I type back.

What’s cute?

He takes a few minutes to respond, and I stare agonizingly at my phone screen. Finally, it beeps.

You are. Sure you won’t come over?

And somehow that’s all it takes. Somehow I find myself crawling out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt, and heading over to the bathroom to wash my face and get ready. There’s an excited flutter in my chest at the thought of sneaking out—not just breaking the rules, but breaking the rules for a boy. When someone like James Dean calls you cute, that’s worth any consequence.

Just for a minute, ok? You’ll have to come pick me up

•  •  •  •  •  •

I climb into Dean’s car down the end of the block, far enough away so the running motor won’t wake my parents. He’s looking sleepy in a maroon EVmU sweatshirt, his hair sticking up to one side. I’m reminded of when I woke up next to him in bed, how cute he looked all rumpled and asleep, and I feel myself getting flustered all over again at the memory.

I’m nervous—not just about getting caught, but about seeing him again outside of work. There are so many ways this night could go. Suddenly the whole Andrew debate seems meaningless. I feel electric.

“Were you in bed?” I ask as I get in, making sure to close the door as quietly as possible. Our neighbors have a pair of loud dogs that will bark at the smallest sounds.

“No, Cody and I had some people over but they all went home.”

“On a Tuesday?” I ask, and he grins at me.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about college.”

I blush, thankful it’s dark and he can’t see it.

“I thought you drove a motorcycle.” I motion at the patched interior of the Honda. It smells a little bit like old French fries.

“This is Cody’s car. I thought the bike might be too loud.” He leans toward me, bringing a hand behind my head and threading his fingers through my hair. Then he pulls me toward him and kisses me, his tongue teasing my lips, entering my mouth in a way that feels practiced now, and natural. His tongue slides against mine and the sensation of it raises goose bumps on my whole body.

He pulls away from me slightly so our faces are a few inches apart. “Plus,” he says, his whisper laced with a smile, “it’s kinda hard to do this on a bike.” He clicks off his seat belt and moves closer to me, lifting his body so he’s almost on top of me in the passenger seat.

I pull away from him. “Do what, exactly?”

“You know what I mean.” He laughs and tries to kiss me again.