I peeled the plastic off the transfer and stuck it to my shoulder. Getting my butt out at this early stage would have felt kind of forward. She dampened a cotton pad with water from a glass at her bedside and held it over the paper.

I know it doesn’t sound like a scene from a romance novel, the kind with intense sweaty people on the cover, but when her fingers pressed against my skin, I felt wobbly again. It was like a current in my body had switched on. She leaned in close enough that I could count the freckles on her nose. Her eyes bored into mine, creamy brown ones framed by spidery black lashes.

She set the glass on the floor. There was barely space for light between us. Normally I am not shy about going in for a kiss, but for some reason, I was nervous. It felt different. Maybe I was imagining the tension, though it felt like you could almost see it in the air, like visible static between our bodies. I was almost sure this girl was a girl who was into other girls.

A little voice in my head reminded me that was against my rule. There was a whole addendum for it.

I thought about leaving.

“Your tattoo is really hot,” she said.

“The Road Runner has that effect on girls.” My words were nonchalant, but I was sure she’d be able to see my heart beating faster. She didn’t reply. She bit her lip, her lip ring disappearing into her mouth. Vaguely in the background, I was aware of the thumping noise downstairs, but the room was a bubble getting smaller and smaller until it was just the two of us. She didn’t move away. She ran her finger over my new tattoo and anything I might have said got caught in my throat.

“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked softly.

“I don’t even know your name,” I teased.

“Ruby.”