Despite my guilt, I think of how, in so many moments since I’ve met him, my own trust had risen inside to meet his, sure and steady.

Call and response.

Maybe Nick’s thinking of that too, because he caresses my palm once more and takes a ragged breath.

“How about now?” he whispers, his voice rough.

“Now?” I breathe.

Something heady and dark pools in Nick’s eyes. “Does this make you nervous?”

The last boy I kissed was Michael Gustin in ninth grade in the corner of the school dance. I remember being terrified and, after the too-wet, too-sloppy ick of it, disappointed. But that was ninth grade and Michael. This is now. And this is Nick.

I don’t feel nervous. I feel desire batting against my ribs like a caged bird. I feel hesitation. I feel overwhelmed. Then, I feel mortification when I realize that Nick, with his sharp, perceptive eyes, has seen it all.

He smiles, small and secret, and brings his free hand up to cradle my jaw, sweeping his thumb over it. His eyes follow the movement thoughtfully before they rise to claim my gaze again. He squeezes my wrist, then lets me go.

I lurch backward on my knees, my cheeks heated, the ghosts of his hands on my skin.

I’m grateful that he’s busy adjusting his pillows and not looking at me.

I have a feeling he’s doing it on purpose, giving me a moment to collect myself.

Once he finishes, he settles back against the headboard and folds his hands in his lap. “Will you sit with me?” he asks pleasantly.

And just like that, the air between us feels lighter, easier. Like nothing unusual had happened at all.

I’m impressed, despite my still-racing heartbeat. How does he do it? How does this boy navigate my emotions like a seasoned sailor, finding the clear skies and bringing them closer, when all I seem able to do is hold fast to the storms?

He waits patiently for me to decide, his eyes soft and open. Finally, I nod and crawl up to the headboard, making myself comfortable in the space beside him.

We sit like that for a long time, until our breaths rise and fall as one.

I must have dozed off, because I jump when I hear the Lodge’s front door slam downstairs.

The room is black. For a moment I forget where I am.

Nick presses a hand to my knee and says in a groggy voice, “If it’s bad, they’ll come find us.”

The digital clock above his door says it’s close to one a.m. “I should go.”

“If you leave now, Sel will know you’re still here and yell at both of us,” he says reasonably. “Stay.”

I can’t really argue with that. Plus, now that the adrenaline has fully left my body, I’m beyond exhausted.