“I mean, he kind of did,” she said as she put her head down and continued to work on the poster.

“What do you mean kind of? Either he did or he didn’t.”

I should’ve been happy for her. She looked happy and I didn’t miss the big smile she had on her face when she’d told Sister Francis she had another date with him the following weekend. I spent five minutes after that wishing I hadn’t heard it.

“He kissed me on the cheek.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. What a punk bitch. I’d kiss my grandma on the cheek—if I had a grandma—and yet he’d given his date a goodnight kiss on the cheek. There was no doubt about it; he was a puss.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, offended.

With laughter still in my voice I said, “Nothing. I can’t believe he kissed you on the cheek. He’s a wild one, Faith. You better watch out for that boy.”

This time she laughed. Her laughter was so nice. She didn’t laugh nearly as much as she should’ve.

“It’s not funny. He’s just shy. Besides, maybe he’ll give me real kiss on our next date.” Her face dropped when she said those words.

I stopped laughing.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She stood and looked down at me in panic.

“Oh God, Finn. What if he tries to kiss me?”

Again, my stomach felt weak with that thought. I didn’t want his lips anywhere near her. I’d thought once or twice about telling her she was too good for him, but then she’d smile and sound excited about their date, and I’d swallow those words. Faith’s smile did things like that to me. I couldn’t explain it. It didn’t make any sense and I didn’t understand it.

“Then kiss him if that’s what you want.” I swallowed hard.

Tiny hands were choking me. Not literally, but that’s what it felt like.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Her cheeks lit up with embarrassment.

I knew that. It was one of the main reasons I thought about kissing her so much. The thought of sharing her first kiss with her made my heart beat funny. I wanted to share something that special with her. I wanted to brand myself in her memories that way. I wanted it more than anything I’d ever wanted before.

“You’ll be fine. Kissing is something that comes naturally.”

“But what if I’m bad at it? Oh my God, I can’t do this.” She ran her hands through her hair. Her anxiety showed clearly on her face.

I couldn’t keep my gaze from falling to her pouty pink lips. She’d be an amazing kisser. The thought of pressing my lips to her soft, cushiony mouth gave me a physical reaction. Not the usual physical reaction I had with girls, but something deep inside—something that bound itself around my emotions and squeezed.

“That’s impossible,” I rasped.

“It’s completely possible. Amanda says she’s kissed a lot of guys who were bad kissers.”

I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t squeak with tightness.

“No. It’s possible… just not for you.”

“How do you know?”

No way could I answer that. What would she think if I told her that her lips were too sweet, her mouth too luscious? Kissing her could never be described as bad—never. I could say that in confidence without ever even getting close to her lips.

“I just know.”

She wringed her hands and put her head down. Her breathing changed, and when she looked back up, she was biting the inside of her mouth nervously.

“Could you show me?”

Alarms went off in my head.

“Show you what?” I asked.

No way was she asking me what I thought she was asking me. I didn’t know if I could handle that. Even a tiny bit of her would push me overboard.

“Could you show me how to kiss?”

She couldn’t even look at me when she asked. Her fingers were turning purple she was squeezing them so tightly. She was so innocent, so perfect, and yet she was asking me for something. She needed something from me. Even it was something small, it made me feel important. I hadn’t felt that way often in my life.

I stood and moved closer to her. My knees shook slightly, prompting me to lean against the table. I’d never felt like this before, all anxiety and nerves, but Faith did this to me every time I was around her, and I wasn’t sure I could continue being selfless for long.

“You’re joking, right?”

I secretly hoped she wasn’t joking. Even if I had to pretend to be doing it for unselfish reasons, if I ever laid my lips to hers, it would be totally selfish and I was afraid I’d never let her go.