Page 25 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

“How have you never been on a second date?”

“No one has ever asked?” Her voice lifts up on the last word, like she’s answering with a question, unsure of her own response.

She looks down at her hands, her shoulders slumping again, my heart tanking right along with them. I can feel the unease wafting off her, regret filling me. I’m the one who made her feel this way, and I could kick myself for doing so.

“Bren…” I reach out, taking her hand and squeezing it. She doesn’t pull away, which is a good sign, but she doesn’t look up either. I need to make sure she knows that she has nothing to be embarrassed about. “No judgment here. This is me. You can tell me anything.”

She looks up, mouth pursed to one side, clearly questioning that last statement. “Apparently not without making you almost crash.”

“That’s fair,” I acquiesce. “Is this why you clammed up when Anton asked about the family thing?” She nods, her silent affirmation stirring more questions in me. “I…I feel like I’m missing something here. You’ve dated; I’ve heard about it.”

Hell, I’ve witnessed it. I helped take her prom pictures. And some guy stopped by our tailgate when we all went up to Athens for a UGA game a couple of years ago. I watched Nick Scarborough flirt with her at my own damn bar the other night. Then again, flirting doesn’t mean anything. And Kenzie did say he was a player.

“Hung out is probably a better way of putting it.” She sighs, turning to fully face me. Her face is the color of my mother’s tomato sauce, and her hands are fidgeting with the seatbelt. “Milo, this is really embarrassing to have to admit to you. Mortifying, actually. I know I opened the door with my comment, but now having to walk through it…this is not the kind of thing any girl wants to admit to.”

“Totally fair.”

I give her a moment to decide if she wants to continue. I don’t blame her if she doesn’t—if she wants to tell me that the conversation is over and to just head back to the loft. But that needs to be her call. I’m here no matter what she chooses.

“Promise this stays between us?”

I nod, holding up my hand, pinky finger extended. “Promise.”

One side of Brenna’s mouth quirks up into an almost smile, and she returns the gesture, wrapping her pinky around mine.

“No one has ever wanted to go out on a second date with me.”

Her voice is small. Not quite a whisper, but the complete lack of power behind it lays out all the hurt that comes with it. That this is the worst thing she could ever have to admit to. Which, it probably is.

“Not something I’ve ever said out loud,” she continues. “But that’s where we’re at. No guy wants me.”

“Bren, you’re amazing. You’re smart and funny and⁠—”

She cuts me off with a look. One that very clearly says, “Thanks, Dad!” So I dial it back. Because, yeah…placating is not the answer. She needs someone who is going to listen. Who is going to be supportive.

“It’s sweet of you to say those things, Milo, but I can face facts. There is something wrong with me.”

I reel backward, her self-assessment exploding almost as much as her first bomb.

“Boys are dumb. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“What’s the one thing that all the guys I’ve gone out with, or gotten to know, or slept with have in common? Me. I’m the common denominator here. I’m a scientist. I can deduce from there.”

Well, that answers my question about her virginity…

I sigh, wishing I had something to say that would make her feel better. But I don’t. It’s pretty clear, looking at her with the dejected look on her face, that there’s very little that is going to fix this, if anything.

Despite all that, she still looks beautiful with the setting summer sun behind her, bouncing off her brown hair. If we were any other guy-girl pair, I’d be giving in to the urge to haul her into my lap, hold her as tight as I could, and kiss her until we both couldn’t breathe.

Instead, I’m going to have to settle for something a little colder.

Literally.

“You know, I invented a beer for moments just like this.”

Brenna scoffs out a laugh, her mouth tilting upward once more. “Sob Story?”

“Or Party Mode. Whichever you prefer.”