”

“Oh. Sorry. So how long?”

“Just over two years including basic. Why?”

“Why’d you enlist?”

He stares at me a moment, as if trying to decide what version of a lie he wants to tell me.

I know that look.

I live that look.

He doesn’t respond, just turns back to the shelf and runs his finger across the spines of the books. He stops at a set of blue books. My yearbooks. Then he pulls out the one from my freshman year. When he turns around, he holds it up as if asking for permission. He waits a few seconds for me to answer and when I don’t, he grabs the other three off the shelf and brings them with him back to the bed. He sits down next to me, further than he was before but still close enough that I can feel his warmth against my skin. He starts to flip the pages of my freshman year yearbook, starting at the back. “So when you were a freshman, I was—”

“Junior,” I cut him off. The response is quick. Too quick. Clearly, it’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. I drop my chin to my chest and hope he can’t see my blush. Or worse, call me out on it.

He points to my picture in the book.

“Oh God,” I cover my face to hide my embarrassment.

“You’re prettier now than you were then.”

I scoff and smack his leg. “Thanks, jerk!”

He bursts out laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. Swear it.”

I take the book from him and flip to the junior pictures. “Let’s see you back in high school.”

He groans and fakes a shiver. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

I find his profile picture and spend a few seconds taking him in. He hasn’t changed much. His hair’s shorter and his face is a little more masculine now but besides that, he’s still the same Dylan in the picture. We go through the next book, me as a sophomore and him as a senior. I flip to his picture and read his caption out loud. “A man of many words.”

“What?” He leans over me and looks to where I’m pointing on the page. “I didn’t tell them to write that.”

“What did you tell them to write?”

“I don’t recall telling them anything.”