Page 37 of Heartbeat

“No,” I was quick to reply. “Not really.”

“No?” He turned to me.

“Were you?”

He took the longest time before answering.

“I dunno,” he then said. “How can you be sure?”

“That you’re in love?”

“That you weren’t, at fifteen.”

“Well,” I said, taking a deep breath and adjusting myself on his chest. He’d made it so I could lay my head on his bicep, and I couldn’t help but notice how, whichever way we were, it was always comfortable, always a right fit. “It ought to be incredible, right? Love, I mean. I should feel exquisite.”

“I suppose.”

“My first time was…good.”

He scoffed. “Ouch.”

I chuckled. “No, it was good. Really good.”

“But?”

“But it wasn’t mind-blowing.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I guess not,” I said. “It’s just—I mean, you’re going to remember it, aren’t you? Your first time. No matter whom it’s with, where or how, you’ll always carry them with you.”

“True.”

“I just think it should be with someone you’ll want to remember. Forget love,” I said. “But there should be something more, something worth remembering. I think so, at least.”

“Are you okay with remembering your first?”

“I am, actually. You?”

“Absolutely,” he categorically stated.

“See? We’re good, then.”

As I spoke, we heard footsteps approaching, coming up the stairs.

“Noah,” I told him quietly.

“Maybe I should go,” he said, suddenly nervous.

“Why?”

“It’s getting late.”

“Almost early, really.” I bit my lip, smirking.

“I’m not saying I want to go—”

“Then don’t.”

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