Chapter 11

“Joe!”

I jolted awake at the sound of my father’s voice, booming from the doorway on Saturday morning. The sunlight pouring into my room made me squint as I blinked up at him.

“Yeah?” I mumbled, still groggy.

“I’m going to the range. If you have any intention of going hunting with me next month, get your ass out of bed and down to the car. It’s nine o’clock, for Christ’s sake.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m coming. Two minutes.”

Maybe it was three. I grabbed a shirt and jeans from the pile on the floor, pulled on my socks and shoes, and stumbled downstairs.

Neither of us spoke as we drove.

Ten minutes after leaving the driveway, we left town and were headed through the gap. At seventy miles an hour, the state game lands were just five minutes ahead, but the silence between us stretched uncomfortably long.

I tried to think of something to say. He hated sports. I sure as hell couldn’t talk about Hannah. Politics? We usually agreed, but the only news was the Pope visiting Jimmy Carter—not exactly range talk.

So, I just stared out the window, looking for glimpses of the river below, in between glancing up at the top of the ridge on the opposite side, fifteen hundred feet higher.

Finally, just before reaching the small town at the end of the gorge, he turned onto a gravel road, the tires crunching as we wound up the incline.

The pavilion and firing range came into view—a clearing surrounded by dense trees and rocky outcroppings.

Dad threw the car in park and said, “Help me get the stuff out of the trunk.”

I was glad I grabbed my jacket as it wasn’t going to get much higher than fifty.

I stepped around to the back of the car as Dad popped the trunk open, waiting for me to grab my Springfield thirty-aught-six before he lifted out his Winchester two-seventy, several boxes of ammo, and a set of paper targets.

He handed me two of the targets, their printed bullseyes stark against the white background.

“Take these out to the hundred-yard mark. Meet me back at the bench.”

No chit-chat. Just business.

The cold air stung my lungs as I jogged across the range, tacking up the targets before hurrying back.

I loaded six rounds into my rifle’s magazine, snapped it into place, and braced for my first shot.

“Sit on the bench.”

I turned. Dad was watching me closely, his expression unreadable.

“You need to be as stable as possible,” he said, setting his own rifle down. “That way, we know if any errors are from the sights and not from you being shaky.”

I nodded and took my seat.

Settling my rifle onto the rest, I lined up my shot—closing my left eye, focusing down the iron sights, and aiming dead center at the target a hundred yards out.

I squeezed the trigger.

The butt of the rifle slammed into my shoulder as a thunderous boom shattered the silence, the echo rolling across the hillside.

I reset my grip and fired again. The target twitched from the impact, but I was already squeezing off another round.

Six shots. Less than two minutes.

I stood and stepped aside.

Dad wordlessly replaced me, setting up with his Winchester that used a lighter, faster round that cracked through the air with a sharper report.

Once we were both finished, he motioned for me to retrieve the targets.

Jogging back, I handed him mine first.

He studied it for a long moment, then finally spoke. “You’re a little over three inches left at a hundred yards. That’s three inches in thirty-six hundred, or one in twelve hundred.”

He flipped open a small, well-worn notebook, scanning a few lines before muttering, “A bit under two minutes.”

Then he turned to me, extending a hand. “Let me see the rifle.”

Dad leaned in close to the rear sight, his fingers adjusting the screw at the edge. He glanced up at me. “I figure next year will be your last time deer hunting.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “Have you been paying attention? Ever? Who’s going to sight your rifle for you?”

I pointed at the rifle. “Uh ... yeah. You were using trig to calculate the angle.”

His frown deepened. “Do you even know how to clean it?”

I hesitated. “You’ve got some oil and rags, you wipe it down...”

He let out a slow breath. “But you don’t know the details. You never pay attention. You’re one of the smartest people I know, but you piss your life away with ball games and playing with yourself instead of studying or learning any real-life skills.”

“But—”

He cut me off, voice rising. “Do you know how to change the oil in a car? I’ve been trying to show you this stuff since you were three!”

A knot formed in my chest as I felt a tear welling up. I turned away, swallowing hard. “Yeah ... uh ... I don’t know!” My voice cracked, frustration and shame twisting in my gut. “I’m sorry. I like to hunt, but I’m not into the same stuff as you.”

