After dinner, when we were saying our goodbyes, Tru started fidgeting like he had ants in his pocket. I caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “What’s up?”
“I, uh…” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Made something for you.”
He handed it to me, then immediately snatched it back. “Wait, wrong one.”
“What the hell?”
Too late. I grabbed it and unfolded it.
“What’s this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tru tried to snatch it again. “Nothing! Give it?—”
I held it high. “AFuck’et List?”
He groaned into his hands. “It’s like… a bucket list. But for places I want us to?—”
“To fuck. Got it,” I said, already laughing. “Let’s see. Locker room in the athletic building. Wow. Real original.”
“You said you had that fantasy too!”
“I do. Just didn’t write it down and doodle little hearts over the i’s.”
Tru flushed as I kept reading.
Backseat of the car—crossed out. Been there, done that.
On a float in the pool at my parents’ house. Kinky.
On a fire escape. Must be a New York thing.
On a rooftop at midnight.
In our childhood fort—“You’re such a perv,” I said, grinning. “I’m keeping this.”
“Dare—”
“Mine now.”
I folded it and slipped it into my wallet, still grinning as he pouted.
“So what did you mean to give me?”
He sighed and pulled out a second note. This one was neater, folded like he actually planned it. I opened it slowly.
It was filled with doodles of names.
Tru Carter.
Truen Carter.
Truen Jameson Carter.
Tru and Dare Carter.
The Carters est. 2025. Or 2013?
Truerien? (crossed out with a big god no)
