Page 17 of Until We Kiss

He blinks at me. “What are receptors?”

He seems normal. He’s just looking across at me, hair sticking out everywhere, lines from the pillow crossing his cheek, a tiny hit of drool in the corner of his mouth that he wipes away with the back of his hand.

“They use them to tell if it’s light or dark,” I say. “If they’re underground or not.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

He grins. “I wish I could tunnel underground.”

“You do?”

“For sure. Why not? I’d get to class that way.”

“Pop out in the Quad with dirt all over you?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, that would be kinda cool.” I take inventory of myself. I’m wearing some boxer briefs, but there’s no sand between my toes—or anywhere else. I must have showered?

Did I shower with him again? Seems like I would have remembered that. He’s still spread out next to me, dark green boxers twisted, and his… well, his dick is doing what dicks do in the morning.

I clear my throat. “Uhhh, do you remember much of last night?”

Say no. Please, for the love of God, say no.Don’t say I cried.

“Bits and pieces.” He flexes his thighs, then adjusts himself, stretching his dick to the side before letting it go. It lobs back to center, half hard and— “Yesterday was fun as shit. I don’t remember leaving the beach, but I remember dancing a bit. And something with D and—‍” He shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t remember that. But I remember coming back here and talking.”

I am tense.

He smiles again. “It was cool, hanging out. I think we must have talked forhours. That never happens to me. Most people don’t…‍” His smile fades, that usual light in his eyes disappearing with it.

There are about fourteen different points to what he just said that I need to unpack, and I’m attempting to do it all while forgetting the way his dick is pointed straight at me and being worried about whatever I said last night, but I’m stuck on the way he ended that sentence.

“Most people don’t what?” I ask him.

His lips press, his cheeks tightening, and it’s strange that it makes his dimple pop out too. I don’t know if I’ve noticed that before. Or maybe I haven’t seen him wearing this expression before? “I mean, it was hard stuff to talk about. Knowing the draft is coming next month and how you’d planned your whole life for this monumental moment. And now…‍”

My chest compresses, my throat heating. Moisture wets my contacts.

“I didn’t mean to say something wrong,” he says in that quieter voice.

“You didn’t. Finish what you were saying.”

He blows out a breath, fanning my face. “Nah, we can just talk about you.”

I frown. “We always talk about me.” Way too much. As I think back, it’s all been about me over the last six months. Maybe it was all about me before that too. So cocky and full of myself.

That makes me feel really shitty. It’s not the reality either—I absolutely want to talk about Carter.

“Tell me,” I say, inching my sheet-burrito closer.

“I guess… I’m like…‍” His forehead wrinkles. “I’m like a… wiener dog.”

“Awienerdog?” Holy shit, I bite back a laugh. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect that. How in the world are you like a wiener dog?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “You’ve seen how they walk, right? Ears waggling, tail straight up, body swaying side to side.” He sways his hips, dick bouncing.

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