Page 24 of When We Were Younger

"Yep. Okay. Well Mrs. Danfield, Stephen and I have some hot chocolate to drink, so I will be saving him from you now. It was not a pleasure, and I hope I don't see you around while I'm here," I say, looping my arm through Stephen’s, leading him and Daisy May away from Mrs. Danfield's gaping fish face.

I head right to the line for hot chocolate a few stands down and huff out a breath when we queue behind a few families.

"That was… god damn, Dorothea. No one ever talks to Mrs. Danfield like that. Would it be inappropriate if I say that was hot as fuck?" he asks, pulling me to hisside by my elbow. It's only then that I realize we've still got our arms hooked together, but I make no moves to disentangle myself from him.

Neither does he.

Hot as fuck.

That’s something I’ve never heard out of Stephen’s mouth. Not when describing me. Not even the time he went on a twenty-minute diatribe on why Kathryn Hahn is the most underrated beauty in Hollywood. No, he’d called me pretty, beautiful, even gorgeous, but not hot. Hot feels different. Hot is grownup. Hot is sexually charged. Hot is a little degrading in a delicious way that makes my stomach do a somersault.

I mean, technically he was calling my actions hot as fuck and not me, but it feels like a sexy compliment just the same.

"That crotchety old bitch has had it coming for a long time," I say, rolling my eyes and ignoring the tingling low in my belly.

"Hey, I'm with ya. Remember our sophomore year when she caught us under the bleachers when we were supposed to be working the ticket booth at the soccer game?" he asks. We had signed up to volunteer at the girls’ soccer team playoff team in exchange for a 5 percent increase on our next pre-calc test, since the coach moonlighted as our math teacher.

"Oh, I remember, alright. She already had that cane, even back then. Though I don't think she needed it, she was just a fan of corporal punishment."

"Yeah, and she whacked me in the ass with it whenshe noticed my hand underneath your hoodie, like it was any of her business that my hand was on your boob," he laughs.

"My right boob, if I recall."

"Well that one was always my favorite," he deadpans.

"Then she told your mom that we were ‘publicly fornicating’, and your mom promptly grounded both of us for two weeks."

"And the next morning I woke up to a box of condoms on my nightstand with the infamous Post-it note," he says.

"Don't have sex. And when you have sex anyway, please for the love of god, use these. I'm too young to be a grandmother."I repeat the note that both mortified us and made us laugh for what felt like hours when he told me about it that same night. We had snuck out to our field after midnight to commiserate together–grounding be damned.

"The joke ended up being on her. Those condoms were long expired by the time we found ourselves in need of one," he says, cooly.

I don't miss the pink blush creeping over his cheeks, though.

One of the teenagers working the stand calls us over and Stephen orders for us, asking for extra whipped cream and an extra candy cane in my drink without me having to ask for it. He insists on paying, and I let him without putting up a fight.

"Want to give Daisy May her pup cup?" he asks afterwe've found an open bench and taken a seat. I squeal and take the cup of whipped cream from him. As I go to offer it to the dog, Stephen leans in and speaks quietly into my ear.

"Tell her to sit first," he says quietly.

"Sit, Daisy May," I say, and she plants her bottom right on the ground.

"Now ask for her paw," Stephen says, and it feels like he's gotten even closer.

"Give me your paw, Daisy May."

She puts her paw right up on my lap.

"Now," Stephen breathes against my ear as I feel his arm slink around my shoulder. He sets it on the bench, close enough to touch me but still leaving space, so that I'm not actually caught up in his embrace. His voice drops to a raspy whisper. "Tell her she's a very good girl and give her the treat."

I swallow a lump in my throat as a shiver works its way down my spine. My core tightens. I know he's talking about his dog for Pete's sake, but hearing Stephen whisper 'good girl' into my ear does something to my body that I haven't felt in a long, long time. It makes my skin feel unbearably hot and tingly, especially the spot on my neck where I can still feel the ghost of his breath.

I do as he says and hold the cup out to Daisy May, trying to steady my own breathing as she devours her whipped cream. My mind is experiencing some sort of wild emotional whiplash. I can't quite figure out if I feel awkward, nostalgic, friendly, or turned the hell on.

Stephen hums in my ear.

Turned on. I am most definitely turned on.

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