We stared at each other in heavy silence for a few seconds before I waved toward the bathroom. “There’s water in there,” I said. “In the tub. If you wanted to…clean up or—”

“Great. Yes. That’d be great.” He picked his bag back up and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I lay back on the bed, trying to calm my nerves as I again gazed at the ceiling. God, my heart was thumping with both excitement and fear. I vaguely wondered if this is how it would have been if Tuck and I had dated in high school. If the cascade of tragedies that had occurred in the wake of his mother getting sick hadn’t happened…if his mother had never died… Would we have snuck out windows at midnight? Would we have made out in the back seat of cars? Gone to that prom together and then rented a hotel room afterward and lost our virginity to each other?

It seemed like such a faraway possibility, and also one that should have happened but had been lost, caused by some wrinkle in time. And I felt this sense of wonder knowing maybe those disruptive wrinkles eventually smoothed, and when they did, what was lost, was found.

The door clicked open, and Tuck exited, dropping his backpack on the floor. His gaze slid over me, lingering on the pink cotton between my legs, barely showing beneath the hem of the T-shirt that had risen when I’d lain down. And I swore I could feel that glance touch my tender flesh, a buzz of electricity flowing from him to me. His eyes moved down my legs, and I saw him swallow. “Em,” he said, his voice thick. “I, ah.” He stuck his hands in his jean pockets, and I sat up, concerned by the doubt I heard in his tone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…you should know that it’s been ah—”

“It’s been a long time.” My breath released, tenderness gripping my heart. He was worried because he hadn’t had sex with anyone in a long time.

I stood, going to him and then placed my hand on his chest. “I understand.”

He shook his head slowly, his expression so vulnerable. “No, Em, I’m not sure you do.”

I lifted my hand and then ran my thumb over his flushed cheekbone before I brought my mouth to his, kissing him softly, just once, and then lowering my lips to his throat. “Yes, I do,” I whispered. I trailed my hand down his T-shirt and then lifted the hem and dragged my fingers lightly over the warm skin of his stomach. His skin was velvety, and the sparse line of hair tickled my fingertips. I smiled against the dip at the base of his throat, and he let out a low groan.