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“How’d you know where to park?” she asks as we get out of the truck.

I grab my backpack out of the back and pull it on. “I come here a lot, especially this time of year.”

“Oh, yeah? You bring dates here all the time?” she teases.

I chuckle. “You’re actually the first.”

She walks over and squeezes me into a quick hug. “That makes me feel special.”

“You are special. You’re the only girl I’ve ever drunkenly married.”

“Well, I like that we both get to experience plenty of firsts with each other, and it’s not just all me.”

“You want to hear something kind of cool?” I ask.

Her head whips over toward me, and her brows are quirked.

“You’re the first virgin I’ve ever banged.”

Her jaw drops. “Shut up.”

I hold up a hand. “Swear to God. At least the only one who’s ever openly admitted it to me.”

She shakes her head in wonder. “And here I thought you’d already had all of your firsts spoken for.”

I lift my hands and shake my head. “I guess not.”

We start down the trail.

“So obviously, you know about my first time,” she begins. “Tell me about yours.”

I lift a shoulder. “It was nothing special. I was a sophomore in high school. She was a senior. Head cheerleader. A friend said I couldn’t get with her, and I did.”

“Is that all it was?” I ask.

I nod. “Yeah. It was a mistake and something I regret. It’s why I told you that you only get one first time. I don’t want you to look back and regret your first time.”

She squeezes my hand. “I know I won’t.”

I think back to the bet with West and how she would feel if she ever knew that it existed. And granted, I told him I didn’t care about the bet—mainly because I started to care about her. But unlike the text chain that still sits on our phones, there’s no evidence of the only conversation that wouldn’t make me look like a total dick.

There’s a light breeze, and with the shady trail, it’s perfect weather here in the low eighties. We hold hands as we walk, and it feels natural and nice.

“Have you talked to your mom since the day after we got married?” she asks.

I nod. “She wants to meet you.”

“I want to meet her, too.”

I glance over at her. “What are you doing tonight?”

She shrugs and laughs. “Whatever you have planned after the hike, I guess.”

“How mad would your sister be if you took off Monday and Tuesday?”

She twists her lips. “On a scale of one to ten? Probably a fifty-four.”

“Can I just…” I trail off, and I realize what I’m about to say and stop myself. “Never mind.”