He folded his arms. “Tell me, son—don’t you want to be somebody? Or, as the song says, just another brick in the wall?”

I met his gaze. “Of course I do!”

He jabbed his finger at me. “You don’t show it. You have to be willing to do the work, but you never seem to want to go that far. You got a year and a half until you finish school. Then what?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know yet. I like figuring things out, finding answers. If I stay in town, I might work at Metropolitan Life.”

His lips pressed into a hard line. “But when you switched your major—without asking us—you went to econ instead of math. Insurance wants experience in actuarial science.”

I hesitated. “If I leave town, I think I’d really like to work for the CIA.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering that. “Okay, that’s something.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But what about your grades?”

I sighed. “We’re only six weeks into the semester, but I’m getting mostly A’s.”

His voice was sharp. “I mean the two years you pissed away, barely passing.”

I looked down and shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll have an entrance exam.”

“Maybe?” He scoffed. “You need to know these things for sure. If you want to be some kind of analyst, you better start doing some research. Now.”

I nodded, reluctantly. “Yes.”

He pressed on. “You get out for the summer in April, right?”

“Yeah.”

He pointed at me, voice firm. “Okay. Not this coming spring, but after that—when you graduate. Eighteen months. Do your homework, because once you’re out of school, you’ll have ninety days to find your own place.”

I snapped my head up, staring at him. “What?”

“You’ll be turning twenty-two with a college degree. Damn well old enough to take care of yourself. Time to be a man.”

I stared at him, stunned. A lump formed in my throat, but I refused to let another tear fall.

I finally nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

“Good.” He pointed at the table. “Now take another set of targets out there so I can see if I applied the corrections properly.”

Later, back at the car, we loaded the rifles into the trunk. As I was about to climb into the passenger seat, Dad reached into the back and pulled out a small box.

“Wait a minute.”

I turned as he handed it to me.

“You remember what I told you about not bringing home any goddamn mistakes?”

My stomach tightened. “Uh, yeah.”

“Quickest way to mess up the rest of your life.”

I glanced down and flipped open the lid.

A hundred condoms.

Dad crossed his arms. “Think that’ll last you a while?”

I flushed, glancing away. “It’s not like that, I...”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me any bull. It only takes one time.”

I let out a slow breath, grinning despite myself. “Okay, um ... thank you?”

Not a word was said on the ride home.

Box in hand, I ran up to my room, looked around, then decided to shove it in the back of my sock drawer.

I was still rattled and needed to see Hannah.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my keys and bounded down the stairs.

Mom was at the stove as I came around the corner. “You want some lunch?”

“No, thanks—I’m heading up to the mall for a while.”

She turned, stirring a pot. “You going to be home for supper?”

With one hand on the back door, I hesitated. “Uh, I don’t ... wait, yeah. I’ll be here.”

“Okay, I’ll plan for your return. Don’t forget, we have bowling later.”

Instead of taking the highway directly to the mall, I veered toward Hannah’s house.

I knocked, but when Aunt Janet opened the door, she waved me inside. “Joe, you’re family, you don’t have to knock. Just come on in.”

“Thanks.”

As we entered the living room, she asked, “So, what’s up?”

“I was heading over to the mall and wondered if anyone wanted to come along. Maybe we can catch a movie.”

From the couch, Dave shook his head. “Sorry, bro, I’m going over to Susie’s.”

Hannah raised a hand. “Yeah, I’ll go. I’m not doing anything.”

I nodded. “Hey, fine, c’mon.”

She followed me out to the car, and once we were moving, I shot her a glance. “Nice reply there. Didn’t want to make it obvious.”

She smirked. “No problem. But it is a pleasant surprise.”

I sighed. “Eh, I was having a pretty rotten day. Was out with Dad this morning, and he started on me again. I was hoping you could cheer me up.”

“Bugging you about a job again?”

I nodded, gripping the wheel. “Yeah. And ready to kick me out of the house as soon as I finish school two summers from now.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You know you can’t steal money from his sock drawer forever.”

I wagged a finger at her. “Oh, don’t you start, too!”

She laughed, holding up her hands. “Hey, just saying.”

Then her expression turned playful. “So how was the game yesterday? You know—the one you saw without me?”

