Booth was nervous, which wasn’t like him. He’d taken a ridiculous amount of time to decide what to wear to his coffee date with Jane, probably because she was apparently famous for her style and he didn’t want to look like he was ignorant or careless about his own appearance, or God forbid, like she was slumming.

If it had been dinner, or lunch even, he’d have known what to wear—a nice shirt or thin sweater under a casual blazer and slacks. But this was coffee, which he felt was one step below lunch. Exasperated, he finally left the house wearing khakis and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

She walked in right on time. She looked amazing in a white dress with a wide navy and white striped hem and a pink leather jacket. Her feet were enclosed in some strappy high-heeled sandals.

“Hey,” she said with a hesitant smile as he got to his feet.

She leaned in as if to maybe hug him then seemed to change her mind. The problem was, he’d already moved toward her, so they shared a weird moment of “should I or shouldn’t I” that ended up with an air kiss/cheek press.

He chuckled. “Well, that was awkward,” he said, pulling out a chair for her.

“Just a little,” she answered, smiling.

The café was almost empty. After ordering lattes, they stood near the hand-off bar to wait.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“I was about to say the same thing,” she said. “I was…I was a bitch to you the other day at the show.”

“I had it coming,” he said with a rueful smile. “Which is a gross understatement. I deserved a lot more than what you dished out the other day.”

“I won’t argue with you.” This was delivered in an icy tone.

“One Americano and a grande white mocha for Booth.”

Booth handed Jane her mocha then they sat at a table by the window. Jane still liked her coffee sweet with whipped cream. When the barista had handed over their cups, Jane’s had creamy overflow coming out the sipping hole. Her tongue darted out to lap it up and damned if that didn’t send a zing of sexual awareness shooting through him. He averted his gaze from her mouth. She had an extremely sexy mouth, a mouth created for dirty things. He’d fantasized often about her lips around his cock, something that had never happened while they were together.

“So for the record,” he said, pulling his mind away from sex, “I’m sorry about the way I treated you when we were in high school. I was a real shit and when I look back on what I did, I still cringe and wish I could go back and change things. I know it’s probably hard to believe, but if you placed me in that same situation now, my reaction would be completely different. I’m not that stupid, vain asshole anymore.”

She nodded, those sexy lips curved slightly in something that wasn’t a full smile, but held a glimmer of forgiveness. “Hopefully no one is the same stupid person they were in high school. I was stupid too.”

That surprised him. “You? No, you weren’t. All the stupidity was on my end.”

She shook her head slowly. “You’re wrong, Booth. I should never have shut you out.”

“I never blamed you for not wanting to talk to me. Honestly.”

“Well, you should have. Mature people talk about their problems with each other. Every relationship will have bumps along the way.”

“Or even full on sinkholes.”

She laughed. “Yes. But you don’t necessarily shut the person out. It’s called being an adult.”

“Amen to that.”

He studied her face and amazingly, it held none of the animosity from before. Her smile, although small, seemed genuine. Could it be that easy? Had he been forgiven? God, he hoped so.

She raised her cup. “Here’s to being an adult, because being a teenager pretty much sucked.”

“I’m in complete agreement,” he said, touching his cup to hers. He relaxed a little, hoping when they said goodbye today they might end up something resembling friends.

She was still so beautiful. Her rosebud mouth with the dimple on the left side. All that gorgeous, shiny hair. And her breasts…they were covered up now, but—yesterday’s fashion show notwithstanding—he had profound, indelible memories of what they had looked like, felt like, tasted like. He remembered how they’d teased each other and how he’d woken up every day—happy if he was going to see her that day, depressed if he wasn’t. His life had been a roller coaster back then.

“You were my first real relationship, you know,” he confessed.

Her eyes widened. “I was?”

He nodded. “I tried to give you the impression that I was an experienced man of the world, but I wasn’t.”

“I was your first serious girlfriend? Really?” That seemed to please her. “I hadn’t gone out with many people before you either. I was a bit of a wallflower.”

Which was something he really had never understood. When he’d met her at the pool party, she’d immediately caught his eye and he couldn’t fathom why she didn’t have a bevy of guys fighting for her attention. Maybe because she hadn’t been one of the girls beta testing their sexual wiles. He recalled a lot of his friends basing a girl’s attractiveness on how easy a lay she seemed to be, because at that age, it was all about fucking. If you were fucking a girl, your main mission was to keep the status quo at all costs. If you weren’t fucking anyone, a lot of your time and energy was spent trying to change that. If Facebook had a status just for teenaged boys, the choices would not have been “Single” or “In a Relationship,” they would have said, “Getting Laid” or “Loser.”

