I bit my lip, and his dark eyes zeroed in on the movement. Fuck. Was it hot in here or just me? “Oakley,” I said with a sigh. “Are you gonna have dinner with me, then disappear with one of those girls? The client thing is a big problem for me, but also…” I debated for a moment how to tell him my issues with the party scene without revealing my deepest shame. “We are very different. I feel like a short-lived challenge to you, and once the novelty wears off, you’ll find something else to occupy your time. Why cross that boundary if we both know it can’t work?”

I felt embarrassed admitting that, but it was worth talking about. “I like you,” Oakley replied simply. “I really like you. I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing, yeah. And if we’re being honest, this will probably blow up in our faces.”

His palm landed on my neck, and his index finger tested my pulse. We were in a compromising position, in a very public space, but I felt trapped in his orbit. I couldn’t push him away, and I didn’t want to. Oakley leaned over to kiss me, and I let him.

It was soft and sweet. His lips had a waxy layer of ChapStick on them, and his tongue tasted like mint. When he pulled away, I practically melted. “But I think about you all the time—and not just because you set five million alarms on my phone. I think about if there’s anyone to take care of you. I wonder if you’re eating. I wonder what you look like naked…”

I snorted, but he continued. “I think about kissing you. Everywhere. I bet you taste so fucking sweet.” I was squirming at his words. “I think about what you’re going to do after college. And for the first time in a long time, I think about how my actions affect someone else. I’m just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to go have dinner with me, then hold my hand at a party—and maybe kiss me a few more times. Can we just give this a chance?”

I braced my hands against his chest. “Let’s go eat, Problem.”

19

The dimly lit Italian restaurant Oakley took me to was kind of a dive, and that was being generous. I looked around at the yellowing counters and torn, outdated booths and grimaced. There were only two other occupied tables. I tried to muster up some enthusiasm, but Oakley could read my face like a book.

“I promise, this is the best lasagna you will ever eat,” he said with gusto.