“Is this okay?” I asked.

“I think so.”

“You think so?” What does that mean?

The kitchen air, warm from the oven, felt heavy as I tried to figure her out.

“It’s great,” she finally said. Glints of joy in her eyes confirmed this, which made me happier than our school’s once a year free-ice-cream Friday.

Moving glacially, so she could tell me to stop when she needed, I removed every inch of space between us.

She held my T-shirt tightly, keeping me close and letting me kiss her. She smiled against my lips and finally relaxed into my chest. Our legs pressed together, with her thumbs grazing my stomach, guessing at the muscles underneath. My skin seared under my shirt. Her kisses quickened as she surveyed more and more of my chest. Minutes later, our fingers found each other, and our hands laced together, resisting the urge to do much more.

She left me more out of breath than I’d care to admit. Not that I was complaining. “We don’t have to tell Carter about this yet, okay?” Eliza traced the letters on my Cassidy High School soccer shirt. “I don’t want to go through that yet.”

Normally I would have told Carter and Austin about any girl I hooked up with. That’s what we do. The three of us absolutely kiss and tell, per the Bro Code’s rules. It’s a good thing it didn’t cross my mind to, in fact, tell him—not thinking about it meant I didn’t have a chance to deliberately go behind his back.

I nodded and Eliza kissed my cheek. “Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”

She ducked out and pulled the pizza from the oven, before it could burn.

“Don’t forget me when you’re eighty,” I said.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

Oh boy.

We started to carry the food and water up to Carter’s room.

Bringing pizza to Carter and Austin was legitimately the only way they would eat something. “Wait . . . hang on . . .” I stopped.

“Oooh, good call,” she said, on the same wavelength.

I put one of the pizzas back on the table and Eliza opened the fridge, which was plastered with test grades and upcoming events.

“What do we have here?” She tapped her chin.

I came behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her heavily washed, cotton T-shirt felt coarse against my wrists. Apparently, Ms. O’Connor didn’t believe in fabric softener.

“Hmmmm,” I said, not really paying attention.

She pushed her head back, making it straight against my chest, and I rested my chin on her hair. She was the absolute perfect height for me.

“Hot sauce?” she asked.

“Call me Nick. But yes.”

“Oh my gosh. Relish?”

I nodded against her head.

“Worcestershire sauce?”

“Is that how you say that? I never knew.”

“Really—?” Eliza started, turning into me, stopping when she saw my wink. She stayed there for a few seconds longer than necessary. Kind of like she was as shocked as I was that this was happening.