Page 123 of Everything But Mine

She holds my face, preventing me from hiding away. “Yes, it was pleasurable.” I relax when she doesn’t wince or look hurt. “I burned through all my firsts. By the summer you turned eighteen, I realized I’d fucked up all my firsts.

So I ended up deciding, if anything, you could be the first person to learn… me. What I like and how I like it. We could learn together.”

She’s quiet, but her eyes are fixed on me.

“I also haven’t dated. Not since dances in junior year of high school. You know—taken someone out, tried to impress them. Not once.”

She bites her lip. “You’ve taken me places.”

“Yes,” I say, stepping behind her and circling my arms around her waist. “I’ve been more in a relationship with you than with anyone. Everything but the name.”

“Everything but, huh?” she teases, a smile on her lips. “So you’ll tell me? If I do something you like?”

Amanda turns in my arms, looping hers around my neck. She touches her lips to mine, and we kiss languidly.

“And…” I murmur against her lips. “What do you like?”

She smirks and leans into my ear, voice sultry. “I’d like to feel your hands run down my bare sides, caressing me until my entire chest is beaded with goose bumps, and you suck my pebbled nipple into your mouth.”

Blood rushes to cock, making it grow against my zipper. We kiss until I’m rock-hard. When I open my eyes, her cheeks and neck flush a dark pink.

“I want you.” I lick my lips, my tongue darting at her bottom one in our closeness. “I want to try again soon.”

She gets on her tiptoes, and I dip down so she can nuzzle her nose against mine. “That was sexy,” she whispers. “Now honesty.”

I nod.

“Giving birth.”

I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Tell me why.”

“My mom had a rough time with it. I’m worried that even if everything goes well…” She traces the rim of my T-shirt, her thumb brushing against the base of my neck. “It will be bad, maybe it won’t feel good after… And you won’t want me.”

Her cheeks are crimson, and her gaze is fixed on my chest. The idea of me ever not wanting her is absurd, but if I told her that I wouldn’t be hearing her.

“I’ll show you I want you every damn day.”

She lifts her eyes to me. The lighting overhead reflects against the wetness. And this embrace feels like we’re pouring trust between us, not just as friends, but as lovers.

The cart overflows with large boxes, bottles, and onesies in sizes we’re not sure we’ll need. There’s also a baby care set with tiny nail clippers—because apparently they’re born with Freddy Krueger nails, according to the birthing class coach. When we turn the corner toward the checkout, a screeching sound hits us first.

Screaming. Not just a baby, though there’s that too. No, it’s them. Cassie is red-faced, snapping about diapers being the wrong size, waving a container of formula. In front of her is Daray, hunched over a massive stroller that looks expensive—more expensive than our whole cart—and not functional. He’s fumbling with the handlebar while trying to quiet the squalling newborn strapped inside.

“I told you we should’ve packed a diaper⁠—”

“Because when you say we, you mean me⁠—”

“I’m the one who—” Daray cuts her off.

“No, you are not the one! You think you can just⁠—”

The cashier’s gaze shifts between them, like she’s ready to quit mid-shift. The baby screams louder, but they don’t stop.

Amanda freezes, and then we smell it. She wrinkles her nose and presses her lips, trying not to laugh, but when I do, her shoulders shake. “It’s so petty,” she mouths at me. Still, seeing them deal with a blowout and nothing to clean it with? Too funny. And Amanda’s laughter? Too good.

Daray shifts, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees us. He clocks me, then he freezes when he registers Amanda’s belly, spine straightening mid-response. Cassie follows his gaze, and her body angling toward Amanda, clenching fists on her sides. I step between them.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Cassie’s mascara is smudged, hair wild and unbrushed.