Maya
Nerves swirl about in my belly as I approach Brody’s apartment building.What am I even doing here?It’s obvious that he’s older and more experienced than me. What’s he going to think when he learns how far behind my peers I really am? Eighteen and never been kissed. It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as sixteen and never been kissed does. Eighteen sounds lame.
Even before sixteen, most of the girls I know had already playedseven minutes in heavenorspin the bottleenough times to be a kissing expert. But not me. I had to settle for hearing the stories in the girl’s washroom. Being the nerd with the wild red hair made me look as different as I felt. I was never invited to kissing parties. For a long time, I was hurt by that, but then as we got older, the stories became wilder, and girls were bragging about sex the way I thought only boys did. I became glad that I was never invited. I’m not interested in handing my flower over to justanyone. No. Onlytheone. And I think that Brody is it.
I really hope he’s feeling this same nervous excitement I am. It’s like we met, and suddenly, our puzzle pieces stuck together. Does that make sense? There’s just something that feelsrighthere. And I’m really worried that I’m reading the situation all wrong. I mean, what if he just sees me as a fling? What if he’s teasing me? What if I’m about to knock on the door of one of the popular kids at school and they’re going to throw a bucket of paint on me?
Oh, crap. I shouldn’t have let that thought get to me. I watch too many horror movies.
Just as I’m fighting between ringing the bell or running away, the front door opens, and I’m treated to the most beautiful view—a smiling Brody wearing a crisp white shirt and a welcoming smile.
“I thought I saw you walking up to the building. Forget my apartment number?” He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me through the doorway before I can even respond.
“I was nervous,” I admit, wiping my free hand on the outside of my skirt. I’m sweating.
“Nervous?” He stops before we reach the stairs and pulls me into an embrace. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, sweetness.” Then he lowers his mouth to mine, capturing my lips and kissing me in the most gentle and soft way. He doesn’t force his tongue in, like he knows instinctively that this is the level of intimacy I need right now. For a first kiss, it’s absolutely perfect.
“I thought the kiss was supposed to happen at the end of the date?” I whisper, a smile curving my mouth as he pulls away.
“I couldn’t wait,” he says, his eyes smiling as they look into mine. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in the supermarket.”
“You’re very smooth.” I giggle, and he takes my hand again, leading me up the staircase.
“Not too forward, I hope.”
“Maybe for some. But I like it. I find it hard trying to guess what people are thinking or what their intentions are. I like that you just say it. It relaxes me.”
We reach the landing and he slides his key in the first door. “It gets me in trouble as often as it helps me,” he says, pushing the door open and guiding me inside. “But I prefer honesty over PC culture any day.”
I step inside his apartment, a small but tidy space with a combined lounge and dining room and kitchen off to the side. He has a comfy-looking couch, TV, shelves filled with books, and a small table with four chairs. “I like your apartment,” I say, wondering exactly how old he is since it’s obvious he lives alone.
“I haven’t been here long, so it’s a bit sparse right now. I’ll give you the tour later if you like.”
“I would like,” I say, smiling as I take the seat he offers before he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge. “Where did you live before?”
“Chicago,” he says, pulling two bakery boxes from the shelves. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got one of everything.” He places the boxes on the counter and unloads pastries and donuts and cakes onto a serving tray. “I also have whipped cream or ice cream.”
I grin, licking my lips. I don’t think I’ve seen this much sugar inside a kitchen since before my mom got sick. My sweet tooth is aching just looking at it. “Both. Is that an option?”
“Whatever my Maya wants, my Maya gets,” he smiles, turning back to the fridge and returning with a tub of ice cream and a can of aerosol whipped cream.
“Where did you even come from?” I say, amazed by this man who seems to have landed so perfectly in front of me.
He carries the dessert tray over and places it on the table between us. “Chicago,” he repeats, laughing. “I got transferred here.”
“Oh, like for school?” Maybe he’s in college? He doesn’t seemthatmuch older than me.
“Yeah, actually. I have placement out here, but I’m not far from graduating.”
“What did you major in?”
“Math. I’m a big numbers nerd,” he says, cutting up a Boston cream bun and placing half of it on my plate and half on his. “What about you?”
“I’m a math nerd too,” I gasp, grinning from ear to ear. This is kismet if ever I saw it.
“Ah, I knew I liked you for a reason,” he says, cutting up other treats and dividing them between us. “What is it you enjoy most about math?”
“Well,” I say, picking up my fork and breaking some lemon tart and ice cream from my plate. “I like it because it makes sense to me. When my mom died, I felt like I didn’t understand anything anymore. But math, well, it’s the only thing that doesn’t change, you know? It’s universal and you can count on it, so I found a lot of comfort in that.” I flash him a small smile as I pop the decadent dessert in my mouth. His hand crosses the table and covers mine.