“You had school!”

She slapped my arm, laughing. “That didn’t stop you! How many classes did you cut?”

I winced. “Just two.”

She shook her head, wagging a finger. “Remember, you switched majors to get your grades up.”

“It was a great game. You would’ve loved it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“You know how the lower level is metal, so they can rotate the stands for the Steelers?”

“Of course.”

“Everyone down there was jumping up and down together, and the stands were rippling in waves! And late in the game, we kept yelling at Dave Collins out in right field.”

She shook her head. “Bunch of hoodlums.”

I grinned. “We were excited! Finally beat the damn Reds. Can’t wait for the Series to start on Tuesday.”

I pulled into the lot right by the entrance next to the theater. It was still chilly, and Hannah clutched my arm as we walked past the rows of cars and up to the building.

As we stepped inside, she turned to me and asked, “What’s playing?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure—let’s go check the marquee.”

Standing in front of the posters, I scanned the options. “Looks like 10 with Bo Derek and Starting Over with Burt Reynolds.”

Hannah stared at the display, then fixed me with a stern look. “No way I’m sitting next to you while you watch Bo Derek running around naked.”

I frowned, tilting my head. “Uh, yes ma’am. So, I guess it’s Burt Reynolds?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed with a nod. “That ought to be good for a laugh, and he’s a hunk.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Oh, so you can look, but I can’t?”

She pointed a finger at me playfully. “He’ll be dressed—big difference.”

I smirked. “As far as you know.”

I paid for the matinee tickets, and as we passed by the concessions, Hannah eyed me knowingly.

“Do you have enough left for some popcorn or something?”

I rummaged through my pockets, pulling bills from my left and coins from my right. “Eh, two dollars and change.”

She shook her head disapprovingly and snatched the bills from my hand.

As we entered the dimly lit theater, the previews had already begun to roll. I pointed toward a row in the back where we might be afforded some privacy, but she tugged my arm, leading me toward the front.

“I want to see Burt close up.”

Once we settled in, I reached for her popcorn, but she batted my hand away. “Sorry, not enough for two. You should’ve brought more money.” She smirked as she tossed a kernel into her mouth.

The movie started with Reynolds offering some philosophical narration over the opening credits, the meaning of which became clearer as the action opened inside an affluent-looking bedroom. He was lecturing Candice Bergen as she watched him transfer his possessions from a dresser into a suitcase on the bed.

She pleaded, insisting her desire to pursue music was real and not like her other infatuations, but then he found love letters to another man taped to the bottom of the dresser drawer. Holding them up, he asked with a mix of sadness and anger, “Did you want me to find these?”

Hannah elbowed me. “If you ever pull that kind of crap on me, you’d better run.”

I grinned. “Oh, I believe it.”

Reynolds’ character, Phil Potter, moved in with his brother and sister-in-law in a peaceful suburban neighborhood. On his second trip to their home, he was walking behind a woman who seemed nervous, clutching her coat tightly against herself in the crisp autumn air.

Suddenly, she whipped around and screamed, “I have a knife, and I’ll cut your fucking balls off!”

My eyes widened in shock, and I leaned in to whisper. “She seems nice.”

Hannah giggled. “Yeah, I was expecting a comedy.”

The woman raced to Phil’s brother’s house and disappeared inside. When Phil knocked on the door moments later, his sister-in-law explained that her friend had just called the police on him for being a pervert—only to realize she was his intended date for the evening.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, they all had a good laugh, but Marilyn wasn’t interested in dating Phil right away.

“Maybe in three or four months,” she said.

To which Phil replied, “Do you know anyone who will go out with me now?”

The humor was low-key but charming, following Phil as he pursued his romance with Marilyn while fixing up the dilapidated brownstone apartment he’d recently moved into.

At one point, Phil told his divorced men’s support group that he hadn’t slept with Marilyn yet. One of the other men suggested, “Maybe she’s special.”

Phil later confided to Marilyn that he worked as a writer and was about to start teaching creative writing at a community college.

When he looked pensive, she asked, “What’s bothering you?”

“Two things,” he admitted.

“Which are?”

He looked her directly in the eyes and declared, “I want to have sex with you.”

