CHAPTER 13

UNPLEASANT

CONCESSIONS

POPPY

It’s been a week since I’ve treated Lance. I haven’t been able to fit him in at all, though against my better judgment I did try. The nights where I could’ve tacked him on to the end of my day, he had practice, and then he had back-to-back games to open the official hockey season.

I watched those in the privacy of my living room, alone, almost like it was porn.

And he texts me daily. Sometimes multiple times. He always starts off by asking if there have been any cancellations. When I tell him no, he resorts to begging. Occasionally he sends me pouty-faced selfies, which I secretly love.

Today we’re finally making our schedules work, which is good, at least for him, because he told me if I don’t treat him, he won’t be able to play the next game. I squeezed him in as my last appointment of the day, working against the tingles in my tummy to convince myself this will be the very last time.

As I work out the horrible knots and kinks in his back, neck, and shoulders, I promise myself that after this massage I’m going to tell him someone else has to treat him. I don’t think I can keep up the professional front much longer, and I’m getting attached to these appointments. I don’t want it to become an issue, or another source of humiliation.

He’s talkative tonight, so I’m learning new things about him. His teammate, Miller, the one who had the penis drawing on his forehead, just had a baby, and Lance has plans to visit him tomorrow. I imagine him holding a newborn, and it makes my insides feel all warm and melty. Lance only goes back to Scotland once every two years. His favorite color is green, followed by orange, and his favorite foods are anything traditionally Scottish. He loves chocolate but breaks out in a rash when he eats it. Gummies are a special weakness for him. His favorite music is mellow, but he listens to heavy stuff when he works out.

I steer clear of discussing my childhood or my going-out habits. Mostly the conversation is easy and limited to safe subjects. Except there are a couple of times when he seems to want to say something, but can’t quite get it out. He starts and stops and then goes quiet.

When I’m finished, I leave him to change while I wash my hands. It’s another late session, so the reception area is empty when I go out there to manage Lance’s invoice.

It takes a few minutes for him to change, whether because he’s slow to get off the table, or because he has an issue to manage in there, I don’t really want to know. Well, I sort of do want to know, which is the main reason I can’t keep treating him.

When he comes out, he’s got his hat in his hand, and he’s twirling it around his finger, chewing on his bottom lip. His nervousness ramps up my own. I have no idea how I’m going to broach this subject, because knowing I have to and actually following through on it is not at all the same.

He drops his hat on the counter and taps anxiously. “I want to tell you something.”

Please don’t mention your hard-on again. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know. It depends on how you react.”

I sit up straight in Bernadette’s chair; all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“So…uh, I remember the night I met you.”

I drop my eyes. “Oh.”

“Well, not you exactly. Well, kinda. But it’s all real vague until I went upstairs to check on Miller.”

And now my stomach is churning in a not-so-good way. My voice is a whisper. I fiddle with Bernadette’s sparkle pens. “With Kristi.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I didn’t sleep with her. Well, like, I fell asleep, but I didn’t sleep with her. As in fuck her. I didn’t, I mean. Do that. I thought it would be good to tell you.”

I blink a few times, shocked. “But she said—”

“—a lot of bullshit, I’m betting.” Lance looks annoyed.

I don’t know why he would bother to lie to me about something like this, and Kristi liked to brag about all the guys she’d slept with, so it’s entirely possible nothing did happen.

“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks? We don’t hang out anymore, sooo…”

“Right. Yeah, okay. Good.” He taps the counter some more. “I still wish I could remember meeting you that night. I guess it explains why you’re so familiar, aye?”

“I guess.” I can’t look him in the eye. “They kind of dragged me along.”

“So—” He slaps a hand on the counter, startling me. “Uh, I don’t know how much free time you have, but maybe you wanna go out for dinner with me sometime?”

Well, that’s quite the segue. Now I have no choice but to look at him. “Like on a date?”

Lance’s eyes dart around. “Aye. Like a date.”

“I can’t go out to dinner with you.” Oh my God. What the hell am I doing?

His brows pull down. “Why not?”

“It’s against the clinic policy to date clients, not to mention the association that provides me with a license to practice.” This is it. This is the best way to pass him off to another therapist. He’s given me the perfect excuse, and I don’t have to own up to anything. And he wants to take me on a date. I think I’m in shock.

