“More like you wouldn’t stop talking about fossils until I agreed to get coffee.”
She throws a pillow at me. “Fine. We can make itboringif you really want. But I’m telling everyone we’re getting a cat named Peppermint when we move in together.”
“We’re not getting a cat.”
“Every good couple needs future plans! So yes, we’re getting a cat. And naming it Peppermint. This is non-negotiable.”
She looks so serious I am actually sort-of worried she might pull out if I don’t agree. Plus, I realize we are arguing about a fictional future, so I give in. “Fine. The hypothetical cat can be called Peppermint. But she’s got to be black.”
Tara beams at me.
We go over a few more details, things that are likely to come up. I explain my research to her in some more detail and she tells me about her family life, her parents, her time in high school. I nod, enjoying hearing every detail about her more than I should be. Her plump lips keepdistracting me, I keep remembering how it felt to kiss her. I told her I barely remember but that’s a lie. I remember. And I keep replaying that torturous memory in my mind. Over and over again.
Tara pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. There’s something nervous in her posture now, a hesitation that wasn’t there a second ago.
“Just say it, Tara.”
She exhales sharply, like she’s debating whether to back out. Then she bites her lip. “What are we going to do about, um, physical contact?”
I blink. That’s what she’s nervous about?
I shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of the space between us. Or lack of it.
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes drop to my comforter like it holds all the answers in the universe. “Well, couples touch, right? Hold hands and stuff. We should probably... practice? So it looks natural?”
Jesus Christ.
“We don’t need to practice.” My voice is rougher than I intend.
Her head snaps up. “But what if it looks awkward? What if your brother can tell we’re faking because I flinch when you touch me or?—”
“Would you flinch when I touch you?”
Her cheeks flush pink so fast I feel it like a victory. “No! I mean, I wouldn’t. I just... after the hallway, I thought maybe...”
The hallway.
The memory slams into me—her pressed against thedisplay case, my hands in her hair, her mouth soft and reckless against mine.
I shut my eyes, counting to ten. Do not think about that right now.
“Tara,” I manage, forcing my voice to stay even. “It’s not... We can hold hands if we need to. Put my arm around you. Whatever. But we don’t need to practice. Because it’ll look forced if we choreograph every touch. We can just... touch like normal.”
I open my eyes.
She’s watching me.
And then—her entire demeanor shifts.
It’s subtle. A shift of weight, a change in her breathing. Her earlier uncertainty morphs into something slower, more dangerous.
“Yeah?” Her voice is softer now. Too soft. She leans in slightly. “How do you usually touch me?”
A spark flares in my chest, dangerous and uninvited.
“I don’t,” I reply, voice low.