Hannah punched me in the arm.

On screen, Marilyn replied, “I don’t want romance either, but can’t you just personalize it?”

“I’m not that good.”

The next scene showed them in bed together, and Hannah interlaced her fingers with mine, pulling closer to my side.

The next morning, Marilyn was alone in bed, while Phil was already driving away.

Hannah yanked my arm. “Oh, that’s cold—where the hell is he going?”

Phil later called, and Marilyn tearfully yelled, “I will not let anyone do that to me! I am not a one-nighter!”

He whimsically replied, “I left a note.”

Hannah pointed a finger at the screen. “You go, girl!”

They made up, and soon it was Thanksgiving dinner at his brother’s house. Then Phil’s ex-wife Jessie called, and things got awkward.

Everyone at the table could hear him talking, and when he referred to Marilyn as “a friend” instead of by name, she stormed off.

“How could you call me a friend?”

“I felt like I was cheating on my wife.”

“Bastard! I don’t breathe right without you! Who are we kidding here? You’re hung up on your ex-wife!”

Phil pleaded. “I can’t see you because I did one dumb thing?”

I whispered. “Oh man, he stepped in it.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Well, he was a bastard.”

I grinned. “Oh, oh ... language, young lady!”

She stuck out her tongue at me.

I nudged her with my elbow. “Don’t be sticking that thing out unless you intend to use it.”

She smirked and clutched my arm.

Phil continued to pursue Marilyn, and eventually, she relented when he asked her to move in. They seemed happy—until one day, Phil came home from Christmas shopping to find his ex-wife, Jessie, sitting next to Marilyn, both women grinning at him.

Stunned, he asked, “Been here long?”

Jessie smirked. “About three hours.”

Phil dragged Marilyn into the bedroom, clearly irritated, but she just smiled and teased him, “She has pretty tits.”

I’d noticed the plunging neckline and lack of a bra, and I whispered to Hannah, “Damn, she’s stunning. Much better than at the beginning of the movie.”

Hannah poked me in the side, warning, “Keep your eyes in your head.”

Phil asked Marilyn if he could have some time alone with Jessie. Once they were alone, Jessie sighed, “All those questions I was going to ask you, and now I don’t feel like it.”

Phil scoffed. “What did you expect?”

Jessie folded her arms. “You sprawled out on the sofa, suffering from malnutrition, muttering my name. You sure are a sight for sore eyes. How do I look?”

I leaned toward Hannah, whispering, “My God, she’s upset that he’s happy without her?”

Phil agreed to drive Jessie to a motel. When they got to his car, Marilyn was sitting in the driver’s seat, shivering.

He hesitated. “Uh ... I’m going to drop her off at the motel and be right back.”

Marilyn nodded quietly and went back inside.

As they drove, Jessie squeezed Phil’s thigh.

I muttered, “No, no—don’t do it!”

Hannah squeezed my hand in agreement.

At the motel, Jessie offered him a bottle of wine, put on soft music, and whispered seductively, “Better than ever.”

Phil sighed. “Look at us—we’re a couple.”

Jessie stepped behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, then whispered in his ear, “Just me touching you makes you that excited?”

Phil shifted uncomfortably. “Apparently.”

Jessie grinned. “Incredible!”

Hannah leaned close, whispering, “Huh, just like you.”

I turned to her, indignant. “But he can’t do it with her!”

She smirked. “You said how pretty she was.”

I groaned. “But she’s a bitch. Marilyn may not look like much, but she loves him.”

The scene cut to Phil back at home—but Marilyn was gone. Jessie called, her voice soft. “I’m sorry. I embarrassed myself.”

Phil stared at the receiver. “Goodbye, Jessie.”

I exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God, he didn’t do it.”

Hannah shrugged. “Yeah, but Marilyn’s still gone. He blew it.”

Phil told his support group what had happened. One of the guys leaned forward. “Is that all?”

Phil sighed heavily. “I never wanted a woman so much in my life.”

A few scenes later, he found Marilyn at Bloomingdale’s, where they were looking at a new sofa.

The salesman smiled. “Once you sit on that sofa, you won’t want to get up.”

Instantly, Phil curled into a ball, muttering over and over, “I’m sorry, Marilyn. I’m sorry.”