“You can’t even go out to dinner with me once? Just to see if, you know, you’d wanna hang out again?” He’s doing that thing where he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Not if you want me to treat you.”

“So it’s not about the Kristi thing? ’Cause I’m serious when I say I didn’t sleep with her.”

“It’s really not about Kristi. If I agree to go out with you, I can’t treat you at the clinic anymore.” The Kristi revelation does mean I might agree to the date, though.

His expression turns hopeful. “Just at the clinic?”

I dash it with my next response. “Or at my home. But that was already off the table.”

Lance taps his lip while he thinks about that. I don’t know whether to feel good about his hesitation or not. I guess it means I’m a decent massage therapist.

“What about the ones I’ve already scheduled?” he asks.

“You’ll have to see someone other than me. Devon is great, and so is Marcie.”

“What about the other girl who works here? Your friend with the blond hair?”

“April can’t work on you.”

“She’s not any good?”

“We’ll go with that.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a slow smirk. “You don’t want her to touch me?”

Now he’s poking fun. “Never mind. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, no April. We’ll go with Marcie then, or I can see the team therapist if I have to.” He huffs out a breath. “So how long will I have to wait for you to be able to work on me again?”

“I won’t ever be able to treat you again.” I don’t mention that if one date turns into many, and I end up being more than just someone he sleeps with and tosses aside, I’ll be more than happy to provide all services free of charge. He doesn’t need to know that.

He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Never?”

“You can’t be my client anymore. Not ever.”

“Fuck. It’s really that final.”

I nod solemnly. “I could lose my job otherwise.”

“For going on a date? Shit. Well, I don’t want that to happen.” He dips his head resolutely. “Okay. So two dates, one coffee and one dinner, in whatever order you’d prefer them.”

I have to force my face to stay neutral. “One date. Dinner or coffee.”

“I think we need to do some negotiating. If I have to give up massages from you forever, it’s only fair that I get more than one kick at the can here.”

I raise a brow at his choice of words. I also have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that technically this would be his third kick at the can.

“In case I screw something up,” he continues, “which is entirely possible since this whole dating thing is off the grid for me. So one dinner date and one coffee date?”

It doesn’t surprise me that he hasn’t had much dating experience. Girls have probably thrown themselves at him his entire life. Still, it’s obvious he’s trying.

“Fine. One dinner and one coffee. Any more stipulations you’d like to add to the bargaining table?”

Lance tips his chin in the air and regards the dusty lights above. “The dates have to occur within a week of each other.”

He’s rather charming. “Very practical. We wouldn’t want to drag it out unnecessarily.”

“You’re sassy. I like it a lot. What’re you doing Friday night?”

“I work until six.”

“I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven thirty? Is there any type of food you’re particularly averse to?”

“Food aversions?”

“Things you don’t like to eat.”

“Oh. I won’t eat things with tentacles, or meat babies.” I shiver at the thought.

“Meat babies?”

“Like lamb or veal.”

“Oh, got it. No lamb or veal. Anything you love?”

You wearing nothing, lying on my table. “I like comfort food. Pasta, things like that.”

He smiles. “Great.” He taps his forehead. “I’m locking all that information away in here.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I should get my things and go home.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. I can walk you to your car?”

I find it interesting that he makes it more of a statement than a question. “Sure, I’ll grab my purse and coat.”

“’Kay. I’ll wait here.” He pushes up on his toes a couple of times.

I can feel his eyes on me as I head back to my room to get my things. I’ve agreed to go out with Lance. On a date. Two actually. I don’t even know what to think. I grab my purse and slip into my jacket. As fall settles in and the temperature drops, layers are becoming necessary.

When I return, Lance is standing at the desk, checking his phone. He’s smiling.

“Ready to go,” I say.

He hits a couple of buttons, pockets his phone, and turns that grin on me. “Cool.”

I lock up the clinic, and Lance walks me across the lot. This time he doesn’t leave the usual space between us, and the back of his hand grazes my hip.

I’m nervous when we reach my car. His Hummer is parked right behind my Mini this time. I adjust the strap of my purse and look up at him. Strangely, he looks as nervous as me.

