Page 86 of The Summer of Everything

“Sounds serious.”

Eyes on his mint green Pumas, Wes whispers, “I guess.”

Warm fingers that smell like dark roast coffee and cinnamon skim Wes’s chin, lifting it. They’re close enough for Wes to breathe in when Manu exhales. His breath smells like peppermint, as if he’s popped a candy in his mouth somewhere between the restaurant and here.

“I hope, whoever he is,” Manu tilts his head, smiling, “he doesn’t occupy your mind long.”

“Me too.”

The night wraps around them in a quiet glow. Standing in the gap between the sidewalk and the stairwell door, Wes watches the length of Manu’s eyelashes as he blinks. His heart pushes at his ribcage. Every second is another layer sliced off his Nico-focused brain.

“And on the chance of truly screwing tonight up…” Manu’s thumb traces the edge of Wes’s lower lip. “Can I kiss you?”

The impulsive answer:Yes. The long, drawn out answer:Yes.

The answer Wes’s lips give: “Yes.”

He’s glad Manu doesn’t hesitate. He’s already overthinking everything. Manu closes the gap. Wes eases into it. He curls his arms around Manu’s neck—they’re equal height, which Wes enjoys too—and Manu’s hand rests in the middle of his spine, rather than low enough that Wes will spend the entirety of the kiss wondering if Manu might touch his ass.

Manu kisses softly; Wes reciprocates. It’s light, but easy.

It’s a good first kiss.

Then, it’s over. Manu stumbles backward, waving and mumbling about having a great time. He shouts, “Call me!” and waits until Wes nods his agreement. Then Manu cuts the corner.

Wes, by the laws of geekdom, fist-pumps the air and screeches like a banshee.

Manu kissed him. Wait, no, Wes kissed him back. His heart bops all over his tongue like a kid hopped up on Mountain Dew. Turning away from the street, Wes carefully adjusts his erection, then bounds up the stairs toward the loft.

The night’s ending, but the universe just blessed Wes with a new beginning.

Once again, destiny or fortuneorthe whole damn universewas incorrect.

No, kissing Manu isn’t a new beginning. It’s an interlude. It’s that minute-and-a-half interruption in an otherwise perfectly assembled album. Kissing Manu is a break from Wes’s typically disastrous existence.

He walks into the loft and is greeted by a half-eaten box of Little Tony’s on the coffee table next to a pair of bare feet. The television emits white noise while Nico lounges on the green sofa.

“Hi.” Nico offers him a small wave to match his tiny grin.

Wes’s heart high-jumps into his throat. “Hey.” He almost asks how Nico got inside the loft—Ella’s known to forget to lock up behind herself—but hanging from Nico’s middle finger is a key ring with a pair of gold keys.

“Your mom left them with me,” he explains. “In case of an emergency and Leo’s unavailable.”

Wes tosses his own keys on the coffee table. “What constitutes this emergency?”

“Ugh. I couldn’t smash this whole pie alone.” Nico hovers a hand over the pizza box. “I needed emotional support.”

“Whatever,” says Wes, but his mouth betrays him so quickly by inching into a genuine smile.

“Help me finish? It’s pepperoni,” Nico says, wiggling over to make room for Wes. “No jalapeños.”

Wes hovers near the sofa, biting his thumbnail. He’s just gone out on his first unofficial date with a guy who’s not Nico. They kissed. But one solid view of that scar in Nico’s eyebrow, his fluffy-soft dark hair, and the dent in one of the cushions no doubt created from years of playing video games in this very spot destroys him.

Who’s Wes kidding? He just wants to curl into his best friend’s side and unravel all his twisted thoughts.

“Cold pizza’s the best,” he says between bites. He’s not truly hungry, not after dinner and dessert with Manu, but he’s placating Nico.

“Duh.”

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