“We can take it slow,” he says as he pulls me in for a hug.

I lie floating in the school pool the next morning, thinking of Jay, his lips, the way they pressed hungrily into mine. The need, the urgency in his body when I pushed him away. And he stopped. He didn’t say forget it, like Teddy. He was intrigued.

I close my eyes, feeling the water underneath me, the mist on my eyelids. The water is so warm, I could lie here all day. I reach with my fingertips to feel the smooth glass surface. In an hour the swim team will be here, but for now, I have the pool all to myself. I run my hand down my wet body.

“Hey!” a voice calls out.

The unexpected interruption breaks my floating position. It’s Zach. He jumps into the pool with his blue cap and starts swimming toward me.

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he says with a smile. “What were you doing?”

“Just floating,” I tell him, face flushing. I still haven’t figured out what the deal is between him and Dani. She’s been so distant lately.

I glance at the clock. It’s six forty-five. I promised my mom I’d Skype with her before school. I start swimming toward the edge of the pool.

“You’re not going to keep swimming?” he calls after me.

I shake my head. “Nah, I’ve already done like twenty-five laps,” I lie, getting out and covering myself with a towel.

Zach turns and starts doing laps back and forth. I linger for a second, watching his toned body tearing through the water, before heading to the locker room.

Later that week, Jay invites me over to his house for dinner. We eat out on the terrace. Jay orders in—scallops with risotto and cauliflower and pomegranate salad. I set the table while Jay gets a bottle of Château d’Yquem Bordeaux Blanc from the wine cellar downstairs.

I raise my eyebrow at the expensive bottle of wine. “You sure your parents are okay with us drinking that?” I ask.

Jay uncorks the bottle and pours some into a glass. He holds the glass up to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell, just like my dad. On Jay, it’s a far sexier look.

“Yeah, they’re totally cool,” he says. “My dad’s been teaching me to drink wine since I was seven.”

I laugh, thinking it’s a joke, but he looks at me dead serious.

“I was trained in all the grapes and regions, the acidity and the tannins. Most of all, how to hold my alcohol.”

That sounds awful—to be seven years old, plastered with alcohol? Jay shrugs.

“Being drunk is a weakness. My dad doesn’t believe in weaknesses,” he says, handing me a glass.

I take a sip. “Mine does,” I mutter.

Jay peers at me.