At turns hilarious and gut-wrenching, this is a tremendously fun slow burn

Fuck.
“I think I work.”
“You think?” he asks again, and it sounds like he’s eating. “Aren’t residents’ schedules mapped out years
in advance?”
“Yeah,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. I hate lying to him. “I was going to trade so I didn’t have to
work Christmas, but I haven’t gotten organized about it. I’ll probably be off.”
Elliot pauses – probably because he knows I’m lying and he’s trying to figure out why. “Okay, so, you
have plans or not?”
“Sean and Phoebe are going to his parents’ place.” I hesitate, holding my breath. “I’m not.”
I expect him to poke at this, to make some sort of What does that mean? investigation, but he doesn’t.
He just clears his throat, and says, “Okay, so you’re coming here. I’d better do these dishes before then.”

---

T
then
wednesday, july 12
eleven years ago
he Healdsburg summer had turned from the warm humid hum of bees, berries, and sunshine to the
brittle creaking of drying up creeks and unremitting heat. As we passed through the days, it seemed like
we started to move more slowly, too. Nowhere was cool enough, except for the river or the closet. But even
our blue, starred sanctuary had started to feel claustrophobic. Elliot was so tall; he seemed to take up the
entire length of it. And at nearly eighteen, he was vibrating with sexual intensity – I felt entirely too full of
nervous energy trying not to touch him. We would spend the mornings roaming the woods near the houses,
and the afternoons walking down the road or biking into town for ice cream… but we always ended up back
in the closet anyway, lying on the floor, staring up at the painted stars.
“School’s starting soon,” I said, glancing over at him. “You excited?”
Elliot shrugged. “Sure.”
“You like your classes at Santa Rosa?”
He looked up at me, brows furrowed. “Why are you asking about this now?”
I’d just been thinking about it. About school starting in the fall, and getting closer to finishing high
school. About what he and I would do when we were done, and if we’d end up living closer to each other.
Living with each other.
“Just thinking about it, that’s all,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess I’m excited to be that much closer to finishing,” he said. “And the classes at SRJC are fine.
I wish I’d decided to come down to Cal for a few days a week instead.”
“You had that option?” I asked, shocked.
He shrugged. An obvious yes.
“Are you going to your fall formal with Emma?” I asked, returning to doodling in my notebook.
“Macy. What?” He looked bewildered and then laughed sharply. “No.”
“Good.”
“Do you want to go with me?” he asked.
“You want me to go to a school dance with you?”
“No? Yes? After all our talk of the right way to blend our weekend lives with our weekday lives, I’m not
sure what the right answer is,” he said, wincing. “But if you don’t go with me, I probably won’t go.”
“Really?” I asked, heart pounding. “Because I don’t want to go and get the death glare from all the
skanks who love you, but I don’t want you to go and get ogled without me to glare at them, either.”
He shook his head, laughing. “It’s not like that.”
“So Emma doesn’t email you all the time anymore?”
“Not really.”
“Lies.”
“She doesn’t.” He held my gaze, steadily. “I’m not into her, she figured it out.”
I gave him a coy flutter of my lashes. “It’s not that I’m jealous.”
“Of course not.”
Just then his phone buzzed and he looked at it, read a text, and then shoved it back in his pocket. He
looked very guilty.
“That was from Emma,” I guessed.
“Yes.” He picked at nonexistent lint on his pants. “It’s like the universe wants me to look like a liar right
now.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing interesting.” He laughed at my skeptical expression. “I swear she never texts me.”
“If it’s not interesting, why won’t you tell me?”
He eyed me. “She just asked to hang out.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“Well, then hand me your phone. I’ll tell her you’re busy.”
He smirked. “Will you include the part where you’re acting insanely jealous?”
I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. “Whatever.”
“Or we could take some pictures of your boobs and ‘accidentally’ text them to her.”
“Jesus Christ. Give me the phone.”

---

I reached for it but his long monkey arm kept it easily away from me and I ended up falling on top of him
instead, my boobs completely in his face. He made a muffled happy sound and laughed out a string of
unintelligible words, totally pushing his face into my chest.
I screamed, scrambling back and pushing at his chest to get away. “Pervert!”
Elliot grabbed my waist and flipped me over as he sat up, pulling me backward into his lap and tickling
me with his crazy long fingers, digging into my ribs.
I gasped and cackled, squirmed as he tickled, and laughed and held his arm around my waist until he
rolled over onto me.
He pinned me gently; his hips fit perfectly between my legs.
We both froze, out of breath, staring at each other.
I was seventeen, but I’d never felt something like this before. He was hard, pressing right up against me.
The mood was suddenly completely different from the wrestle-ticklefest of one minute before.
Elliot glanced down at my mouth, and then back up to my face. I wanted to say something, to joke about
the wood in his pants, anything. But my throat felt tight, my face burning.
With one elbow propped by my head, he whispered a quiet “Sorry” and began to climb off me.
I trapped him with my leg around his thigh, and his eyes flew back to mine.
“Stay,” I whispered.
I think.
It might have been my subconscious saying it, because I really didn’t want him to get up. I was obsessed
with what was under those buttons on his jeans, and more than that, I wanted to know if… well, I wanted to
know what could happen.
He swallowed audibly. “Okay.”
I rolled my hips up, watching as his mouth fell open and his eyes fell closed.
Elliot shifted forward and back, pressing the solid length of himself against me, and did it again. And
again. His breath was harder, puffing my hair off my neck, and then his hand gripped my leg and he held
his breath and we started grinding in earnest… together. My body was all instinct, chasing something
familiar, just in the distance.
Oh, my God, what were we doing?
I ran my hands down his back. If I overthought it, I would ruin it.
This was Elliot.
This was my Elliot.
I made fists around his T-shirt, thought about the weirdest things like how his weight felt over me, and
that I wanted to kiss him but didn’t want to turn my attention away even a little from the feeling building
inside me… and then I spun into a strange loop of wondering whether I was imagining this.
We were having sex with our clothes on.
He was so quiet, although I guess I was quiet, too, because I was listening so intently for any clue as to
what he was thinking.
I needed more. I needed him. I’d never felt that sort of weighted heat before, not even when I was
thinking about him by myself. It was a rush all over my skin and that heavy need low in my belly. The
warmth of his mouth landing on my neck pulled a tiny, helpless sound from me. He wasn’t sucking or
licking, just pressing his mouth there, putting his breath that much closer to my ear so I could hear his
reaction in every sharp exhale.
He let out a low growling sound, and I pressed up into him, grinding, so close. I heard the sound I made
– heard the tight plea for faster come tearing out of me.
With a strong grip, Elliot stopped me with a hand on my hip.
“Shit,” he said. “Wait. Shit.”
Suddenly he was pushing away, standing. I sat up, with fumbling words on my lips, but Elliot was already
out the door.
What had just happened?
Did he…? Or did he just realize what I’d started and freaked out? In the end, did Elliot really want to be
my boyfriend, or was he wrong about it all?
I careened headlong into panic.