I pass the towel to Blake, who dries himself in silence. Slowly, he strips off his shirt, revealing his chiseled abs and defined pecs—my breath hitches, again. Blake doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he’s doing a good job of playing it cool. He puts his shirt and jacket back on without a word. As an athlete, I’m sure he’s used to being shirtless around guys. This is nothing to him.

It’s everything to me. Sure, it’s not the first time I’ve seen Blake McIntyre shirtless, but this time, it feels different. This time, we’re on a date.

We sit in silence, listening to the heavy droplets of rainfall on the car windshield. Blake turns the heat on low, and the hissing and hum of the crackling heater are soothing.

“I don’t expect us, you know, to just start dating,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “But I had a good time with you today.”

I don’t need to hesitate with my answer. “I did too.”

“And I’m just assuming, you know, correct me if I’m wrong, that since we both had a good time, we could maybe try to see if we can have another good time, and another, and if we do, maybe we can see what happens?”

“Like in geometry, how it takes three points to verify a line?”

He pauses and shakes his head. “You’re such a dork, but, like you said before, I’m growing to love it.” Blake shifts the car into reverse. “I should get you home. Don’t want your dad to hate me right off the bat.”

“Oh, he already does. Don’t take it personally.”

The joy seeps from Blake’s face like ink rushing out of a broken container.

“Joking.” I smile. “If you’re going to hang with me, you have to get used to these jokes.”

“Maybe you should make funnier jokes,” he scoffs and starts to back the car out, curling his spine around and putting his hand on the back of my seat. At least, that’s where his hand should be.

Instead, it slips around my back and grips my right shoulder. He has a sly smile on his face the whole time, a smile he’s trying to hide by making his features twist into something normal.

“You’re not slick, Blake McIntyre,” I say as his hand slips down and settles on my thigh.

“I’m a little slick. You have to admit it.”

I roll my eyes and turn on the radio, looking out the window. But, somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes into the silence after we leave the zoo, my hand slips down, and my fingers lace with his.

Twenty-Four

There’s something peaceful about holding Blake’s hand, stroking his knuckles with my fingers, and riding in silence as we listen to the radio.