“Yeah.” He bites his lip. “I just wanted to show you. I don’t have HIV or anything, but you should see something I’ve never shown anyone else. The guys on the team all saw me get hurt—this douche from another team checked me, and his teammates basically trampled me—but they haven’t actually seen the scar.”

“Oh.” That’s strangely sweet, even if it sounds painful. “Well, I’m glad you showed it to me. I’m honored.”

It’s a joke, but he doesn’t smile. I realize he needed to hear that.

He’s closer to me now, his shoulder bumping against mine. Sometimes, when Miles sits next to me, it feels like his body can block everything out. Like he can stop anything bad from existing just by being here.

We’re quiet, leaning against one another, and the gravity of the moment strikes me. This is more than sweet. It’s like…the way my parents look at each other sometimes, or something out of a love story full of symbolism and heartfelt declarations.

Or maybe I’m just taking this too seriously. I clear my throat.

“But you know that you aren’t the only person who knows I’m positive, right?” I say, breaking the silence. “So mine isn’t a total secret like yours. You have to stop showing me up!”

“Hey,” he says, turning to look at me. “Don’t worry about that. I wanted to show you anyway.”

It just seems like he’s better at this stuff than me—always knowing how to say the right thing. I pull his hand up to my mouth, kissing the knuckles. He watches me with dark eyes. Just because he’s better at this doesn’t mean I can’t try.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

Fisherman’s Wharf is a tourist area, and if there’s one thing I hate more than racist white boys, it’s tourist areas. It’s always filled to the brim with confused travelers and their cameras, smelling of dead ocean creatures and fried food. Combine that with the fact that it’s Saturday and it makes for an hour of irritation. I never would’ve come here on my own. This is what I get for telling Miles to pick the place.

“Come on.” He notices my expression and tosses an arm around me. “Don’t be like that. I wanted to do something fun. I figured we could go to Ghirardelli Square and get ice cream or something.”

It’s not the first time he’s put an arm around me, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. But I like Miles touching me. I like that he’s taller than me, and that I can lean into him. I like this more than I realized I could.

“Simone?” He nudges me. “You wanna stay?”