Regan burst out laughing. “I freaking like you a lot! I’ve liked you ever since sixth grade! I even liked you in seventh grade when I hated you! I liked you in eighth grade. I liked you in ninth and tenth and last year and—”
He cut her off with his lips. He kissed her hard, clacking his teeth with hers, hoping he hurt her just the littlest bit. It was punishment for all those years she held the secret. All those wasted years they could have been together—experienced a different, better reality. All those years he longed for an unattainable girl. And here she was, on his counter, giving him her lips and her words and her heart and, just possibly, her future.
He longed to say it. His throat jammed with the words, inflating like voluminous Valentine’s Day balloons: I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!! What would she say? Do? It was much too soon. Just like his desire to see her naked and touch all the secret parts of her body. Too soon! But the words threatened to choke him, so he thrust his tongue in her mouth with urgency, hoping the sentiment would tumble out and slip soundlessly down her throat.
She twisted her fingers in his hair, damp with sweat, then moved them down the back of his head to his neck. She held him trapped to her face, matching his urgent kisses, knowing there would be plenty of time for the soft, sweet ones.
He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. She knew he was thinking, and while she ached to know his thoughts, she respected his privacy. But not his body. He’d kissed her, so he belonged to her now. She lifted her index finger and traced his scar. Up and down and up again. Slow. Careful.
“How did this happen?” she asked softly.
Jeremy almost uttered the lie. It was habit after so many years. But he decided not to lie to her because he trusted her.
“My dad,” he whispered.
Regan cupped his face and forced him to look at her. “What?”
“My dad hit me.” He studied her frown, her concern. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“I can feel whatever I want,” she replied.
He smiled.
“Did he hit you just the one time?” she asked, knowing the answer.
He shook his head. “He’s an angry man.”
Regan said nothing.
“Took me a while to get out of that house, but I’m out.”
“Oh?”
He pointed to the ceiling. She looked up.
“I live in the apartment upstairs. Roy’s renting it to me.”
“Wow, I wish I had my own place,” Regan replied.
“No, you don’t.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to be out of my dad’s house, but it’s lonely sometimes. And I don’t really know how to cook all that well. Kind of feel like a kid forced to grow up real fast.”
“But you are a kid forced to grow up really fast,” Regan pointed out.
Jeremy bristled. “I’m nineteen.”
“Big deal,” Regan replied, and he laughed. She eyed him curiously. “You wanna learn how to cook?”
“Maybe.”
“You want me to teach you?” she asked.
“Up there?”
She nodded. “Mom says I can’t cook to save my life, but I know how to make the essentials.”
“Like?”
“Brownies. Cupcakes. Mac ‘n cheese. Cereal.”
He laughed. “I have the mac ‘n cheese and cereal under control.”
“Well, what about the baked goods? All right, so I can’t cook, but I sure as hell can bake. Would you like to bake together?” she asked.
“Well, I’m not allowed to have girls in the apartment,” he said, then rolled his eyes. So so stupid.
“But you’re a man,” she argued. “You’re nineteen.”
Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, well, Roy doesn’t see it that way. I guess he doesn’t want me having too much fun.”
Regan chuckled.
“You can come visit me there anyway,” he said after a moment. “We’re not teenagers if we’re not doing something wrong.”
Her giggles turned to full-on laughter. She glimpsed the large clock above the garage doors and sighed, hopping off the counter.
“Man, I gotta go.”
Jeremy nodded.
Regan picked up her bags and slung them over her shoulder. She turned to face Jeremy a last time.
“I shouldn’t have wanted to go fast,” she said. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”
“It didn’t,” he replied.
“I’m not a ho,” she clarified.
“Never thought that.”
She considered him. “It’s just, I’ve done some things.”
He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Apparently not very well,” she added.
He frowned in confusion.
“Oh, please,” she said, looking at him dead on. “Like you didn’t hear the rumors.”
“Rumors are rumors.”
“Rumors are hurtful.” She eyed him expectantly.
He knew her unspoken question.
“Don’t ask me if you’re a good kisser. I’ll be offended.”
“Why?”
“Because you kissing me has nothing to do with that guy and his stupid rumors,” Jeremy replied.
Regan nodded.
“But if you must know,” he whispered, averting his eyes, “it was fucking awesome.”
She smiled. “I . . . I really don’t move fast. I mean, it’s weird that I acted like that. I got really excited. You made me feel things I’ve never felt. Is that cheesy?”
He shook his head.
“Yes, it is,” she mumbled. “So freaking cheesy. But whatever. It’s true.”
Silence.
“When you’ve gone so many years wanting something, and then you finally get it, sometimes you don’t react appropriately. The feelings are too intense. You don’t know how to handle them. Like being in a manic state, I guess. Out of your mind. That’s how I felt when you kissed me.”
His heart warmed—heat building slowly at the base and curling its way up and around the chamber walls.
“And I wanted to feel everything at once. And give you everything. And take from you.” She paused. “And now I know why people have sex two seconds after meeting each other. If they’re insanely attracted to each other, that is.”
He laughed.
“Now multiply that times ten trillion, because I didn’t just meet you. I’ve known you forever. So the build-up . . .” Her words disappeared into the damp space of the garage.
He nodded. Girls were so much better with their words. Everything she said he felt but could never voice. He was glad she could. She could speak for the both of them.
“Ditto,” he said, then wished immediately that he could take it back.