“So,” she said, “if I was your first girlfriend, does that mean I popped your cherry?”

Booth hesitated, but what was he going to do? Lie? No. It wasn’t as if this was a state secret. She’d been first in so many ways—yes, she’d been the first person he’d had sex with, but she was also the first reason ever he’d not wanted to go to practice, the first girl he’d really talked about with his mom beyond “she sits behind me in biology.” And even though he’d been the shit heel in the scenario, she was his first heartbreak.

“Cards on the table?” He coughed. “As a matter of fact, you did.”

He could feel his face flush, which was pretty idiotic. Everyone had a first time, everyone. Maybe it was something in the male DNA, to feel stupid about being inexperienced. Or maybe it was just awkward talking about this no matter who you were. He’d never really discussed sex with anyone, not even his teammates.

She leaned back and smiled. “Really?” She drew out the word, as if it was a mouthful of fine wine she wanted to savor. “Why didn’t you tell me? I told you it was my first time.”

“I don’t know. I was probably embarrassed. I didn’t want you to lose respect for me, I guess.”

With a thoughtful expression on her face, she ran her thumb over the rim of her cup. “No offense, but that’s kind of silly.”

“No, you’re right. I never claimed that I was the smartest tool in the box.”

“You mean ‘sharpest’?” she said with a wry tilt to her lips.

He flushed again. “Exactly. I’m just a dumb jock.”

That got him a frown. “Don’t put yourself down like that, especially when it’s not true.” She took a sip of her mocha. “You’re a pretty convincing actor. I really thought you knew what you were doing. It was comforting, actually. I felt like I was putting myself in the hands of someone who’d help me get past that awkward fumbling stage.”

“Thanks, I guess,” he said. “I looked up stuff on the Internet and I, ah, also stole Val’s romance novels and studied the sex parts.”

This elicited a bark of laughter that drew the attention of some people in line.

“Mostly, though, I paid attention to you because, even though the girl in the book liked something, that didn’t mean you would.”

“See? You’re plenty sharp. That’s probably what makes you such a good goalie too—watching people and reading their body language.”

He gave her a raised eyebrow. “You said ‘too.’ That must mean you thought I was a good lover.”

This time it was her turn to flush. “Tell me about your life now. Are you seeing anyone?”

A deft change of topic. He wondered if that meant the answer was no. Eleven years was a long time, but he distinctly remembered the first time she came. In the hard drive of his brain, that particular file was marked “favorite.” They’d been intimate for about a week. It had been a heady time. That belief that men thought about sex every minute of the day? As an adult, he found that wasn’t true at all, but back then…shit. He’d thought about sex constantly. He reviewed his performance every single time, probably because he was a hockey player and performance review was second nature. He spent a lot of time trying to think of places they could do it, and when he couldn’t be with her, he jerked off to his memories of being with her.

Actually, he still did, sometimes, and he always felt guilty about it afterward, as if he didn’t have a right to enjoy the memories because of what he’d done.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone, not really,” he said. “You?”

She wrinkled her nose in that cute way she had and said, “Why? Do you have a thing for me still?” She glanced at him, her eyes twinkling.

I absolutely do, he realized.

“No.” He stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles. “Really. Just curious. That’s all.”

God was going to strike him down for that lie. He’d never forgotten her, never really gotten over her. He told himself the reason he hadn’t been able to let go was because the situation had been unresolved. It was one of those regrets he’d expected to wrestle with in his old age. But now, it seemed as if they’d buried the hatchet and his mind was acting as if Prohibition had just been lifted. His eyes kept straying toward her cleavage, her calves, even her perfectly painted pink toes. He kept remembering how she looked the first time she’d gotten on top. Fuck. He could still picture how her eyelids had fluttered closed as she slowly lowered herself onto his prick. The sensation of entering her hot, wet snatch, the sound of her low moan and how, when she finally opened her eyes and looked down at him, he could read all the pleasure she was feeling right on her face. That had been fucking everything to him. It had been as if she was not only letting him into her body—she was letting him into her soul. The willingness to share herself that way—that had set her apart. It still did. He wanted to experience that again.

Huh. As if.