“Fuck Emma,” he said, voice rough, and it surprised me so much that I leaned back on my hands, tilting away from him.

Elliot looked immediately remorseful and reached to move a strand of hair out of my face. “Seriously, Mace. There’s nothing going on with me and Emma. Is that really why you don’t want to talk about what happened with us in the kitchen?”

“I think it’s also that it scares me to think of messing this up.” Looking down, I added, “I’ve never had a boyfriend—or anything. You’re, like, the only person other than Dad who really matters to me, and I’m honestly not sure I could handle it if I didn’t have you in my life.”

When I closed my eyes at night, the only thing I could see was Elliot. Most nights I was desperate to call him just before I fell asleep, so I could hear his voice. I hated to think beyond the next weekend, because I wasn’t sure how our futures were going to align. I imagined Elliot going away to Harvard, and me going somewhere in California, and we’d slowly turn into vague acquaintances. The idea was repellent.

When I met his eyes again, I noticed the hard line of his mouth had softened. He sat down in front of me, his knees touching mine.

“I’m not going anywhere, Mace.” He picked up my hand. “I need you the same way you need me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Elliot looked at my hand in his and moved our palms so they were pressed together, lacing our fingers.

“Do you think about me?” I asked. Now that he’d raised it, the question gnawed at me.

“Sometimes it feels like I think about you every minute,” he whispered.

A bubble of emotion wedged tightly beneath my ribs, hitting a tender spot. I watched our clasped hands for a long time before he spoke again.

I struggled to keep my eyes from his body.

“Favorite word?” he whispered.

“Zipper,” I answered without thinking, feeling rather than seeing his smile in response. “You?”

“Crackle.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked, and the words sounded like an explosion of wind into the room, an awkward window opened.

He looked up from our hands, scowling. “Is that a serious question?”

“Just checking.”

He let go of my hand and returned to his book. He wasn’t reading it; he looked like he wanted to throw it at me.

I scooted a little closer to him. “You can’t be surprised I asked.”

He gaped at me, setting the book down. “Macy. I just asked you if you think about me. I asked why you got weird after we kissed. Do you really think I would push this subject if I had a girlfriend?”

I chewed my lip, feeling embarrassed. “No.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I gave him a grin. “A few here and there.”

He let out a wry laugh, shaking his head as he picked his book back up.