Page 164 of Unconditionally Yours

“Ice cream,” he repeats, like this is obvious. “We pierced our bodies. That calls for celebratory frozen dairy. It’s a rule.”

“That’s not a real rule,” I say.

“It is now. C’mon. Rocky Road for Jett, strawberry swirl for you, and I want one of those triple-scoop birthday cake monstrosities that makes me feel like I’m four and invincible.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jett says, but he follows.

We end up eating at one of those little metal tables that sounds like it’s going to collapse with every movement. My earlobe throbs. Jett’s got chocolate on his jaw. Benji’s got a smear of blue on his bicep and doesn’t seem to care. It’s… nice.

Too nice.

I shouldn’t feel this fucking happy. We’ve carved out something just for us. This insane, glitter-drenched romance is real. It’s seeping into my bones. Into the ache in my ears. Into the slow curve of a smile I’m not trying to hide.

“She better like this,” Jett says, but he’s also the one who says, “Let’s go. Her house”

We roll up to her house.

It looks exactly like her, too pink, too bright, slightly menacing. There are flamingos in the yard and a garden gnome holding a butcher knife. I feel like I’m about to be either kissed or sacrificed.

“I’ll go in,” Jett says, already cracking his knuckles.

“You’re not going in alone,” I argue.

Benji claps a hand on my chest. “We’ll keep lookout. You’re bleeding from your new piercing and you can’t be trusted in her house unsupervised.”

He’s right.

We watch Jett disappear through the side gate. Benji and I loiter on the porch like we’re trying to sell Jesus door-to-door. He’s humming.

“You ever break into a girl’s house to leave her presents?” I ask.

“Nope. First time. Feels right though, doesn’t it?” he says.

I smile.

Jett returns five minutes later, looking like he stepped through a unicorn war zone.

He’s holding stuff.

“Jesus,” I say. “Did you loot her?”

“She loots me constantly,” he says, unrepentant. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

Benji lights up. “What’d you get?”

Jett holds up a glitter-covered scrunchie, already pulling his hair up to wear it. “This was on her nightstand. It’s a whole thing with us. Her hair shit. Fuck off.”

“Gonna smell like her,” Benji says dreamily.

“She wants that,” Jett says, but there’s color in his ears.

Then he tosses something at Benji, a ridiculous pink crop top that says ‘Lick Me’ in rhinestones.

“I’m wearing this to the gym,” Benji says seriously, already stretching it over his chest.

“It won’t fit,” I say.

“It’ll try,” he grins.