He scans my face and takes a small step closer. I can see his hand lifting in my peripheral vision. My hair is in a ponytail, which is sitting on my shoulder. He fingers the end of it.

“Why do I always want to pull this?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he used to do it when we were kids. But I don’t have the opportunity, because he drops his head and his lips skim my cheek.

“I want to kiss you, pretty Poppy.”

“You just did,” I whisper.

“I want do it again, but here.” His thumb touches my bottom lip.

“Oh.”

He’s so close. His lips almost touching mine as he asks, “Can I do that?”

“Yes, please.”

His lids grow heavy, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. I’m transported back in time, to a dark closet at a party I never should’ve been at. Lance strokes my cheek and rests his palm on the side of my neck. The other hand skims the length of my arm until he reaches my fingertips.

He leans back a little, and for a second I think it’s over before it’s even begun, but he takes my hand in his. Uncurling my fingers, he lifts it and presses my palm against his cheek. A full-body tremor runs through him, and his eyes drift closed. He turns his head toward my palm, and I smooth my thumb along the contour of his bottom lip. A deep sound comes from the back of his throat, making my skin prickle and heat blossom in my belly.

When he opens his eyes again, the fire in them matches the heat flooding my entire body. “Can you keep yer hand right here?”

“If you want me to, yes.”

“I definitely do.”

He leans in and brushes his lips over mine again. It’s soft and warm. The next time he takes my bottom lip between his, he releases it slowly, and then does the same with the top one. When his tongue flicks out, I might whimper. Light fingers cup my head, and I tilt it back farther.

I part my lips, and his tongue sweeps my mouth. His groan is low, sending a shiver down my spine. He drops the hand that’s keeping mine pressed against his cheek. His arm winds around my waist, and he pulls me in tight against him.

I expect the kiss to grow in intensity. It doesn’t, though I can feel the heat building inside me. That feeling I’ve been searching for all these years is finally back.

My other hand abandons the strap of my purse, because there are far better places for it to go. I follow the contour of muscle in his arm to his shoulder. As soon as my cold fingertips connect with the warm skin on his neck, Lance makes another needy sound and tightens his hold around my waist.

The flash of headlights reminds us we’re in the middle of a parking lot. Lance disconnects his mouth from mine, and we turn to see a police cruiser moving through the lot.

“Fucking cops, ruining my goddamn moment.”

I laugh. It’s all breathy and shaky, like the rest of me.

The cruiser stops in front of my car, and the window whirs down. “Everything all right here?”

“Just saying good night, sir.” Lance has his arm thrown casually over my shoulder, but his fingertips are pressing in.

“He was making sure I got to my car safely.” I gesture to the mostly empty lot and state the obvious. “Because it’s dark.”

The policeman regards us for a few long seconds, as if discerning whether we’re likely to be thieves. He must decide we’re harmless. “Careful out here at night. There’ve been some car break-ins lately.”

“Thanks for the warning, officer.” Lance raises a hand.

The police officer taps the side of his car and rolls away, the window whirring up.

Once he’s moved on, Lance returns his focus to me. “Maybe you want to go out for drinks now or something?”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Right. Okay. What about tea? Or maybe a bite to eat?”

“You want to have dinner tonight instead of Friday?”

“It won’t count as dinner. It’s too late.”

“So this is our coffee date, then?” I’m egging him on.

“Well, no. Not unless we have coffee, which probably isn’t the best idea since it’s late. Unless you want to pull an all-nighter with me.” His expression is impish.

“I have to be up early tomorrow.”

His eyes dip back to my mouth. “I bet you could do it.”

“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.” I imagine an all-nighter with Lance would be exhausting for reasons other than lack of sleep.

“What about going for ice cream then?”

“It’s October.”

“Or some other dessert? Please, Poppy.” He tugs on the end of my ponytail. “I want a reason to say good night again.”

If he means kissing me, he hardly needs an excuse. “I guess dessert wouldn’t hurt.”

“And that way this doesn’t count as part of the dinner and a coffee date thing.”

“You’re quite the negotiator, aren’t you?”

“I always won in debate class. So should I follow you home and we can hit a place near there?”

“Sure. That would work.”

Lance holds my door open. Before I get in he puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. I expect some tongue or something, but all I get is a quick brush of lips. “Drive safe.”

