Page 23 of What You Never Knew

I reach out and put a hand on his arm. “I do. Really, I do, and thank you. I’ve never looked at it that way. And I’m glad you read it and liked it. The idea that even after we lost touch you were reading my book makes me feel really good. You were one of my best friends back then, Ezra, and it means so much to me that even after we went our separate ways, you were still connected to me in some way. That you still cared.” I’m rambling a bit, but I don’t seem to be able to stop. It’s just all pouring out of me.

“Went our separate ways? I think you mean when you went to sailing club and got too cool for me and barely managed to say hi that day in town.” His words stop my words short.

I wince. “Yeah, but let’s just forget about that little blip in our friendship, shall we?”

“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand. I shake it. He gives his empty beer bottle a shake. “Let’s go inside so I can get another one of these.”

I flip the record over, and we sit on the couch. He asks me about my girls. I enjoy describing them in detail, their likes, dislikes, quirks, accomplishments. I, of course, show him way too many pictures of them on my phone. He asks me about Leo, but the song change distracts him and I’m grateful I don’t have to answer.

“My dad used to play this song on his guitar.” He’s absorbed in a memory for a few seconds and then holds out his hand to me. “Care to dance?”

At first I think he’s joking, but he keeps his hand there until I take it, and then he pulls me up off the couch and into his arms. I can feel his body through his thin T-shirt. I put my hand on his neck, and he puts his on my lower back. The placement is calculated, on both our parts. I can move my hand up into his hair to further the intimacy, and he can move his down.

Strategies I know well. One slight move of the hand and you’ve gone from harmless and platonic to intimate and illicit. A game I thrive on. I let my breath catch and then sigh it out, and his grip on me tightens. Taking my hand out of his, I wrap both arms around his neck to deepen our embrace.

I’m steering this thing right in the direction I know I shouldn’t. I promised myself I would be better; take things slower, care less about the conquest and more about the relationship. But this is Ezra and we already have a relationship, and it’s been so very long since I’ve been touched or done any touching.

We’re moving but not at all to the music. “This song is a bit awkward to dance to,” I say.

He pulls back just slightly. “I agree. I think it was just a lame excuse to get close to you.”

That’s all I needed. I lean up just slightly—he’s not that much taller than me—and put my lips on his. Unlike the first time, we know what we’re doing. My hand finally makes its way into his thick hair. His hand makes his way down. The kiss is soft and gentle at first, but I grab the back of his neck, go in deeper. The weed buzzes through me, intensifying everything. Then he stops. Taking a step back, he laughs and shakes his head.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I’m just high and the tiniest bit drunk.”

“Yeah. Me too. And?”

He sighs and rolls his hand forward before he can find his words. “I don’t think we should do anything this way. I mean, if that’s where things are headed. And it’s so soon. I just—I don’t know.”

I give him a pat on the arm. “It’s okay, Ezra. It’s no big deal.”

He gets a wounded look in his eyes. “It’s a big deal to me, June. You’re a big deal to me. Always have been.”

“I didn’t mean that you and I aren’t a big deal. I just meant it’s not a big deal if we don’t do anything else.”

He nods but looks a bit confused. “Maybe I should go. It’s pretty late.”

“Can you drive a boat like this?”

“I could drive blindfolded, I know this lake so well.”

I take a step closer, put my hands on his chest. “You could also stay over. We won’t be high all night.” The words sound desperate, I know, but he’s flipped that switch inside me and it’s hard to turn it off if I don’t get what I want.

He groans and moves away from me. “My god. Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Look at me like that. And even if I thought it was a good idea”—he raises both eyebrows—“which I don’t, I can’t stay, not without telling my mom first. If she needed me in the night and I wasn’t there, it would be bad.”

His explanation deflates me. “You’re certainly devoted to her,” I say. It comes out sounding a bit resentful, so I try to soften it. “I mean, that’s good. It’s admirable.”

He shrugs. “She’s the only family I’ve got left.”

“You’ve got me. Your blood sister.” I take his hand and stroke the place where I cut into his palm a million years ago.

He smiles, a soft, warm, authentic smile that twists my insides up for reasons I can’t quite name. “That’s good to know.”