“No?” He arched a brow at me. “What is he then?”
This time I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know. Enzo and I had been hanging out for around a year. He kissed me for the first time three months before my birthday, but it never became anything more. And I wasn’t sure I wanted it to. It was my first real kiss, but it was clearly Enzo’smillionth, as was everything else. Enzo wasexperienced, and while parts of that were exciting, most of it intimidated me. It meant he had expectations, and I wasn’t sure I enjoyed the pressure of them. And I certainly didn’t enjoy the constant sexual references and innuendos.
We also didn’t have very much in common outside of the wrecked home lives we had. Enzo’s mom was angelic and passed away before her time, leaving him alone with his dad who became a drunk soon after. While my guardians beat the shit out of each other verbally, his guardian beat him physically. “Beat” may be a slight exaggeration, but one time his dad smacked him over the head with the landline phone because he didn’t bring him beer back from the liquor store. He called Enzo a cheap asshole, and Enz called him a drunk prick. We were fifteen.
E’s family was more normal. They had moved out of East Ridge right before I moved to town. I didn’t know their dynamics well, but it seemed like he had a normal upbringing for the most part. By "normal," I mean that his parents loved each other and him, which is all I could discern.
E was between two sisters, and I thought maybe that was why he was so easy to be around. He liked music and talked about it like it was sacred—like it had saved him once, and he never stopped being grateful. He’d drum rhythms on the table with his fingers and hum under his breath when he thought no one was listening, and I always loved to watch him.
He never needed the spotlight, but somehow, he always had it. He wasn’t loud or flashy or obnoxious at all. He was magnetic. He exuded a serene charm. And I think that’s what pulled me in from the start. Not to mention, he was beautiful.
“Okay. So, Earth, Wind, and Fire. You ready?” His deep bravado broke my thoughts. I smiled and nodded, knowing exactly what game we were playing.
“Let me guess, you’re going with a classic.” He thought for a moment, then clapped his hands. “‘September.’ So obvious.” He rolled his eyes, playfully mocking me, and I laughed.
"Oh, because you know me so well," I teased back.
“I’m starting to think I do, girl.”
“I don’t know,boy. Might throw you a curveball.” I nudged his shoulder, and he sidestepped into the street with a breathy laugh. I grabbed his arm and pulled him back to me, nervous for him to be too close to the sidewalk’s edge. My palm fell into his for a second, and the electric shock that surged between them stopped me cold.
It wasn’t just a spark; it was something that felt alive. Something that made the world around us not matter, not even a bit.
His laughter faded as he looked at me, the grin lingering on his lips, softer now, like maybe he felt it too.
I should’ve let go. I meant to.
But my fingers stayed right where they were.
“I’d Rather Have You,” I said, and he didn’t respond, trying to process if there was a double meaning behind my words. And there was. It was a secret admission. One that I didn’t know how strongly I felt until that moment. Of all the things in my life I had wished, this one I wished the most—that I had met E first.
His eyes searched mine as his throat dipped with a swallow, and suddenly I lost all my courage. Because the truth was, Ihadn’tmet E first. I met Enzo first. And so didE. Before E was my friend, he was Enzo’s. And that came with certain restrictions. There were unspoken rules that couldn’t be broken, and we both knew them.
So, I let go of his hand.
“That’s my pick.” I started walking again, and he followed me after a few steps.
“That’s a good curveball,” he said, the hint of playfulness gone from his voice, and now it was me who wondered about double meanings.
We were almost to my house. Next was to pass the nighttime burger joint, where neighborhood drunks and off-duty cops often grabbed a late-night bite. It was a dangerous route considering the town curfew, but it saved nearly eight minutes of the walk. I veered toward the shortcut, and E stopped me.
“Let’s go the long way.”
“Why? It’s like three in the morning. I wanna get home.”
“Becauseit’s three in the morning.You wanna get dropped off home in a cop car?”
This was a true concern. It happened to me once before. I begged and pleaded for the officer to take me anywhere but home, a friend’s house maybe, just to avoid the wrath of my mother when she was woken up in the middle of the night to her daughter in the back of a police car. He didn’t oblige. Luckily, my dad answered the door, and he was too high to care, so it all worked out. But the memory made me shiver with fear nonetheless, so I followed E down the longer dirt path that went around the shop and into the small patch of woods.
When I hesitated just before the trees, he held out a hand. “Come on,” he said, and his confident, deep voice alone made me feel safer than I’d ever been. E led me by the hand through the dark brush and out onto the sidewalk. When we made it out free and clear, he looked at me with a cocky grin.
“See? Master planner,” he said, and I nudged his shoulder again, but he was right. We just had to pass the apartment buildings, and we’d be on my street.
“Shut up,” I teased. And just as we began to laugh, a bright spotlight lit our way.
“Shit!” E said, and the next three seconds happened too fast.
He grabbed my arm and pinned me against the side of the apartment’s brick wall. He pulled his black hoodie over his head and leaned in. It was him against me, me against the wall, and my heart speeding against my chest.