“You, too.”

I drop into the driver’s seat, my legs feeling like they’re made of rubber. Lance’s Hummer revs to life, the loud rumble drowning out the sound of my engine turning over and the music filtering through my speaker system. His lights practically blind me. I turn my head away, letting my eyes adjust to the dark for a moment, before I pull out of the lot, and he follows me to my neighborhood.

The butterflies in my stomach won’t stop, and my palms are sweaty. I park in front of my house, but Lance has to drive a little farther down to find a spot for his giant vehicle.

While he’s parking, I run into my house, change into a pair of jeans and a mostly wrinkle-free sweater, and return to meet him on my front porch.

“There’s a little dessert place a couple of blocks away. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. Dessert’s my favorite.”

“Great.” We start down the sidewalk. I have to take two steps for every one of his long strides. “They have all kinds of homemade pies and cakes and scones and things, and this amazing lavender tea.”

“Nice. I’m actually kinda hungry now, so that’s perfect.”

“I imagine that’s fairly constant for you.”

“Pretty much.” Lance shoves his hands in his pockets as we walk, so I do, too. “You said you grew up in your house, right? So you’ve lived here all your life?”

“Until high school. We moved to Galesburg for a few years right before I started, but my parents didn’t sell the house. I guess they always thought we’d be back. Or maybe it was a good investment property. The neighborhood’s improved a lot over the years.”

Lance takes in the houses lining the street. They’re pretty, and many of them have been face-lifted, if not totally remodeled, since my childhood.

“I lived around here for a few years,” he says.

“Oh? Whereabouts?”

“Not too far away, I don’t think. Lister Street? All of this looked familiar the last time I came here. My aunt’s moved since I lived with her, so I haven’t been back in this neighborhood for a long time.”

“Oh? Where’d she move to?” I want to distract him from questions about me. Now that he’s taking me out, I can and probably should tell him the entire truth, but I’m not sure how to divulge that information yet.

“Up to Wisconsin, out of the city. Her kids are grown and out of the house. My one cousin’s married with kids in Milwaukee, and I think she wants to be close to them and all.”

“How old were you when you moved to Chicago, anyway?” I think my school must’ve been the first place he came, based on the rumors back then, but asking keeps the focus away from me.

“Thirteen. It was late spring. I didn’t expect it to be so freaking hot since it had been winter the last time I visited, and that was when I was ten. Scotland doesn’t get snow that much, not where I’m from, and the temperature changes aren’t as extreme as they are here.”

“You must’ve been so sunburned that first summer.”

“Oh, fuck! I had the worst sun poisoning. I was barfing for, like, three days, and I was covered in blisters. My mum was pissed. I had to miss two hockey practices, I was so sick.” His jaw tics. “I never went outside without a ball cap or sunscreen after that.”

“Was it hard to get used to winter?”

“Not too bad, since it meant playing lots of ice hockey.”

“Did you start playing Rep hockey as soon as you moved? That must’ve been a huge change.”

“I did. I was old to be starting. Most of these kids had been on skates since they could walk, but I loved playing, and it was a good outlet for me.”

“Your parents must be so proud of you.” Mine are happy that I have a full-time job in the field they spent all sorts of money educating me for, and that I found a job that suits me. Obviously they’re proud, too, but becoming a massage therapist is a lot different than a professional hockey player.

“I don’t talk to them all that much. I mean, I guess my dad is proud, but he isn’t all that connected to the family, and he wasn’t here when it mattered.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. My mum isn’t really a good person, so I don’t much blame my dad for leaving.”

I don’t ask any more questions about his family, because it seems to put him in a dark mood, and I’d much rather have the flirty, sweet, funny Lance. My family has always been pretty close. Even my sister, who has a hard time settling down anywhere, always shows up for the important events, though most of the time she asks for money before she leaves. Fortunately, we’ve arrived at the little café. It’s busy, maybe because it’s a Monday night and lots of places aren’t open.

Lance holds the door open for me and groans when the smell of sugar, coffee, and baked goods hits him. “Now I’m really starving.”

“We’ll feed your beast.” I pat his flat stomach, then realize the unrequested contact might not be all that welcome.

