My ears still ring with snippets of conversation from dinner last night. I want to hold on to them for just a little longer, to relish the joy of having my best friend back in my life before all the complications that come along with it make their way to the surface.

Sean turns to me, pulling me right up against him, pressing his face to my neck.

“Morning,” he growls, hands already busy, mouth on my throat, my jaw. He works my pajama shorts down my hips, rolling over onto me. “Did you actually get a full night’s sleep?”

“Miracle of miracles: I did.” I run both hands into his hair, digging in the thick tangle of salt-and-pepper. Hunger flushes through me; we haven’t had sex in over a week.

We’re still so new, I’m not sure we’ve ever gone that long before.

When he reaches my mouth, I kiss him once before hesitation spikes in me, and I pull back a little. “Wait.”

“Oh. Period?” he asks, brows lifted.

“What?” I say, and then shake my head. “No, I just wanted to tell you about last night.”

“About last night?” he repeats, confused.

“About my dinner with Elliot.”

Sean’s dark brows pull down now. “It could wait until after . . . ?” He presses into me, meaningfully.

“Oh.” I guess it could. But the reality is that it probably shouldn’t.

Elliot and I didn’t even touch again after I hugged him hello. It’s not like anything happened. But it feels like I’m lying by not telling Sean who Elliot is. Or, rather, who he was.

“It’s nothing bad,” I say, but Sean rolls off me anyway. “I just . . . one of the challenges you and I face is that we have these enormous histories that we couldn’t possibly have laid out in the amount of time we’ve been together.”

He acknowledges this with a little nod.

“I told you I was having dinner with an old friend last night, and that’s true.”

“Okay?”

“But he was really like my old . . . everything.”

I meet Sean’s eyes and melt a little. They’re the first thing I noticed about him because they’re so deep, and soulful, and glimmering. His eyes are amazing: brown, thickly lashed, and the way they lift gently at the outer edges easily makes them the best flirty eyes I’ve ever known. Right now, though, they’re more guarded than playful.

I shrug, amending, “He was my first everything.”

“Your first . . .”

“My first true friend, my first love, my first . . .”

“Sex,” he finishes for me.

“It’s complicated.”

“How complicated?” he asks, gently. “Everyone has exes. Did he . . . hurt you?”

Quickly, I shake my head. “See, after Mom died, Dad was my whole world, but he still didn’t know how to nurture the same way Mom had. And then I met Elliot and it was like . . .” I search for the right words. “I had someone my age who really understood me and saw me for exactly who I was. He was like a best girlfriend and a first boyfriend all rolled into one.”