I touch my lips. My very swollen lips that JP had kissed last night. I drag my fingertips over them and down my neck, between my breasts and down to the space between my legs that was still wet. We hadn’t gone farther than dry humping on my couch, even though I pressed for more. But the kiss he gave me before he sent me upstairs had so much promise in it. The promise for more. The promise for everything.

I’d had a crush on Jacob since I turned fourteen and he’d gone on vacation with us to the Bahamas. A lot of time with a tanned, shirtless Jacob had turned me into a lovesick teenager and it only got worse as I got older. When I was fifteen, I began to fantasize about him. When I was sixteen, I thought about him when I touched myself. When I was seventeen, I’d drunk text him but I was always too scared even in my drunken mind to cross that line. I’d type out the words. ‘I want you’ over and over before deleting them. And then last night, I finally did it.

I grab my phone prepared to text him even though it’s eight in the morning and I’m shocked to see he already has.

JP: How are you feeling?

It’s a loaded question. Is he asking about the potential hangover I have? Or about what we did last night? Probably both.

Me: A little hungover but amazing.

JP: Drink some water. I’m still downstairs, do you want to go get some breakfast? And talk?

Me: Yes please.

JP: Ten minutes.

I get dressed quickly, brushing my teeth, running a brush through my hair and applying some concealer and mascara so I’m not looking like an actual train wreck before I tiptoe down the stairs careful not to wake anyone in my house. It’s not strange that JP and I are getting breakfast together alone but I didn’t want anyone to wake up and have them invite themselves to go with us, disallowing us any privacy. We needed to talk and I needed to come again. Fingers crossed on the latter.