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“Wow.” Logan shakes his head and runs his hand lightly up my calf. A cascade of goose bumps follows his touch. “Okay, you’re right. That’s terrible. But like, epically terrible. Other than him meeting his future wife—which is a surprising twist. That’s got to be the worst.”
“That depends on the criteria you’re using to judge,” I tell him. “Comparatively, that one’s pretty tame.”
Logan’s jaw drops, and I press on, recounting the many tales of my terrible almost kisses. Like Bruce Fiander, a guy in college whose breath smelled so much like dog food that I panicked when he got close and pretended to faint. Which madehimpanic and desert me in a restaurant parking lot. A class act.
There was Jeff Zacharias my junior year of high school, who decided to start by kissing my neck but somehow got his braces caught in my sweater. We ended up having to cut him out of it, ruining my very favorite sweater. Then he needed an emergency orthodontist appointment to remove the remnants of cashmere from his mouth.
His parents tried to makemyparents cover the bill, which turned into a whole thing. Mrs. Zacharias has been shunned on any committee my mother has run ever since.
And I can’t forget Matt, who had an allergic reaction to my perfume so severe that before he even made contact, his lips swelled ten times their size. They looked like two sausages stacked on top of each other.
“How many of these stories involve someone needing to go to the hospital?” Logan asks.
“I’d say about sixty percent. I did wonder briefly if I’d been cursed.”
“I mean, you have to consider it.” Logan shakes his head. “You’re right—those stories are … something.”
“Oh, I’m not even done,” I tell him. “This last one is by far the worst. If you still really want to know.”
“Tell me. It’s kind of like a car wreck I can’t look away from.”
“It was Cameron Dunn in the observatory with the candlestick,” I say. Logan stares blankly. “Sorry—Clue humor. In reality, it was Cameron Dunn in the university library with the stomach flu.”
Logan covers his mouth, eyes wide, and shakes his head.
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I jumped out of the way before he—” I pause, trying to find the least disgusting way to tell this part. “Suffice it to say, I dodged a very special kind of bullet. If you get my drift.”
“I wish I didn’t. I really wish I didn’t. I can see how this all might scar a person.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m scarred, per se, but all the awful almostsdidgive me pause. Alotof pause. And it helped me decide to hold out for my first kiss. Which … brought its own set of challenges.”
“That sounds ominous,” Logan says.
I hesitate, suddenly unsure how much I want to say. The ridiculously embarrassing stories are one thing.
The rest …
But, for the first time, I actuallywantto talk to someone other than Mia about this. It feels cathartic or freeing. And Logan hasn’t for one second made me feel naive or silly or ridiculous about this. He also hasn’t stopped running gentle fingers up and down my calf, so that’s extra motivation to extend the conversation.
I draw in a breath, then dive in. “Since most people expect at the veryleastto kiss someone on even a first date, I started being up front. Just so there weren’t any surprises. Mia says it’s not anyone’s business but mine. While I agree, it just feels right to be honest that I’m not going to kiss a guy on a first date. Expectations matter. It’s also sort of a test for me to see how they respond. Most guys, as it turns out, react … poorly.”
Logan’s jaw starts clenching again.
“What does that mean?” he asks in a low voice. One that sounds threatening and protective and makes the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.
“Guys usually fall into one of two camps when I say I haven’t kissed anyone before. The first seems to think there’s something wrong with me. I’ve been called a prude—among other things.”
Logan looks downright murderous now, which makes me feel all warm and happy. Guess I’m into homicidal urges now. I hold up a hand before he can interrupt and say whatever he seems poised to say.
“I know that’s their issue, not mine. And not having experience doesn’t make me a prude or naive or anything else. I like to think that I’m just …choosy.”
I smile, which seems to ease Logan’s tension the slightest bit. Which is probably good because he’s really not going to like what I say next.
But when his hand makes its way up to my knee, resting there and giving me solid comfort, it’s just the push I need.
“The other camp of guys seem to take this as a personal challenge. Like they wanted to be the first to …” I search for a word or phrase, then wrinkle my nose when I come up with the best one I can think of. It’s crass, but it really is the most fitting. “Like they wanted to mark their territory.”
The expression on Logan’s face shifts to something so terrifying that I’m honestly shocked.
