I couldn’t help but smile before I leaned in. I wondered if she could feel it in the kiss. Her lips were soft and parted already; her tongue tasted like bubble gum and Sprite. I could feel her lip ring, but it didn’t get in the way like I thought it might. My body twisted toward hers; her hands found my waist on one side and my neck on the other. It wasn’t like kissing those other girls. The ones who were tentative and giggling or the ones who went full force on my mouth but left their hands limp at their sides because my body didn’t interest them. I forgot what it was like to be kissed by someone who might want more than a kiss. I knew then that Ruby was definitely not experimenting. I should have been scared. I should have left the room. I should never have gone upstairs with a girl who made me wobble.

I told myself I could have this, just for now, and it wouldn’t hurt to let it go.

She pulled away, not so far that I couldn’t still feel her breath on my lips. The question in her eyes was, What more do you want? I answered by pushing her back on the bed and kissing her again, not just with my mouth but my whole body, hands exploring the dips and curves, our bodies settling into a rhythm, a delicious friction until we were breathless.

We didn’t “do it,” if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that I didn’t want to. I was a ball of energy ready to explode at the slightest touch (that’s a euphemistic metaphor for the prudish at heart in case you were wondering). I don’t know if she wanted more, but neither of us tried to remove any clothing or put hands or mouths anywhere . . . strategic (I’m trying not to be vulgar here, I hope you appreciate it). As much as I would have liked to do those things, I have a confession: I haven’t done those things before. Everyone assumed Hannah and I had sex because we were together so long, but she wanted to wait and so we waited. We waited until she realized she didn’t want to do anything with me at all.

Waking up the next morning with a groggy head, dry mouth, and bruised lips, but fully clothed, I was grateful we hadn’t gone too far. The memory of her body on mine felt like a tangible imprint on my skin. But I felt guilty too. My rule was just for me, of course, but it was important and I had the feeling I might have done the wrong thing.

Nothing a fry-up and a shower wouldn’t fix.