“God, this reminds me so much of summers when I was young,” I said. “My sisters and I used to ride our bikes into town and just hang out and eat ice cream. Then we’d have to race home like crazy to avoid missing curfew. Except Chloe. She missed it all the time.”

“But you never did?”

I shook my head. “Never. I was a rule follower. Scared to do anything wrong. Although,” I went on, laughing a little. “I did have my first kiss on this very bench. He copped a pretty good feel too. I thought I was going to die.”

“Who was it?” Noah asked. He sounded kind of mad about it, like he might go kick the guy’s ass.

“His name was Austin Brown. He moved away shortly after that.” I sighed. “Our romance was cut tragically short.” I looked over at him. “What about you? Who was your first kiss?”

“I have no idea.”

“What? Yes, you do. Come on.”

“No, I really don’t.” He squinted out at the bay. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was eighth grade and her name might have been Sarah. Or Samantha.”

“Sarah or Samantha,” I mused, surprised at the flare of jealousy in my gut. “Did you cop a feel?”

“I doubt it. It took me a while to get brave enough to do that. Former altar boy and all.”

“You were an altar boy?” I squealed. “How did I not know that?”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

Our eyes met, and a hot little current buzzed between us.

“I guess I don’t,” I said slowly. “An altar boy, huh?”

“Yep.” A smile tipped his lips. They were full and looked soft. I wondered what his kiss tasted like. What his scruff would feel like on my cheek, or moving down my throat. When he caught me staring at his mouth, I quickly looked out at the water and kept talking, mostly out of nerves.

“I remember going home the night Austin first kissed me, rushing up the stairs to my bedroom, locking my door, and staring at myself in the mirror above my dresser, desperately hoping I looked different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t even know exactly. More mature. More experienced. Like I was in on the secret.”

“God, that’s such a girl thing. How the hell was one kiss from some skinny-ass, barely pubescent teenage boy, who probably came in his pants the second he touched your boob, going to make you look more mature?”

“I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulders. “You really think he came in his pants?”

He laughed. “Chances are good. And if he didn’t, he probably went home and finished himself off thinking about you.”

“Seriously?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or creeped out.

“Sorry. That’s probably too much information about teenage boy brain.”

I thought for a second before braving the question. “Is that what you did with Sarah/Samantha?”

“Uh, it’s likely. I did it all the time back then. And afterward I always felt guilty about it—my inner altar boy thought it was a sin. For the longest time I worried I’d cause something bad to happen. Or that I’d go to hell.”

“But you did it anyway.”

He nodded. “Oh yeah. Every night.”

We laughed, and then sat there for a minute or two in silence, the sky growing darker. It was funny, we’d talked about girls he’d liked and boys I’d had crushes on during our teenage phone conversations, but we’d never gotten into details about sexual exploits. At the time, either I was too shy to ask or possibly didn’t really want to know. Sex stuff used to scare me. But now I was curious. And kinda turned on. “What about your first time?”

“You mean sex?”

“Yeah.” I looked over at him. He had a great profile, with a strong, masculine jawline.

“I was a senior. She was a junior. My parents’ basement.”

His parents’ basement. Where we used to sit and watch TV. Envy tightened my gut. “Was it good?”

He winced. “It was fast.”

“Mine was too. Freshman year of college. His dorm room. It smelled like socks and Abercrombie and Fitch cologne.” I wrinkled my nose at the memory.

Noah smirked. “Sounds about right.”

I paused, wanting to ask a question, but nervous it was going too far. In the end, curiosity won out. “What about Holly?”

“What about her?”

“Was it good? The sex?”

He shrugged. “You know. Potato salad.”

I tipped my head onto the back of the bench and laughed. “Yeah. I know exactly.”

Seven

Noah

When Meg started to shiver, we walked back to my car. I was tempted to put my arm around her but refrained. In the past, I probably would have just done it, but there was something different about tonight that made me hesitate to touch her.

You want her too much. That’s what.

I tried to silence the voice in my head by clearing my throat, and I stuck my restless hands into my front pockets. I shouldn’t have made the joke about the blowjob at the table. Or told her I jerked off every night as a teenager. Now I had sex on the brain, and Meg was a little too tempting tonight. Too cute. Too familiar. Too easy to talk to.

And too unaware . . . she had no idea what she did to me. What she’d always done to me. Watching her lick that ice cream cone was fucking murder on my self-control.

On the short drive back to my house, I was silent, which was fine, because Meg talked a mile a minute about everything she had to do this week and all the wedding shit going on. I listened with half my brain while the other half continued listing all the reasons it would be a terrible idea to invite her in.

You’ll end up touching her. You’ll end up kissing her. You’ll end up fucking her. You’ll ruin this friendship, this amazing, nearly two-decade-long friendship just because you like the way she sucks barbecue sauce off the bone and you haven’t gotten laid in so long. Leave her be. Drop her off. Go home alone and jerk off to some other woman.

“Want me to take you home?” I asked her.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks, but I can drive.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

“I’m sure.”

At my house, I pulled into the garage, hoping she’d get on her way fast. “I better go let Renzo out.”

“Speaking of that, can I just use your bathroom real quick?” she asked as we got out of the car.

“Sure.” I vowed to stay in the yard with Renzo while she was in the house, and I did.

“Thanks,” she said when she came out, smiling at me in the dark. “Guess I’ll take off now.”

“Okay.” I shoved my hands into my pockets again. “Thanks for hanging out.”

“I had a good time. Thanks for dinner. And dessert.”

“You’re welcome.” Now stop looking so adorable in my sweatshirt and get the fuck out of here before I lose my mind. I wasn’t about to ask for it back because watching her strip off an article of clothing was liable to put me over the edge.

“So you don’t have to work tomorrow?” she asked.