From the day we met, Sloane and I became inseparable. After all, it was summer; all of my friends were away for the month. Plus, Sloane didn't know much of anyone in town. It was nice in an odd way knowing I had her all to myself. She was like a secret meant for me to keep. Little did I know how literal that would become.

For the most part, I was always over at her house. I'd tell my mom I was going to hang out with the new girl down the street, and off I'd go for the day. Mom took it upon herself to become the perfect welcoming neighbor. She always had something for me to take over to Sloane's house: homemade cookies, flowers, a Welcome to the neighborhood card. I'd told Sloane I thought it was all ridiculous, but she said it was sweet. She'd give me that perfect smile of hers and all of my annoyance at my overbearing mother would suddenly disappear.

I still remember the first time Sloane ever came to my house. We'd been sitting in her room, sprawled out on her bed, bored out of our minds. The heat outside had reached an all-time high. She'd been wearing a thin tank-top and shorts that showed off her long legs. She was nearly irresistible, and it took all my self-restraint not to lean over and kiss her the way I had Julia at summer camp, which felt like so long ago. I didn't want to mess up what I had with Sloane. I feared that if I showed her how she made me feel, she wouldn't want to see me anymore. Nothing was worth risking that.

"I want to see your room," Sloane had said, sitting up in her bed and snapping me out of the thoughts I was having of running my hands along her legs and kissing her to find out how soft her lips really were.

"Yeah?" I'd asked, raising my eyebrows. "Why's that?"

She'd leaned on one of her elbows, which brought her face closer to mine. I could see all of the little freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. Her long hair cascaded over one of her shoulders. So badly I wanted to reach forward and tuck those strands of chestnut-colored hair behind her ear, but I didn't dare.

"Because," she'd said with a smile, "a person's room can tell a lot about a person. And I want to know all there is to know about you."

My heartrate had spiked with that, wondering if the words were meant to be taken as flirty as they'd sounded.

"You've spent an entire week and a half with me," I'd countered, stuttering because of how nervous being so close to her made me. "I think you know a lot about me."

"But not enough," she'd argued. Her hazel eyes searched my face, not lingering anywhere, merely taking me in. "I want to know you, Hads. I want to know if there are posters of the things you like plastered all over your walls or if your room is simply painted. I want to see the belongings you have around your room so I know what's important to you. I wanna know where you sleep. What it's like to lay in your bed knowing you do the same . . ."

When she'd trailed off, I felt as if I couldn't breathe. At that instant, I knew I wasn't imagining it. She was flirting. At least, I was hoping so. I wanted my hands in her hair, to get her on her back while we laid together in bed. I wanted my lips on hers and her body against mine and to touch her, to feel her against me and know that she was real, that I was really lucky enough to be laying across from her.

The thoughts passed as Sloane rose from her bed, wandering over to her closet to slip on shoes. I sat up and glanced at her curiously, wondering what was going on.

Realization dawned on me as I raised my eyebrows, sputtering, "You mean now?"

"Duh," Sloane had teased. "Why not?"

"It's just—" I shook my head, struggling to get words out. "I mean, my mom is home. And she'll probably ask you a million questions and shit. And my little sister is home, too. She'll wanna follow us around and—"

"I don't mind," Sloane interrupted, shrugging and offering me a smile. "What, Hads? Are you trying to hide me or something?"

"No!" I'd been quick to exclaim. I could feel my cheeks flushing as heat rushed to my face, not wanting to offend her. "I—"

"You're cute when you're flustered," she'd said to cut me off. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I still couldn't tell if she was flirting with me, or if I just wanted her to be flirting with me so badly I was imagining things.

Needless to say, we'd ended up at my house only minutes later. Mom did hound Sloane with questions, wanting to know how her move went and where her family was from and how long they were staying and whatnot. Sloane had answered all of my mother's questions breezily and politely, which I knew Mom noticed. I felt relieved that she had gotten Mom's stamp of approval. Reagan had followed us around a little before wandering off to Maddie's, which left the two of us free to head up to my room.

I could feel Sloane's eyes wandering around, taking everything in as I closed the door to my bedroom behind us. There wasn't much, as my walls are still to this day painted a boring shade of gray and about as plain as I am. My bed was placed in the center of the room, a bookshelf in the corner, a desk by the far wall. A bulletin board hung on the wall over my desk, decorated with pictures of my family and friends. Sloane studied it for a moment, eyes wide and curious.

"Are these your friends?" she'd asked, pointing out a picture of Delaney, Grace, Bianca, and me from the previous year. I'd nodded in response, not wanting to talk about them. For some reason, it felt wrong to do so in front of Sloane. She was different than they were to me. She was . . . special.

"Disappointed?" I'd teased when Sloane fell back on my bed after kicking her shoes off, laying on her back and gazing up at me through dark eyelashes, hazel eyes gleaming.

"Not at all," she'd responded. Something about her tone was different then; softer, gentler, somehow. I took a seat on the edge of my bed next to her as she sat up. Her bare thigh pressed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"Sorry about my mom," I'd started to say, "I know she can be a little—"

I never got to finish my sentence.

One second, Sloane and I had been sitting next to each other in my room. The next, her hand was balling the collar of my shirt up in her fist, pulling me toward her. When she kissed me, my heart ceased beating and I couldn't breathe and the world stopped spinning. Her lips were soft against mine, capturing me in a state of bliss. She tasted like coconut and she smelt like cinnamon and it was so good I wanted more. I was so shocked, I didn't know what to do with my hands or what to do in general; I just kissed her back as if it were instinct. I could have spent forever in that moment, with her lips on mine, and I would have been perfectly content.

We shared a breath as she pulled away, and it was the most intimate moment I'd ever shared with someone else before. Sloane's eyes were wide as they met mine, almost frightened, as if she felt she'd done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," she began, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have done that. I should have at least asked first. I should have—"

I'd taken her face in my hands and kissed her again to shut her up, rougher this time. The kiss was messy and rushed and deep, openmouthed and tongues running over lips before coming together to fight for control.

We did a lot more kissing after that, and even more as the summer spanned out. Neither of us had to say it, but something had shifted between us. It was an unspoken sort of attraction, a relationship neither of us felt the need to define. It was enough knowing I could kiss her whenever I wanted, that I could hold her in my arms or touch her in the privacy of the moments we stole alone. She was my little secret, and I was hers. It was nice.

That is, while it lasted.

___

a/n: it is so fucking hard to type with acrylic nails omg. and i miss my girlfriend. for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving, happy holidays! regardless, i hope all of my readers have a wonderful rest of the week. i'm so thankful for you all. :)