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"What kind of nervous?" he whispers playfully in my ear. "The good kind, or the bad kind?"
"Definitely the good kind." I fidget in my spot, sweat dotting my palms. What if he doesn't like this place? I bet he had something more fun in mind when he thought of a date. I should have let him choose the spot. "Do you like it here? We can go somewhere more fun if you want, where there are people—”
"This is perfect," he interrupts. "If there were more people around, I'd have to share you, or at least your attention. I’m greedy. I want you all to myself."
"Oh."
I freeze when I feel his lips tugging at my earlobe, then trailing along my cheek.
"Dani?"
"Yes."
"Are you still sure about this? I can take you home if you want. We can pretend this night never happened. It won't change anything, I swear."
"Why do you keep asking that?"
"Because I keep thinking you’ll finally come to your senses and realize you should be going on a date with someone more like yourself. Someone who's grown up in a mansion, plays lacrosse in their free time, and has an Ivy League spot waiting for them, and later a brilliant career. He should’ve had the privilege of having your first kiss. I hate him already."
"I already gave my first kiss to you." I pull his arms tighter around me. I don't have an Ivy League spot waiting for me, but Oxford. This doesn't seem the right time to bring that up. In fact, in this very moment, the idea of attending college across the ocean doesn't fill me with the usual elation.
"Tell me about the fighting. Why are you doing it? How did it start?"
"After Mom got sick, she couldn't work anymore. Her benefits were a joke. I had to get a job. She wouldn't let me drop out of school, so I could only work a few hours after school and on weekends. I tried different jobs, but they paid almost nothing. Then someone approached me about fighting. When I realized I could make more money working less, I didn't look back. I never told her."
"What did she say about your bruises?"
"She thought I was getting into fights at school." His voice trembles slightly. "And toward the end, she was too far gone to notice."
"I'm sorry." I wedge myself closer into his arms, and he rests his head in the crook of my neck. "You don't have to keep doing it now, though."
"Yes, I do," he says forcefully. "I don't need that prick's money."
I let the subject drop, and we remain in silence for long moments.
"Damon, is this how first dates are supposed to be?" I ask, worried he wants something more exciting.
"Not at all. First dates are showtime, where people pretend to be something they aren't to impress someone who is acting just as fake. This—...you and me—...it's different." He shifts until he’s next to me, and then kisses me gently until I melt in his arms and moan against his lips.
"I didn't know kissing could be like this."
After a pause, he whispers back, "Neither did I."
"You’ve kissed a lot of girls, haven’t you?"
"None like you." I shiver in his arms as a cold breeze reaches me. "Are you cold? Don't lie."
"No," I lie, but then I sneeze.
"Okay, that's it, I'm taking you home."
***
"This tops all the firsts we’ve had until now. Breaking in my house, in my room." I decided it was too risky to use the entrance, in case my parents are still downstairs. My bedroom is on the second floor, but climbing there isn't too cumbersome. There is a massive oak tree right in front of my room with a tree house in it. We have no business with the tree house, but the ladder leading to it comes in handy. Luckily, I left the window open. Reaching inside, I turn on the lamp on my desk in front of the window with shaky hands. I've never had a boy in my room.
As we both climb inside and down my desk, Damon asks, "A lot of firsts with me, huh?"
"I hope to have a lot more." I swallow hard, glancing at him in the dimly lit room. We’re both still leaning on the desk. "You made all the firsts extraordinary."