Hannah punched my arm. “He did do it—the bastard!”

I winced. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

Hannah was out of popcorn, her head resting on my shoulder as the movie approached its final act.

Phil returned to his fancy apartment, the one he had shared with Jessie during their marriage.

She was waiting outside, leading him upstairs, through the door, and into their bedroom.

Phil hesitated as Jessie undressed, but then followed her lead, removing his shirt and pants.

As they lay in bed, kissing, Hannah whispered in my ear, “Twenty-seven days.”

I blinked. “What?”

She turned her head up, her lips grazing my jaw as she whispered, “It’s been twenty-seven days.”

I shrugged, trying to play dumb. “Since when?”

She tilted her head, staring at me. “Since the last time we did that. Do you realize that in the six weeks we’ve been together, we’ve only done it twice?”

I hesitated. “Twice? Um, well ... that’s not all my fault! We’ve had opportunities, but then you said you were mad at me or something!”

A sharp “Shhhhhh!” came from behind us.

Hannah waited a beat, then began rubbing and squeezing my thigh, her fingers pressing into the denim.

She leaned in, whispering seductively, “Well, I’m not mad at you today. I want it ... bad. And you will give it to me.”

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “You don’t hear me complaining, but where? Both of our places are a no-go.”

She sighed dramatically. “If you had any money, we could go to a motel.”

I frowned, thinking it over. “That would take some planning. Can’t be a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

She gripped my wrist, placing my hand on her thigh. “Then you need to prepare to take care of your woman.”

Another sharp whisper came from behind. “Will you be quiet?”

The next morning, Phil turned to Jessie. “Feels strange to be back together again.”

She smiled, stretching. “When we made love last night, I had a vaginal orgasm.”

I barely had time to react before Hannah’s elbow slammed into my ribs.

I groaned, rubbing my side. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

She grinned mischievously. “Just making sure you were paying attention.”

We sat quietly as Phil called Jessie one last time, this time to say goodbye. Then he chased after Marilyn, desperate to win her back, until he finally blurted out:

“I want to marry you.”

Marilyn froze, stunned. But when she realized he meant it, she threw her arms around him, kissing him deeply.

Happily ever after.

As we exited the theater, Hannah intertwined her fingers with mine, a small smile playing on her lips.

She leaned into my side, looking up at me. “You don’t have any old girlfriends I need to worry about, do you?”

I chuckled, squeezing her hand. “We discussed this the other night. I don’t think anyone is pining for me.”

She giggled, then leaned even closer. “Well, I’ll keep you ... but now, where are we going to go?”

I frowned, deep in thought as we walked. “Maybe we can check on campus. Let’s go see Matt.”

Ten minutes later, we walked into the first floor of Matt’s lodge and climbed the stairs to his room. I turned left and gave a quick rap on the door.

A few seconds later, Matt peeked out. “Hey ... oh, Joe, Hannah ... how you guys doing? What’s up?”

I flashed a sheepish grin. “Came to ask a bro a favor. We were out this afternoon, and now we’re in need of, um, a place where we might enjoy some privacy. As she’s pointed out, I don’t have the funds for a motel.”

Matt glanced at Hannah, who squeezed my hand, flashing him puppy-dog eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “Okay, um, let me see. You know where Willie lives over at Laurel?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. If you find him, he has some keys for a storeroom in the basement. It’s a bit cluttered, but there’s a couch down there.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks, man.”

A hundred fifty yards later, we found Willie and got the keys in hand.

As we headed through the lobby, I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Three o’clock. I should probably be home by five.”

Hannah squeezed my fingers—hard. “You are not going to rush this.”

“Ouch! Don’t worry, I intend on enjoying this as long as possible.”

I fumbled with the keys but finally got the door unlocked. We stepped inside, flipped on the light switch, and I locked it behind us.

Hannah looked around, unimpressed. “Not exactly the Biltmore,” she remarked dryly.

Old bed frames leaned against the wall, ping-pong tables were stacked on top of each other, and cobwebs filled every corner.

I forced a grin. “At least it should be private.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If I see a rat, I’m out of here.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be right behind you.” I let out a nervous chuckle.

