“Sure.”

The room plunges into darkness, but it makes me even more aware. The rhythm of my breath matches his, and I feel like every single nerve ending on my body is on high alert. The bottom of my stomach aches, like it’s reaching for him.

“Just so you know, I’d really like to hear your song one day.” His voice is barely a whisper. “When you’re ready, I mean.”

“Thank you,” I whisper back. “I really want to play it for you.”

He exhales, and I swear his leg moves closer under the sheets. It feels like it’s only a centimeter, a millimeter, away, like just a tiny nudge or a deep breath would close the distance.

But I don’t move. I stay right where I am.

“Goodnight, Delilah.”

“Goodnight, Reggie.”

I listen to our mingled breaths until I finally fall asleep, still hoping for something that doesn’t come.

Reggie

I choked.

I completely fucking choked.

She was giving me the signs and everything. Her lips were plump and pursed, like she was offering them up, and her body was open and angled to me.

But every time I thought,Yeah, this is it. I’m finally going to make a move, my brain kept playing back the swerve. Except it had a background track that wasn’t there the first time: Eric laughing at me with his friends, Tyrell and every asshole that’s ever made fun of me. And it’s like, why would Delilah want that guy, the weak, nerdy one that just sits there and takes it? I kept seeing her beautiful face transform into a pitying expression or, worse, a disgusted sneer, as soon as I tried to kiss her again, the total fool who didn’t get the message the first time, and I just... couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk Delilah looking at me that way, feeling that way about me. I don’t know if I could come back from that.

So, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I watch as she drifts off. It could be disappointment that settles all over her features, or it could be relief—I’m not going to find out tonight. Instead, I try to fix in my mind the little sighs she makes as she’s asleep and the way that her eyelids flutter because I’m probably never going to see her again like this.

I don’t know when I finally pass out, but it’s late. Still, when I wake up at 6:12, according to the glowing red alarm clock, every inch of my skin is buzzing like I just drank three shots of espresso. And also my jeans, the jeans I slept in because I didn’t want to freak her out by taking them off, are suddenly very tight.

I inch my body off the bed, careful not to wake her up, and tiptoe over to the bathroom. I take a piss, which takes care of one problem, and then I see what I got going on in the mirror. Smashed hair, crusty eye boogers, and oh no—I breathe into my palm—foul,stankybreath. If I had any tiny, infinitesimal hope left after screwing things up last night, well, that breath is going to murder it.

I gargle some water, scrub my teeth and my face with a washcloth. Not perfect, but better. When I walk back into the room, she’s still sleeping, still making that sweet sighing noise, so I decide to go out and get us some food. Breakfast in bed has to offset the message I sent by freezing last night.

Twenty minutes later, I’m back with ebelskivers and orange juice from a bakery around the corner, and I’m feeling a whole lot better about my chances. Last night was one night. What me and Delilah have been building... it can’t be messed up with one night.Maybe I’ll kiss her now. Yes,nowis the right moment—when she won’t feel pressured by a whole night ahead of us. Now there will be no awkwardness, no perceived expectations, just whatever she wants to do.

But when I open the door to our room, the bed is made and Delilah is standing there with her hair down and her shoes on.

“Should we call Karl?” she asks. Her jaw is set, her eyes determined. Maybe even angry. “I’m ready to go.”

Delilah

When I wake up Reggie is gone and my phone is full of passive-aggressive texts from Charlie. I’m so close to being where I want.So closethat this in-between stage, my fingers grasping and just missing, is almost physically painful. I need to boldly go after what I want, without fear, or I’m going to be stuck in this purgatory forever.

So, I’m going to finally take action. Starting with quitting the band. Right now.

Well, notright nowright now, because we still have to drive back to Long Beach. But as soon as possible.

“Should we call Karl? I’m ready to go,” I say when Reggie walks into the room with a box of something that smells really good. He looks just as good, even in the same clothes from yesterday.

Something quickly passes across his face, something I can’t read, but just as fast he’s nodding and giving me a nose-wrinklingsmile. “Yeah, of course! Fingers crossed Bessie is good to go.”

And she is. After leaving our keys at the front desk with a confused woman named Patricia, we walk over to Karl’s cherry-red car shop and Reggie’s car is sitting right out front, blue hood sparkling in the early morning sun. Reggie pays Karl—I don’t see how much, but it makes him wince when he sees it on the screen—and then we’re back on the 101 again. We’re not talking and singing, not like we were yesterday, but it’s not awkward, thank god. It’s the good kind of silence, the kind you can only exist in with someone you’re 100 percent comfortable with. And I am with Reggie—all that happened last night, as disappointing as it was, only solidified that. There’s no one else I’d rather do this drive with, to the soundtrack of the salty ocean air whipping in our open windows and Motown singers crooning on the radio. He makes my mind, my whole body, quiet down.

“Should I drop you off at home?” Reggie asks, when we drive past the blue-and-yellow beacon of IKEA off the side of the 405. It’s a sign that we’re almost back to Long Beach.

“No, actually... will you take me to Asher’s?” I ask. “He lives over by El Dorado. I know it’s kind of out of the way, but... yeah. I think I need to go there.”