Page 71 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

And then another memory rushes forward. Something I thought I’d misremembered. Something I’d chided myself for imagining, especially when all the news about Jason came out.

“I pushed you against the brick wall,” I say.

He nods. “And then you narrowed the distance between us.”

“Yeah. But then...” I hesitate.

“Then I looked at you. Your face was as close to me as it was then.”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“And you looked good.” His voice shakes, like he’s not supposed to admit that. “And you were so confident and assured and...”

“Then you kissed me,” I say, stunned.

“You were the first person I kissed.”

“Really?”

“My whole life was hockey,” Jason says, and his cheeks are red. “And my parents were strict.”

“Oh. Sixteen is a normal time for a first kiss. Probably lots of people have it later too.”

“Guess that means I wasn’t your first kiss.” Something like pain is in his voice.

“No,” I admit, thinking about the girls I kissed. Madison. Haley. Amber.

Those kisses had been increasingly desperate. I’d wanted to feel...something. I’d wondered if the chemistry was wrong or if the descriptions from movies that made kissing sound amazing, instead of, well, gross, were because movie studios have to sell movies. I’d thought maybe my expectations were too high.

But I never felt anything with those girls. I’m gay, not bisexual, not pansexual.

“But,” I say, smiling as I gaze into his eyes. “You were the first person I wanted to kiss. The first guy. The first person who made me realize I like guys, not girls.”

“So it wasn’t a prank?”

“No, Jason. It wasn’t a prank. It was real.”

“But then I—” His face whitens. “I was mean to you. I was cold. And then I—”

“Then you left,” I finish for him. “It wasn’t great.”

“I’m so sorry.” He stretches up, then cups my face. He runs his fingers over my cheeks, and I relax in his arms.

“That must have been terrible,” he continues, stroking my body.

“It wasn’t great. I-I thought we had a connection. But then you were gone.”

His shoulders slump, and I nudge him, because I don’t want to see him unhappy. I don’t want guilt to fill all the spaces where there was happiness and joy before.

“I’m sorry you thought it was a prank,” I say.

“I’m sorry too.”

My stomach growls, and Jason laughs. “Let’s have breakfast.”

Then he leads me to the fire pit, and we eat coconuts.

JASON