But he grabs my hand before I can pull it away. He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes before guiding me through the tables to the counter. A glass case features muffins, scones and ornately decorated cakes. On the chalkboard menu above the cashier is a list of sundaes and ice cream options.

“There’s a gummy bear sundae?” Lance asks, awestruck. He looks at the girl standing behind the counter. “Is that any good? Do they really use gummy bears?”

“Um. Yes. And everything here is good.”

He looks down at me. “Have you ever had one?”

“No. I usually get their lava cake, but you’re allergic to chocolate, right?”

“You can still get it.”

“Well, how allergic are you?”

Lance frowns, and then his eyebrows pop up, his eyes moving to my mouth. “Uh, on second thought, I guess it might be better to avoid it if you want me to say a proper good night later.”

“I’d like a proper good night.”

His smile is devilish. “I’d like several proper good nights.”

Lance orders the gummy bear sundae and a strawberry tea—this place doesn’t have a liquor license—and I get the carrot cake and lavender tea. We look around for a table, but the options are limited. Lance spots a tiny two-top in the corner, grabs my hand again, and leads me over. He pulls out my chair, tucking me in. Then he moves his chair so he’s not across from me, but perpendicular, his knee touching mine as it bounces under the table.

“I like this place.”

I shrug out of my jacket. “Me, too. April and I come here sometimes.”

“The girl at the clinic, right? The one you don’t want to touch me.”

“That would be her.”

Lance tugs the end of my ponytail, running his fingers through it. His smile falters, and he sifts through the strands again. “I have this memory from when I first moved here—”

The server brings our drinks and desserts over, interrupting him. My heart stays firmly lodged in my throat, though.

Lance’s sundae is ridiculously huge, and as advertised, it’s covered in gummy bears and some sort of white topping.

“What’s on that?”

“Marshmallow fluff.” Lance digs in, twirling his spoon as it gathers ice cream, fluff, and gummy bears. He shoves the massive spoonful in and makes a contented food-love sound.

“Is it good, then?” I ask.

He makes hand gestures, but he can’t actually respond for the moment. It takes a long time before he’s finished chewing enough to use words.

“The gummy bears are so cold and hard. It’s magically delicious.” He puts on an overdone, fake Irish accent for the last part. “You need to try this.”

He shoves the spoon in and drags it through the ice cream, holding it out to me. It’s heaping. I don’t even think I can open my mouth that wide.

“That’s too much.”

He frowns and looks at the spoon, then sticks it in his mouth, removing about half the contents before he holds it back out to me. “How’s this?”

I make a face. “It’s got your spit all over it now.”

“So? You’ve already had my spit in your mouth. What’s the big deal?”

“Lance!” I look around to see if anyone has overheard, but no one’s paying attention to us.

“It’s true. But fine, I’ll try again.” He flips the spoon over and keeps his eyes on mine while he licks off the contents. When he’s done, he flips it back over, licking the other side clean. He’s incredibly thorough. I have lots of thoughts about how talented he must be with that tongue. And now that he’s not my client, I allow my imagination to run.

Holding the spoon up, he asks, “Is this okay? Or do you need me to get a clean spoon that hasn’t been in my mouth at all?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s fine.”

This time he dips the spoon in, carefully gathering a small amount of ice cream, marshmallow fluff, and a single gummy bear coated in strawberry sauce. He holds out the spoon. “How’s this, precious? Can you handle it?”

I give him a look, but open my mouth. His lips part right along with mine, his tongue peeking out as he watches the spoon disappear between mine.

This feels very much like foreplay.

It also tastes like a sugar bomb has gone off in my mouth. It’s so sweet it’s almost pucker worthy. Lance withdraws the spoon slowly, his eyes on my mouth the entire time, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. When he notices the spoon is by no means clean, he offers it to me again.

I still have a gummy bear in here, so I shake my head.

“You don’t like it?”

I chew a few times before I swallow. He wasn’t kidding about them being hard. They’re practically frozen. I put my hand in front of my mouth. “It’s a little sweet.”

He sticks the spoon back in his mouth and licks it clean. “See? I don’t have a problem with your spit.”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I duck my head. Lance leans in close, forcing me to look up at him. “I want to kiss you again.”

I survey the crowded café.

He must see my panic, because he tugs my ponytail and sits back in his chair. “But I can wait if I have to.”

