“You said … I know things didn’t go as planned, but…” I swallow a lump in my throat the size of Jupiter, feeling just like the one and only time I ever rode a roller-coaster—that same sense of bone-shaking terror threaded with a scintilla of excitement—and I wonder how people just do this. I could wake up dead tomorrow, I remind myself. Just go for it. “Maybe this is totally inappropriate, but if you … s-still wanted to kiss, I would like to kiss. Very much. Um, tonight.”

“Really?” Gunnar straightens, his eyebrows going up a fraction of an inch. “I mean, are you sure? Because if this is your first—”

“It is. But what if I’m already sick of waiting for my Great Love Story? What if I never get one?” I shove my glasses up my nose, nervous sweat making my temples damp. “I’m kind of a mess, I know that, but … I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first day I saw you at Sugar Mama’s. And I … I think I still want to. You know?” I swallow again, and my throat is so dry it actually squeaks. “I mean, if you don’t want to kiss me, that’s different, but—”

“I do,” he interrupts immediately, breaking into a smile that shows his perfect teeth. I should be scared of those teeth, but right now, it’s everything else that terrifies me—his experience and my lack thereof, how I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to do with my tongue, how my breath probably smells like microwaved cheese and burned milk—but Gunnar just leans toward me, his eyes on mine. “As long as you’re sure this is what you want, Auggie Pfeiffer, I would be honored to be your first kiss.”

“I want,” I whisper, breathless, and then … his lips meet mine. They’re cool, but not cold—gentle, but not passive. They’re plush and smooth, and they have a grip, tugging at my mouth and nudging it open. My tongue lifts to meet his, instinctively, and then … then the 1812 Overture is blasting away in my brain, drums and strings and horns and cannons, and I’ve never felt anything like this. I could eat a whole meal of just kisses; I could power the Earth on the energy surging through me just now.

Gunnar’s hand finds my waist and slides up, and I tangle mine in his hair. He makes a soft noise, deep in his throat, and the pressure between my legs is unbearable. He kisses me harder, his other hand closing around the back of my neck … and when the noise in his throat curves into a growl, more animal than human, he lurches back with a gasp.