said ARMY on the front. “It’s mostly clean. I had it on this morning before my run, but left it in the car because today was so warm.”
“Good enough for me. Thanks. Can you hold this?” I handed him my cone and pulled on the sweatshirt. It was huge on me, but definitely cozy. It smelled nice too.
“Looks good on you,” he said, giving me back my ice cream.
“Thanks. This reminds me of the time you came to see me in DC when you were in the Army.”
He frowned. “Was I wearing it?”
“No, you were in uniform. But we walked around the city and I got cold, so you bought me an I-heart-DC sweatshirt and a hot chocolate.” It was also the day I’d thought he might finally kiss me, but he hadn’t.
“Oh yeah. I remember.” He grinned. “You spilled the hot chocolate on the sweatshirt.”
“I did. And I had to walk around wearing a stain for the rest of the day.”
As we walked, we caught each other up a little more on our families, reminisced about teenage memories, laughed at inside jokes. At the end of the pier was a bench, and we sat down. The wind was stronger out here, and I was glad for his sweatshirt. Finished with my ice cream by then, I pulled the elastic from my wrist and tugged my hair into a ponytail. When I was done, I brought my heels up to the bench and wrapped my arms around my legs.
“God, this reminds me so much of summers when I was young,” I said. “My sisters and I used to ride our bikes into town and just hang out and eat ice cream. Then we’d have to race home like crazy to avoid missing curfew. Except Chloe. She missed it all the time.”
“But you never did?”
I shook my head. “Never. I was a rule follower. Scared to do anything wrong. Although,” I went on, laughing a little. “I did have my first kiss on this very bench. He copped a pretty good feel too. I thought I was going to die.”
“Who was it?” Noah asked. He sounded kind of mad about it, like he might go kick the guy’s ass.
“His name was Austin Brown. He moved away shortly after that.” I sighed. “Our romance was cut tragically short.” I looked over at him. “What about you? Who was your first kiss?”
“I have no idea.”
“What? Yes, you do. Come on.”
“No, I really don’t.” He squinted out at the bay. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was eighth grade and her name might have been Sarah. Or Samantha.”
“Sarah or Samantha,” I mused, surprised at the flare of jealousy in my gut. “Did you cop a feel?”
“I doubt it. It took me a while to get brave enough to do that. Former altar boy and all.”
“You were an altar boy?” I squealed. “How did I not know that?”
“You don’t know everything about me.”
Our eyes met, and a hot little current buzzed between us.
“I guess I don’t,” I said slowly. “An altar boy, huh?”
“Yep.” A smile tipped his lips. They were full and looked soft. I wondered what his kiss tasted like. What his scruff would feel like on my cheek, or moving down my throat. When he caught me staring at his mouth, I quickly looked out at the water and kept talking, mostly out of nerves.
“I remember going home the night Austin first kissed me, rushing up the stairs to my bedroom, locking my door, and staring at myself in the mirror above my dresser, desperately hoping I looked different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t even know exactly. More mature. More experienced. Like I was in on the secret.”
“God, that’s such a girl thing. How the hell was one kiss from some skinny-ass, barely pubescent teenage boy, who probably came in his pants the second he touched your boob, going to make you look more mature?”
“I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulders. “You really think he came in his pants?”
He laughed. “Chances are good. And if he didn’t, he probably went home and finished himself off thinking about you.”
“Seriously?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or creeped out.
“Sorry. That’s probably too much information about teenage boy brain.”
I thought for a second before braving the question. “Is that what you did with Sarah/Samantha?”
“Uh, it’s likely. I did it all the time back then. And afterward I always felt guilty about it—my inner altar boy thought it was a sin. For the longest time I worried