“I promise you, I’m not superhuman. Just anal-retentive and addicted to routine.” I tried to say this jokingly, but I felt weirdly self-conscious. “I’m assuming there’s still a dinner reservation for our group. Clearly, our friends were hoping we’d use it.”

She blinked up at me then, her pupils wide and bright and open. Something about her face hit a place so deep in my gut that I hadn’t known it existed until very recently. I raised my hands, unsure of what I was doing until they found hers, and she brought them close to her chest, her fingers intertwined with mine.

“Okay, then,” she said as she tugged me closer. “Let’s go get that table.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Franny

Relief. All I felt was relief. What a strange, intoxicating sensation. Why had I resisted this in the first place? It was warm, and easy, like the summer air outside. The first margarita slipped down my throat like an oyster, smooth and fast and without thought. By the second drink, brought out with our dinner, Hayes’s cheeks were bright and red, the edge of his calf resting between my legs under the table. It felt electric and daring, a breaking of the rules. They were just our legs, and having them touch was totally G-rated. But something about the heavy weight of him against me below the gray marble top of the café table, while our hands rested chastely above, felt more erotic and dirty than anything I’d ever done before.

“I’ve never seen Grease.” Hayes wrinkled his nose in embarrassment. We were swapping stories, small facts about ourselves, our families. A few minutes ago, he’d asked, “What is something that everyone else has done but you?”

So far I had seen his “I’ve never played golf, even though I look like I have” and raised him with “I’ve never been to Disney World and don’t want to.”

And now, this horrifying reveal. “Grease,” I gasped, in exaggerated horror, “is a classic.”

He shrugged and took a pull of his beer. “I’m a monster, what can I say.”

“Do you know any of the songs at least?” I asked, truly horrified.

“Something something summer romance, something something at the high school dance?” he guessed, shimmying slightly in his seat, dancing along to a totally botched attempt at “Summer Nights.” The sight of him like that, the top of his collared shirt unbuttoned, his hair slightly ruffled, the small hint of sweat on his brow, being so unabashedly and unselfconsciously silly, tripped my heart up. I burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” I said in between gasping hysterics. “You’re a disaster.”