I smirk. “Are you? You have more on the line.”

He stops, cupping my face in his hands. His eyes twinkle, but maybe I see what I want to see. I didn’t mean to save him all my firsts. But it happened, and a part of me is glad that it did. Because he was the first boy to give me a gift. The first boy to kiss me. To want to become my friend not because I was popular, but because I was me.

He was the first boy who noticed the injured animal behind the camouflage of hostility and tried to give it water and shelter.

“Fuck the line.”

The first thrust is like a sharp slice of a knife. My lungs squeeze the oxygen inside them. The discomfort subsides with the long, luxurious kisses that Penn rains on my mouth. On my cheeks, neck, and breasts. He stops every now and again, not wanting to come, to suck one of my nipples into his mouth and lick around it. He caresses my face and swipes stray locks of hair from my forehead. He is moving inside me as though he’s done it a thousand times before, but he is also careful and gentle. The leaves beneath me crunch with every thrust as he pushes into me, and they tickle my back.

He growls, and it stirs something inside me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, squeezing hard, wanting more of him against me, inside me, with me. I wish I could lock us in a bubble and never let go. I wish we didn’t have to go back. That I didn’t have to hate him, and that it wasn’t so wrong to want this.

His thrusts become quicker and jerkier, and my eyes widen at that. I’m guessing he is going to come. I’ve never seen a guy come. Another first. The space between my thighs is sore, but the pain is lusciously sinful. I’m full of him and desire and want.

I only realize that I’m crying when he empties inside me. His jaw tightening, he is so beautiful, and I think that’s a part of why the tears stream down my face. As soon as he realizes that I’m crying, his eyes narrow, and he kisses the tears away. He doesn’t take a moment to recompose. He is still inside me when he licks them, one by one, chasing them.

“That bad, huh? I swear I leave more of an impression when they’re half-drunk.”

There’s laughter through my tears now, and I swat at his chest.

I want him to tell me everything. Why he calls me Skull Eyes. Why he has a hole in all his shirts. What Adriana is to him. And for the first time, I think I might have the chance to find out all those things. Because the way he looks at me? He doesn’t hate me. Not right now.

“Have you been with many girls?”

He pulls away from me, and it burns a little. We both look down, and there’s a little blood on the condom. He tugs the condom slowly. We both watch in fascination as he knots the open end and tosses it behind the tree trunk.

“Not many. Less than five, more than three. I was your first?”

“Yeah.”

“Say it. The entire sentence.”

“Huh?”

“Penn Scully, you were my first.”

“Penn Scully, you were my first.” I roll my eyes and laugh.

He rises to his feet, zips up, and offers me his hand. I take it as reality slowly trickles into my brain. I let the Las Juntas football captain screw me in the woods. If anyone finds out, I’m officially dead. A sudden wave of fear washes over me.

“Tell me you still want to be my friend.” I gnaw at my lower lip.

“I do. I am. I’ve always been your friend, Skull Eyes. Even four years ago.”

“What makes you say that?”

He blinks at me, dead serious. “Because if I weren’t your friend, I’d have fucked you over and made sure you paid for what you did.”

I slip my hand under his black hoodie, over his shirt, searching for the hole I know I’m going to find. It’s there but smaller. His heart is beating so hard against my palm. I know he is feeling this, too.

I blow out imaginary candles and make a wish.

“You know what I feel like?” he asks.

“What?”

He can barely contain his wolfish, twisted grin. “An apple.”

On the drive back home, Penn argues that I need to hear my mom out.

“She’s neurotic as fuck, full of good intentions and bad execution, and she’s shit-scared of you, but she loves you. It’s nauseatingly clear.”

“I’ll think about it.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean those words.

I know that Dad and Bailey would be grateful if we play nice with one another. I haven’t felt this hopeful in years.

We pull up to my house, and Penn slams the passenger door and swaggers his way to the entrance. I follow. He stops at the door and turns around, pulling me to him by the waistline of my skirt.

“FYI, you smell like dirty forest sex.”

“You smell like a cheap beer,” I murmur as his lips find mine, drugging and perfect.

“You smell like my new, steady ride.” His lips move against mine.

“You smell like a lot of really fun nights.” I pretend to sniff his neck, armpits, face. My heart speeds without direction all over my chest. I push Adriana’s memory aside. The other girls in Las Juntas. Blythe.

“You smell like you might be right.”

He smacks another wet kiss on my lips and pushes the door open.

My smile is so big, my cheeks hurt. We saunter in together, but far enough away from each other not to arouse suspicion. Penn stops when we reach the living room, dropping his keys to the floor with a clink.