“Okay,” I say. I rub my hand over him and he hisses and closes his eyes.
It’s thrilling.
I do it again.
He catches my hand in both of his, lifts it up, and kisses my thumb.
“If you keep doing that I’m going to ejaculate all over my nice linen pants and embarrass myself in front of my family.”
I giggle.
“Remember in high school how we would dry hump in your room and you would—”
“Get wet spots on my jeans? Yes, Molly. I do remember that. Thank you for the reminder.”
“God, we were so horny.”
He looks down ruefully at his erection. “Not much has changed on my end, I’m afraid.”
“If you could feel how soaked my—”
He claps a hand over my mouth.
“Now you’re just torturing me.”
I am, but I’m also trying to distract from the tension between us. The unspoken feelings. The vast question of what, if anything, comes next.
Which is childish.
If I want this, I need to actually be an adult and face my own fears.
“I think we need to talk,” I say.
Seth nods. “Yes.”
He looks like he’s organizing his thoughts to speak, but I gather my courage.
“I’ve really missed you.”
His face does this beautiful thing. The light begins in his eyes and then travels down to his mouth, which spreads into a smile so wide it shows all his teeth. The lines around his eyes crinkle into little rivers of happiness. It’s an expression of absolute, unguarded delight.
“I’ve missed you so much, Molls. Come here.”
He opens his arms and I pivot my hips and we wrap ourselves around each other.
In the distance, the music ends and a man’s voice requests that everyone return to their seats for a toast from Kevin’s father.
“Oh shit,” I say. It’s too early to sneak off. “We should probably go back. I don’t want to be rude.”
He nods and offers me his hand to help me up.
“Also,” I add, “I’m staying with my mom, so I’m not sure I can … um, not go home. I mean I can but it would provoke a conversation that I really don’t feel like enduring.”
He laughs. “Same here. But what are you doing tomorrow?”
“Sleeping off a champagne hangover?”
“Would you go on a date with me?”
The way he asks it has a trace of vulnerability. Like he’s worried I might actually say no.
“Yes,” I say. “I’d love to.”
“Do you know what might be fun? We could go back to the place where we had our first date.”
“That corny brunch place with the pancake bar? Is that still around?”
“Roberta’s on the Cove,” he says, grinning. “It’s still there. I checked.” He pauses. “I’ve been planning to ask you out all night. Just been gathering the nerve.”
I love how boyish he seems. The part of me that knew him when we were fifteen, when he was so nervous to be with me in the beginning, lights up with recognition.
“Okay,” I say. “Elaborate pancakes with retirees it is.”
He squeezes my hand. “Can I pick you up at eleven?”
I nod. “I’ll text you the address.”
He puts his hand on the small of my back as we walk back to the terrace. When we reach the stairs, he stops me and puts a kiss on my temple.