We eat our desserts in silence for a while. I’m too nervous to enjoy this the way I’d like to. I can feel Lance staring at me.

“Where’d you go to high school?” he asks.

“In Galesburg.”

“Right, because you moved.”

“Mm-hmm. My sister went to Wells for a year, though.”

“Really? Do you look alike?”

“Not much. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and she’s tall and thin.”

“Huh.” He takes a few more bites of his sundae. “Wait. What school did you go to before you moved, then?”

I knew this was going to happen eventually.

“I went to Pulaski.”

“I went there for, like, a month right at the end of the school year when I first moved here.” He sets his spoon down and leans forward. “Shit. I knew I knew you. I used to pull your ponytail in the hall. You were the only other ginger in the school. I noticed you right away. Do you remember that?”

I look down at my carrot cake, which sits mostly uneaten on my plate.

“Poppy?”

“I remember.”

“Was I mean to you? I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

“You weren’t mean.”

“Okay. Good.” His knee is going again. Rubbing against mine. “If you remembered, why didn’t you say anything before now?”

“It didn’t seem important.” Because I didn’t think you remembered me at all.

“That we went to school together? You came to my house. Did you know you knew me then?”

Oh, God. This is happening now? My whole body feels numb and like it’s on fire at the same time. “Maybe we should go.”

“Poppy?” He puts his hand over mine to stop me from grabbing my purse.

“You didn’t even really notice I was there.”

“So you did know?”

“Of course I did. Everyone knows who you are,” I say quietly.

“No one here has recognized me.”

“You’re wearing a baseball cap. It’s not like we were friends or anything. We went to school together for a few weeks, and you were two grades higher than me. I was nobody.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I think we should go.”

“Not until you tell me whatever it is that’s making you all sketchy.”

“Can we not do this right here, please?” I whisper.

I don’t actually think there’s an ideal location for this anywhere, ever, but a crowded café is definitely low on the list.

“Sure, okay.” Lance pushes away from the table and comes around to help me into my jacket.

My stomach is twisting. I feel stupid already. I’m going to come across as some pining, idiot girl who’s idolized him for years—which is and isn’t the case. I mean, for a long time I romanticized that kiss, and of course, like the hopeless romantic I am, I had those silly girl fantasies about meeting him again and picking up where we’d left off.

But it isn’t like I never dated or had boyfriends. I’ve done both. I’ve had several long-term boyfriends, nice ones who treated me well. But the fire just never seemed to burn bright or long enough to sustain the initial attraction, and eventually those relationships turned into friendships.

What if he thinks I’m a stalker? No matter how sweet he is with me, there’s plenty of evidence floating around out there to prove he’s a partier with lots of willing partners. That coupled with the strangely labeled contact on his phone is enough to remind me how sideways this whole thing could go.

Lance follows me out of the café, the mood having changed from light and flirty to heavy once again.

He grabs my hand when we’re on the sidewalk. “Can you tell me what’s going on? I really fucking hate being manipulated, and that’s exactly what this feels like.”

“I’m not manipulating you.” I pause while people pass us on the sidewalk. “Can we walk and I promise I’ll talk?”

Lance sighs, but falls into step beside me. I wait until we’re back on a quieter street before I say anything.

“My sister’s freshman year, she took me to a house party. Some kids from her school threw it.”

“Okayyy.”

“I was in seventh grade.”

“Fuck. That wasn’t a good place for you to be, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Was I there?”

I nod, but don’t look at him.

He grabs my arm, gently but firmly, and pulls me to a stop. Stepping in front of me, his eyes are wide and haunted. “Please tell me we didn’t hook up at that party when you were thirteen.”

“God. No. Not in the way you mean.”

He drops his hands, closes his eyes, and releases a relieved breath. “Thank fucking Christ.”

“And I was twelve.”

“Twelve? At a high school party?”

“My thirteenth birthday was, like, a week away. My sister didn’t always make the best choices.”

“Clearly.”

“It was a big part of the reason we ended up moving away from Chicago for a few years. She couldn’t stay out of trouble.” I was always the easy child growing up. Cinny was the one who got into all the trouble. Apart from that one party.

We start walking again.

“So I didn’t commit a felony, which is good. Did I talk to you?”

