The tone of her voice tells me that she didn’t.
“If that’s even how you want to do it,” she continues after I don’t say anything. “You could totally jump into a hoe phase.”
I laugh weakly. “No, I don’t think that’s for me.”
She laughs too, but it’s light, warm. And for the first time since last night, it washes over me, making my body relax as I revel in the way she laughswithme and not at me. Maeve doesn’t think I’m weird at all; she thinks I’m funny. I’d be the funniest guy on earth if it meant I could hear that all the time.
Or, I’d try, at least.
“You…didn’t have a special first time?”
Oh, God. Why did I just ask her that?
“God, no.” She sighs, shrugging it off like it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing a question as I felt like it was. “I’d love to be in your position. If I could have a do-over, I’d take it.”
Was it Landon? Some other guy just like him? I wonder who ruined it for her, who made her feel as though she’d rather do it all over again a different way.
“If you’ve never had a girlfriend before and you’ve never…” She trails off. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”
I must be an open book, on full display for her to read me so easily without hesitation. Was I that simple? That predictable?
A long minute passes before I say, “No.”
Maeve gasps. “Tatum.”
The blush rushes to my cheeks at record speed.
“You’ve never been kissed before?”
“No,” I rasp.
Her hand finds my arm again, except this time, she shakes me. “You’re like a national treasure.”
I try to laugh, but it just comes out as more of a wheeze. My body always malfunctions when she’s near, and now, with her hand on my arm, I’m a useless vessel. Frozen under her palm, but burning up all at once.
“How is this even possible?”
“I’m not a very…outgoing guy, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, but some girls are into that,” she teases.
Maeve settles back in her seat, her hand leaving my arm, and all my mind can seem to do is scream,is she?
CHAPTER NINE
MAEVE
Monday, December 20th
Missouri is blanketed in snow as far as the eye can see, and it’scold. I don’t remember it ever being this cold back in Pennsylvania, not penetrating through every layer of clothing straight down to your bones. But then again, I’m probably just being dramatic from feeling worn out from the long road trips every day.
We stop at a little diner near the hotel for dinner that looks like an old bus leading into a larger brick building, with a glowing red sign outside, illuminating the sea of white around it. Fluffy snowflakes fall from the dark grey sky, clinging to my hair as I follow Tate inside.
Christmas music plays through the speakers as we walk through the door, and a multicolored Christmas tree sits in the corner with mismatched ornaments strung on the branches. My body shudders as it familiarizes itself with the warm air, which smells like pine needles and cinnamon, and I shrug off my coat as a waitress leads us to one of the many empty booths.
An elated comfort settles in my bones as I sink down into the red leather seat, watching Tate slide in across from me. Tinyspeckled flakes dot his glasses, which he wipes off with the sleeve of his hoodie as the waitress readies her notepad to take our order.
“What can I get you two to drink?” she asks.
