Page 59 of The First Love Myth

Zoey

“Can you hand me that?” I point toward my desk without turning around. I’m shoulder deep in my closet, stacking old shoes and clothes. I know I did this last summer. How have I amassed this much stuff when I only live here for a few months of the year? Behind me there’s a fumbling and then a grunt.

“What, exactly?”

I poke my head out of the closet and grin at Max. He’s being a good sport. I point at the purple Greek letters sitting atop a pile of magazines. They’re old editions ofTalentedand aDeafening Silencethat feature articles, many of which were written by another Ardena alum, about the now-defunct Wilderness Weekend. Who knew I was such a pack rat? “The paperweight, please.”

“You need this in your dorm room?” he asks, holding it up.

“Haley gave it to me when I crossed.”

He drops it into the box at my feet with a shrug and sits back on my bed, picking up one of the old magazines. “I used to love this band.”

“Used to?”

He smiles. “Yeah, back in my emo days.”

There is no way in hell that Max was ever emo.

“Right.” I brush the dust off my pants. “Well, I guess I got rid of those shoes.”

We stopped by my house so I could change into my bathing suit before we hit the beach but quickly got distracted by each other. Once we put a pause onthat—because sex in my half-packed room with no idea when my dad is coming home is not an option—I tried to find a pair of sandals in my closet. But no luck. And now, I’m not even sure we have time for the beach.

“Do you want to do something tonight?” I look up from my phone, where a text from Becca waits. Starting a new relationship a few weeks before leaving for college sucks. I’m constantly leaving someone in the lurch. Becca’s heading back to Florida soon, and though we have plenty of time scheduled before then and she’s always booked with her own boyfriend, I feel bad. It’s not like I can bring Max to Lola’s, which means until I leave, I have two separate social lives.

Max lifts his eyes from the magazine and focuses on a photo of us that I printed and stuck on my closet door with all the other photos of my friends and family this summer. “I have to go to this happy hour thing for the freshman faculty. You can come if you want?”

He tries. He really does, but the invite is forced and awkward. “Come to a bar where I can’t drink and hang out with my old teachers?”

“Basically.”

I walk over and kiss him. The urge to return to our earlier activities trills through me. “I think I’ll pass. Even Lola’s sounds better than that.” I pause and meet his gaze. “Unless you really want me to come.”

“It’s okay. I barely want to go.” He laughs. “Do you want to come over after?”

I freeze halfway to standing. The statement isn’t anything out of the ordinary. But it’s the way he said it, and it hangs between us as more than a simple invitation. We haven’t had the sex talk, but we also haven’t gone very far either. Today being theexception, and even then, we were still mostly clothed. But still this sounds liketheinvite.

“Like to stay the night?” I ask, hating the squeak in my voice and the bout of terror that straightens my spine.

The mattress screeches as he stands, and then his arms are around me from behind. His heartbeat is steady while mine pounds.

“To finish watching season three and spend some extra time together before you go back to school.” He turns me in his arms and kisses me lightly at first and then deeply. His lips part mine, and I lean into him, bringing my arms around his neck. I don’t want the moment to end, but it does. His breathing is husky, but his eyes steady. “You are, of course, welcome to stay the night. If you’re ready.”

That’s the question. If it were a matter of my body, then hell, yes. Every time he touches me, my body lights up. Sometimes I look down and expect my skin to be glowing. But it’s not only about the physical. I’ve only ever slept with one person. And somehow making the choice a second time seems harder and much more complicated.

“If,” he adds quietly, “that’s something you want with me.”

What does that mean?My pulse quickens for an entirely different reason. “Why wouldn’t I want thatwith you?”

“You’re leaving in less than two weeks, and Bellewood isn’t exactly close. I—”

“And our relationship will be ending?” Anger seeps into every word. Of all the things I considered about my final weeks in Ardena, ending things with Max wasn’t one of them. Never. We are just starting. “If that’s the case, then yeah, why not? Let’s end our summer fling with a bang. Literally.”

He holds his hands up in supplication. “You’re not a summer fling. Or rather, I don’t want you to be one, Zee. But I alsoremember you saying you could never do long distance, and having sex will only complicate things.”

I did say that, sort of. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I said I couldn’t do long distance withAndrew, which was naive and needy and co-dependent. I’m not that person anymore.”

There’s a steadiness to the statement, and confidence thrums through me. This summer changed me in so many ways.

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