“Ah. And your high-school boyfriend?”
“Because you’re definitely going to know his name.”
“Where did you grow up again? Maybe I have a friend of a friend…”
“Western Maryland. Basically in West Virginia.”
Mac twists his face into a thinking scowl. “Tell me his name,” he prompts.
“Drew Cleary.”
“Oh my god!” Mac says like he does know him.
“Oh, stop,” I say and slap his knee.
He smirks and grabs my hand. I pull it away, playfully slapping his knee again. It’s all just a silly excuse to touch each other. Maybe it’s the beer or my growing attraction to Mac, but my lips feel tingly and my body feels like it could burst with wanting him to touch me again and more. His knee against mine is such a tease.
“And was there a middle-school boyfriend?” he asks.
“Yes. Stephen…I forget his last name, but that doesn’t count.”
“It counts if you kissed.”
“Oh, are those the rules?” I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Those are the rules.”
“Well, me and Duncan Hart kissed in middle school, but he was never my boyfriend. Just my first kiss.”
“Duncan Hart. Lucky guy.” He says that last thing into his drink.
I blush all the way down to my chest and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “And your first kiss?” I ask.
“Rebecca Bloomingate, seventh grade, after our orchestra concert, in the parking lot of my middle school.”
“So was this a one-night stand, or did you and Rebecca have a long, happy relationship?” I ask.
“Oh, no, she used me. She had another boy she was chasing, Chuckie. I don’t remember his last name. But the next day she and Chuckie were an item and I was just another dork playing the cello and mooning over Rebecca.” He takes a sip. “My first real heartbreak.” He says this with a smile, but I have a feeling there’s some truth to it.
“My first heartbreak was this kid Matt Tropiano,” I say. “He was a little jackass, but fifteen-year-old me didn’t know that. I had such a huge crush on him, and he did not notice me. Until we got paired together in a group project.”
“Uh-oh.”
“And I thought for sure this was it. This was when he would notice me. And for like a week he was so nice to me. I thought he was flirting with me and that we were vibing, but as soon as the project was over he went back to ignoring me. And I did all the work on the project. He didn’t do anything but present it.”
Mac’s expression is the exact right reaction for this story. Pained and understanding.
“I thought he liked me, and I remember I told all my friends. I wrote it in my diary. I felt really dumb. The sting of rejection is not for the weak of heart,” I say.
“Is that what’s happening here, by the way? Are you hanging out with me because I’m smarter than you and you just need some school help?” Mac asks, smirking. He bumps his leg against mine again, and I gawk at him. I give him another playful slap on the leg.
This time when he grabs my hand, I don’t pull it away. He loosens his grip but intertwines his fingers with mine. I pretend to be cool about it, but inside I am on fire. The heat starts in my hand, radiating up my arm and spreading through all of me like lava.
Is he feeling this too?
“First of all, I think my grades speak for themselves as to which of us is smarter, and, um, to be honest, up until, like, two weeks ago I kind of hated your guts.”
“Really?” He leans forward, further into my space.
