Page 35 of Tongue-Tied

I draw away to look at him. “Sorry. I’m thinking about this too hard. Don’t give up on me yet.”

“Never.” He motions down the beach. “Want to take a walk?”

“That sounds perfect.”

As we stroll, Dex points out the moon, which leaves a shimmering path in the water. I’m again grateful that he gets me and puts up with my warring emotions. I get frustrated with him when he tries too hard, but no doubt he gets just as exasperated with me. Though he rarely shows it.

It dawns on me that my dream guy would probably be someone like him, but maybe taller and beefier. Or maybe not. Being held by Dex feels totally awesome, so I’m willing to make exceptions or get rid of any preconceived notions about what my type is. Besides, it’s more about someone’s heart and character traits than their looks. Though physical attraction definitely helps.

“You sure you’ve never done something like this?” I ask, ignoring the goose bumps lining my skin. “We’ve already established we don’t tell each other everything.”

“Something like what?”

“Taken someone to dinner, held their hand during a moonlit walk on the beach.”

“We’re not holding hands,” he points out, and I also recognize how he uses humor as a diversion.

I scoff. “You know what I mean.”

“Nope, you’re the first,” he admits, and I feel a sharp jab in my rib cage. “Just hasn’t happened. There’s never been anyone I liked enough to want to see again.”

“Maybe you’re not giving people enough of a chance.”

“Doubtful. I’m good at listening to my gut.”

When his hand brushes against mine, I shiver.

“Doubtful,” I lob back, and he laughs.

Our hands brush again, and then our fingers entwine. I can hardly breathe as my heart performs a stutter step.

“There,” Dex says. “Now I can say I’ve done a moonlit walk while holding someone’s hand.”

“But it’s not real, you asshat.”

“Sure it is, even if we’re pretending.”

He doesn’t let go, and neither do I, as we walk a long way down the beach, talking about everything and nothing at all. As we turn to head back, I consider releasing his hand because now it’s probably just weird.

Even as I make the motion to break away, Dex tightens his fingers reflexively, and it makes me smile. So he does like this closeness with someone. Or he just feels totally comfortable with his best friend.

By the time we get back to the dorm, it’s nearly midnight. We walked, talked, and shared another beer at the bonfire. It was fun, and my stomach is fuzzy warm because it feels like I’ve accomplished something.

“Thanks again for coming with me,” he says in a tentative voice. “I might be wrong, but I think you had a good time?”

I stare at my shoes, unable to meet his eyes. “I did. But I always have fun with you.”

“Always? This is only our first date,” he teases. “Would you like to go on a second with me?”

“I…I…” I sputter, confusing feelings bombarding me.

He holds up his hands. “Only if you think this helped. I think it did, but I could be wrong.”

“Yeah, it did,” I admit. “And sure, why not?”

“Great.” He grows silent as our eyes meet. The air feels thick as if it really is a first date. He steps forward, and I hold my breath as he leans in to kiss my cheek. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.” My voice is hoarse, and I watch as he turns toward campus to walk back to Poli House. I lift my hand and press it to where his lips brushed my cheek. As if he’d never done it before. And I pretend it was a real date.

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