Page 95 of The Very First Night

“Kat.” He says my name in that gruff, reprimanding tone that reduces me to putty, except this time, it feels anything but sexual. His voice is frantic and I don’t know what to do with that.

“It’s a text message.”

He glares at me.

I try again. “I…it got complicated.”

“How did it get complicated?”

“Don’t make me say it,” I plead as he steps into my space.

“Say it,” he whispers. His breath mingles with my own, his lips only a hair’s breadth from my own.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

FORTY-SIX

TANNER

It’s as if my brain ceases to function when I hear those words from her lips.

I think I’m in love with you.

Katarina Marritt, the girl whom I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit wishing would see me as anything more than a friend. The girl I fell for instantly the moment I met her in the student center with her hair disheveled and dried cream cheese on her chin after scarfing down a bagel.

The girl I went back in time for.

My heart races as I lean in, pressing my lips against hers. I can feel her heat and breath mingling with mine. For a moment, the world stands still as I gather the courage to speak the words that have been burning inside me for so long. I kiss her, if for nothing else than to buy myself time to figure out how to tell her not only that I love her too, but how much I love her.

She doesn’t seem to grasp my intention, though, because after a few seconds of allowing herself to melt into me, Kat pulls away. “Tanner, we can’t. You said?—”

“I don’t care what I said. I don’t give a fuck what I said—I never have. Kat, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I mean, fuck, I came back in time because of how much I love you.” As soon as I say it, I realize how colossally I just fucked up.

A small, tentative smile creeps onto her lips, but it quickly vanishes as she processes my words. Her eyes widen in a mix of disbelief and confusion. With a trembling voice cracking slightly with emotion, she asks, “You…what?”

The air around us seems to hold its breath as she waits for my answer, the tension palpable between us.

“I…I said I love you.”

“Not that part.”

My mind races as I try to backtrack, but my heart pounds so loud it’s hard to think. “What part? I don’t remember a different part,” I say, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. Sweat beads on my forehead as I desperately search for a way out of this without sounding like a lunatic or a liar.

She doesn’t seem angry, just confused, and I don’t blame her. Without context, what I said makes no sense. But even so, I can’t think of a single plausible reason to give outside of the truth.

“Kat, I?—”

Her eyes widen as she gazes at me, her mouth slightly agape. “You…went back?” she asks, her tone a mix of surprise and understanding that I can’t quite decipher.

“I—no—I just mean?—”

“No, explain. Please,” she pleads.

I want to tell her everything—what got us here, or what little I remember of it—but I can’t imagine it would be received well.

“It wasn’t anything, I?—”

“Stop lying!” Her voice fully breaks as the words rush past her lips in frustration. “I know you meant something, so tell me.”

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