“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“A little.”

“I’m starving.” Then, he looks at me as if he’s mulling an idea over in his head. “There’s a great food truck on the far side of the island. We could have a little picnic on the beach.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“We’ll need to take my bike again.” He’s looking at me as if he’s not quite sure what I’m into yet, which means I haven't quite made myself obvious enough. I would spend the rest of this week on the back of that bike if I could.

“I think I can live with that,” I answer with a laugh, which makes him smile.

It doesn’t take long to get to the food truck. It’s parked with a few others at the locals’ end of the island. Much like yesterday, it’s so much quieter than the busier end. Locals are hanging out around the food trucks which are parked in a school’s parking lot. They’ve all brought out their own camping chairs and beers.

They don’t give me dirty looks or give me trouble for being with Logan. In fact, many of them greet him as he walks up. I would so much rather live in a community like this than the one my parents raised me in, where everyone is nice to you to your face and says terrible things about you when you’re not there.

He buys an assortment of street tacos and has the cook put them in a plastic bag with a bunch of napkins. After a quick stop at the sleepy gas station on the corner for a six-pack of cheap beer, we’re parked back at the same quiet cul-de-sac as last night. I can’t help but notice that Logan is looking around the area like he lost something here.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers, but it’s not convincing. “Let’s go.”

We sit on the beach with the styrofoam boxes between us, devouring the tacos, which are spicy and full of flavor. My beer is going down way too fast. I think it’s my nerves, being out with him by ourselves again, knowing that we are so close to something that excites me in a way I’ve never felt before. But after about fifteen minutes of small talk, I can feel my inhibitions fade away, and I want to say and do everything on my mind.

After the food is gone, we lean back and crack open our second beers. I’m still such a lightweight, so I know this second one will really push me over the edge, nudging me past that fine line between sober and drunk.

He’s leaning back on his elbows, watching the waves as they roll and crash onto the beach. I’m sitting cross-legged next to him, wondering when he will kiss me and how far I’m willing to go if he does. A little part of me is screaming “all the way” while another, more cautious and conservative voice is hoping I’ll be able to put on the brakes at first base.