It hurts that he doesn’t remember at all. “In a manner of speaking.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“One of my sister’s friends was playing a game. I didn’t realize what it was until it was too late.” I have to look anywhere but him in order to get out the rest. “They were playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Lance comes to a dead stop again. I don’t want to look up, but I have to because he’s not moving. “You got locked in a closet with some high school douche when you were twelve?”

“Almost thirteen.” As if that makes it better. “I didn’t get locked in there with a douche; I got locked in there with you.”

“For seven minutes?”

“Yes.”

“Did we make out? Wait. Don’t answer that. We’re close to your house, right?”

“It’s down the street.”

He laces his fingers through mine and tugs. “Come on.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hoping to jog my memory.”

When we reach my door, it takes me a minute to find my keys since they’re stuck at the bottom of my purse. Then I fumble and drop them on the mat.

Lance bends down to grab them. “Here. Let me get it.”

When the door swings open, he pushes past me into my foyer. He goes straight for the hall closet, opening the door and parting the hangers.

“What’re you doing?”

He laces my fingers with his. “I want you to show me.”

“Show you wh—”

He steps into the closet and pulls me inside with him, closing the door behind us.

A hat falls from the hook inside the door, and I bat it away in the dark. “This is a really weird way to end a first date.” I’m so nervous right now.

“Just go with it.” He brings my fingers to his lips.

“What am I supposed to be showing you, apart from the inside of my closet?” My heart is beating so hard.

“What our first kiss was like. I want to remember it the way you do,” he pleads.

“You were probably drunk.”

“There’s a good chance. But I’m not now. Please.”

I can tell him no. He won’t push me for something I’m not willing to give freely. But I recognize the vulnerability in this. In him. It makes me want to see if I can resurrect the sweet boy inside this closed man who stole my heart so many years ago.

My biggest fear is falling for real this time. I don’t really know him or understand the crazy life he seems to lead. I never have, and I’m not a kid anymore, but actually spending time with him has pulled me way beyond any romantic fantasies.

I pull out my phone and key in the code.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting a timer.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m re-creating the moment, and this is what you did.”

“I set a timer?”

“You honestly don’t remember at all?”

He cups my face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make a lot of nice memories before I got drafted, especially not when I first moved to Chicago. I had to shut a lot of things out. Please give me this one good thing back?”

He’s so sincere. What’s more, he’s so very sad. It makes me want to know what could’ve been so bad that he’d choose to forget everything he could.

“Okay.” I cut the light on my phone, submerging us in darkness again. It’s easier to do this if I can’t see his face.

I can feel him playing with the ends of my hair. “Why did I set a timer?”

“You were being sweet. I was freaked out. You set an alarm so you wouldn’t lose face—those were your words. I didn’t understand what you meant at the time, but then you started asking me questions. I told you my name.”

“Poppy like the flower,” he whispers.

My stomach does a little flip at the thought that maybe he does remember. “That’s what you said to me.”

“I did?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “And you asked me how old I was. I lied and said I was fourteen. You were turning fifteen the next day.”

“Why would you lie, pretty Poppy?” His fingers are light, following the contour of my lips.

Is he playing with me? It’s like he’s giving me back the words he used all those years ago. I don’t want this to be a game for him. It’s not for me.

“I knew you wouldn’t kiss me if you knew I was only twelve.”

“Fuck. No, I wouldn’t have. I guess I’m glad you lied then.”

“I’m not twelve anymore, so it’s fine. And even then, I made the choice to be in there with you. I remembered you from the year before, when you went to my school. I thought you were cute. Anyway—” I swallow thickly at the feel of his fingers trailing along my neckline. His light touch sends my mind spinning into the past, and heat rushes through me. “You asked me if I’d ever been kissed before.”

“And what did you say?”

“No.”

“And what did I say?”

“That you should be sorry, because you were going to take something from me that I couldn’t get back.”

“But I kissed you anyway.”

“You did.”

“That was selfish of me. That kiss belonged to someone special.”

“It felt special at the time.”

“I’m glad. And I’m still not sorry the way I should’ve been.”

“What?”

“For taking something that didn’t belong to me. I wasn’t sorry then. I’m still not sorry now.”

He remembers.