Page 109 of A Good Book

I had to think about that. Did it take me nineteen years to get my first boyfriend? And would he be my last? I pressed a hand to my baby bump. Of course, he would be my last.

I sat up and put on his hoodie, zipping it just past my breasts.

He turned and lifted his eyebrows while inspecting me. Then he smiled. “Good morning.”

I finger spelled “Only you.”

His forehead wrinkled as he stared at my hand. “Slower.”

I spelled it again.

“Only you?”

I nodded, pointing to him. Then I padded toward my desk, my body brushing past his to write him a note.

Only You

You’re my first and last.

My beginning and my end.

My friend and lover.

Ben read it and lifted his gaze to me. “Gabbs, did you just write me a poem?”

I finger spelled. “A haiku.”

He grinned, curling my hair behind my ears while ducking to kiss me. “I love you,” he whispered before kissing me. Then he hugged me and swayed.

I wasn’t sure what he was doing until he started to sing “Only You” by The Platters.

My heart swelled, forming a lump in my throat. Ben could sing, like really sing. Pitch-perfect. In time. And every step synched to the rhythm. Then I focused on the words, and my emotions multiplied. The song wasn’t just poetic; it was beautiful and romantic. It was us.

While Ben serenaded and danced with me, it felt like he could hear. There was nothing tragic about the moment. It was just me and the boy who stole my heart before I even knew it. Perhaps all those years in high school I spent “pining” for Matt were nothing more than searching for my stolen heart. And Ben had it all along.

As he sang the last two lines, he unzipped the hoodie and slid it past my shoulders, leaving me naked before him.

“Baby,” he murmured in my ear. “You’re so sexy.”

I swallowed hard because he called me “baby” and “sexy.” For years, I wanted to be someone’s “sweetheart” or their “love,” and I wanted to be “beautiful” or maybe even “gorgeous.” But as Ben cupped my breast and teased his thumb over my nipple, I loved being his sexy baby.

I blinked heavily, staring at my alarm clock. “Oh my gosh! I’m late!” Shoving Ben away from me, I grabbed my previous day’s clothes from the floor and wrestled with them.

Ben squinted.

“I’m late!” I yelled, then I tried to sign it, but I couldn’t remember the sign for late.

“It’s fine. I’m guessing you’re late,” he said.

I nodded with my back to him as I hopped on one foot and then the other to put on my socks and shoes.

“Sorry. My fault.”

Yes. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.

I dry brushed my teeth, swished the melted ice from the previous night’s drink, spat it back in the cup, and snagged my backpack on the way to the door.

“That’s it. You’re leaving me with a boner? No goodbye. No kiss?”

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