He takes a moment to think, then sighs. “What do you want to know?”
I tap my finger against my knee, thinking. “When’s the last time you had sex?”
“The night before I met you.”
I click my tongue. “Right. She was thirty years old?”
“What?” His head snaps towards me quickly. “No. No. Viv is our age. Scott made some stupid joke about her being thirty, and I decided to be out.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I know. I know. I’m just fucking with you.”
“What else do you want to know?” he asks, eager to change the subject.
“When I went to the bathroom, Scott asked me if I would fuck you.”
He looks at me. “Fucking Scotty.”
“That’s my next question.”
He has a confused expression. “What’s the question?”
“Would you…”
His jaw tightens, and suddenly he’s pulling over to the side of the road. Gravel crunches under the tires as he hits the brakes and throws the truck into park.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It would just be sex?” he asks, and his voice sounds different. Deeper.
“What?” I ask, wondering if I missed something.
“Experimenting? It would just be sex. No strings attached?”
I nod. “Yeah, but we haven’t even kissed. So, it’s hard to know if we should move forward with it. Like what if you kiss me and you feel like throwing up, or you end up hating the way I smell, or something weird.”
He shrugs.
“So, just kiss me and find out,” I say, my heart hammering in my chest. “Kiss me and tell me if it’s weird.” I pull back. “You have to be honest. If it’s too weird, then let’s drop it completely, and we’ll forget all about this.”
The tension in his face melts away as he looks at me, and I can see him weighing his options. The smart thing would be to drive me home and pretend this conversation never happened.
But with the way Dylan is looking at me right now, I hope he doesn’t.
13
Dylan
Her eyes are searching mine for approval. I can tell she’s had one too many, and I refuse to take advantage of a good friend.
“You want me to kiss you?” I ask, not sure if it’s a good idea.
“You don’t have to narrate,” she teases, leaning over the center console. “Kiss me, Dylan.”
She puckers her lips and closes her eyes. I can’t help but laugh. She giggles, her shoulders shaking. “Come on,” she mutters. “I’m waiting.”
“Open your eyes,” I say.
She listens.