We stood there for a moment, eyes locked, the air between us thick with anticipation.

Then Hannah stretched out her arms toward me and whispered, “Well ... c’mon, we don’t have all day.”

I closed the space between us, and she immediately wrapped her arms around me, her body pressing into mine. She let out a soft moan as her hands slid down my back, past my belt, sending shivers up my spine.

I tensed at her squeeze, then lowered my lips to hers. The kiss started soft, tentative, but quickly deepened. She parted her lips, and I slid my tongue inside, tasting her, feeling her press against me.

She ground into me, feeling me harden against her, then pulled my shirt loose from my belt and lifted it over my head as I raised my arms.

Breaking the kiss, she looked up, eyes dark with desire. “You did bring rubbers?”

I grinned. “Of course. I always have one in my wallet.”

She giggled. “One? What if one’s not enough? What if I want it four or five times?”

I smirked, kneading her breasts through her blouse. “You’d have me dead before we even get to five—but guess what my dad did for me today?”

“Besides yell at you?” she quipped.

“He bought me a box of condoms. A hundred foil wrappers for you to undo, because he didn’t want any mistakes.”

Hannah gazed into my eyes, a mix of affection and amusement flickering across her face. “Except for the first time, we’ve been careful—but did you bring them with you?”

I shook my head. “No, I put the box in my sock drawer.”

She busted out laughing. “Lots of room there, as all your socks are on top of the dresser,” then with a hint of disappointment, added, “Guess I’ll have to settle for just one time today.”

I leaned in, brushing my lips against hers. “I’ll make it worthwhile.”

Clothes came off in a blur—her blouse, my belt, her jeans, my boxers—until we were both bare.

I took my time with her, kissing my way down, my lips and hands exploring every inch, drinking in every soft gasp, every arch of her back.

As she laid back on the couch, I knelt before her, my hands parting her thighs.

She let out a giggle, breathless. “Brussels sprouts?”

I snorted, kissing her inner thigh. “Oh, no—it tastes just like roses.”

“You don’t taste roses, silly.” She laughed, breath hitching as I continued my work.

When she was ready, I rolled the condom onto myself.

Hovering above her, I pressed against her opening, teasing her just enough to make her squirm beneath me before slowly, deliberately sinking in.

Her head tilted back, lips parting, a long, deep moan escaping her throat.

I pressed deeper, feeling her tight warmth surround me, and began a slow, steady rhythm.

We moved in sync, her body responding to mine, her whispers turning into soft cries, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer.

Minutes stretched into something timeless.

I kissed her forehead, then nuzzled her neck, breathing her in.

Her hands gripped my back, nails digging in just enough to make me shudder.

Then she cupped my face, guiding my eyes to hers, and whispered, “I love this so much ... oh, oh ... it’s amazing how close I feel to you ... oh, yes, oh ... promise me ... ohhh ... that this will never end ... ohhh.”

With one final deep thrust, my entire body stiffened, and I filled the condom, gasping against her skin.

Rolling off her, panting, I felt her poke my chest with her finger.

“We are not done yet—you better finish me!”

I grinned, shifting onto my side as my fingers drifted down her stomach, finding her most sensitive spot.

Within minutes, she was arching beneath me, thighs trembling, her cries growing louder.

As she shattered around my touch, I captured her lips, swallowing her moans, feeling her whole body shake beneath me as my hand was caught between her clenched thighs.

As her breathing slowed, I grinned, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Better than Burt Reynolds?”

She let out a breathless laugh. “I can’t complain, but did you see? That man has more hair on his arms and chest than you do on your head!”

I got home just in time for dinner, after which Mom drove me to the bowling alley.

We were on lanes nineteen and twenty that night, and as I pulled my shoes from my bag and sat to put them on, I noticed Katie heading my way.

She stopped in front of me, arms crossed, smirking as she studied my face.

I paused mid-lace, feeling the warmth creep up my neck. “What?”

She giggled, leaning in slightly. “Uh ... did someone get lucky?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Katie tilted her head, lowering her voice. “Lucky. You know...”

I felt a sudden wave of heat, my grip tightening on my shoelace. My eyes went wide, and I couldn’t suppress a grin. “Ohhh...” I hesitated. “Uh ... how can you tell?”