Page 107 of Today Tonight Tomorrow

And he’s right, so I peel myself out of bed to turn everything off and then wait a minute to make sure my parents aren’t moving around downstairs. When I’m confident they’re still safely ensconced in scotch comas, I crawl back to him.

He reaches for me, but I place a gentle hand on his chest.

“Hold on,” I say. “How far are we going here, exactly? We should talk about… whatever it is that we’re doing. Or not doing.” Anxiously, I tug at my bangs. “Because I’m kind of on board with all of it, but I know you haven’t, you know. Had sex.”

The weight of it hovers between us. Neil pushes into a sitting position, the sheets pooled around our ankles. This isn’t like with Spencer, where, because I’d already done it with Luke, I figured, why not. I want this, with Neil. I want to talk about it, and I want him to feel comfortable talking about it with me. The idea of being with him in that way makes me dizzy with desire. I want more than this one night, but I can’t think about the future right now.

“Trust me,” he says, his hand settling on my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “there is literally nothing I want more than you. Not even valedictorian.”

“I don’t know if having sex is better than being valedictorian. And I’m also not sure that’s the correct usage of ‘literally.’ You should know that.”

“With you, it might be.” Worry flickers across his face. “I have to be honest. I’m a little nervous. That I’ll, like, mess up or something, or make it horrible for you. And then you’ll never want to do this again, which would be devastating, given how much I like you.”

His nerves endear him to me even more. I like that he doesn’t immediately become this smooth, overconfident guy.

; “I’m nervous too,” I admit. “Excited, but nervous, and that’s normal. That’s why we’ll talk to each other. We’ve always been good at that, right?” I say, and he nods. “The first time with someone is usually imperfect. That’s part of what makes it fun: figuring out together how to make it good.”

“It’s not going to be romance-novel perfect,” he says, but he’s not admonishing me.

“No. Not the first time, and probably not the second or third either. Maybe not ever, honestly, but it’ll be ours. And… that might be better.”

His thumb draws circles on my hip. “Are you sure you want this too? We haven’t—I mean, we’ve known each other awhile, but we only just kissed tonight, and…” A rambly Neil McNair is almost too adorable.

It’s an easy decision. “I’m sure.”

“And hey, you still have a condom in your backpack.”

I groan. “Oh my God. I was so mortified.”

“Chekhov’s condom,” he says, and then I’m laughing along with him.

“I do, in fact, have some that haven’t been sitting in Kirby’s locker for God knows how long.”

It takes only a moment to slip out of bed and grab them, a moment to shed our underwear. Another few moments to help him put one on before realizing it’s inside out. Into the trash it goes, and then we try again.

Once we get it right, it doesn’t last extremely long, because we’re tired or because it’s his first time or some combination of both. Every so often, he checks in with me, asking if it’s still good, if I’m still good. And yes. Yes. We try our best to be quiet, but we can’t stop whispering to each other. We’ve only just become friends, real friends, and there’s so much we want to say.

He finishes first, and then his fingers drift down between us and he gets me there for the second time tonight. Another thing I’ve learned: Neil McNair is exceedingly generous.

Then we’re quiet, quieter than my sleeping, darkened house. It’s a peaceful, appreciative kind of quiet. I burrow close to him, resting my cheek against his heartbeat while he plays with my hair.

“Earth-shattering,” he says.

“What just happened? Agreed.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Well, yes, but I meant you.”

ROWAN

good morning

this is a friendly reminder that you have one (1) minute and counting before I wake you up

5:31 a.m.

WHEN I WAKE up, I’m immediately hit with that panicky feeling you get on weekends sometimes when you’re convinced you’re late for school.