When we said our good-byes, I sunk into the couch and got lost in all the scenarios that could happen. Would it be anything like two years ago when we talked and laughed the whole time, not realizing four hours had sped by until the waitress told us they were closing? It felt like we’d had no time to catch up at all. And God, did we flirt. I thought our chemistry would have diluted a bit because of the time and distance since we broke up, but if that dinner proved anything, it was that our chemistry was more than alive and well, just like where it left off when we were eighteen…if not stronger. I thought about kissing her when I dropped her off. I wondered if she thought that too because she paused before opening the passenger door, as if giving me a silent invitation.
But like the idiot I was, I didn’t do anything but tell her I’d had a nice time. Because apparently, while dedicating all my time to swimming and being alone with my thoughts, I’d forgotten how to make a move.
I thought back on our good-bye before the start of college, when we walked around my neighborhood, and I kissed her good-bye, a kiss I still thought about anytime she crossed my mind. We’d made a pact that night that we would try our relationship again after college if we crossed paths. Five years later, was this finally the moment I kept asking the gay gods for?
I told Talia that if I was going to be in a relationship with someone, I wanted to feel the spark. I hadn’t felt it for a really long time. It was only after I hung up with Kennedy and got lost in the sixteen years’ worth of memories that it dawned on me that the last girl to make me feel that way—the spark that I’d been searching for—was Kennedy Reed.
Chapter Two
What the hell was this? Was this a date? A casual dinner between two ex-girlfriends?
What the hell did I even wear?
There had to be a happy medium between a “date” and a “casual dinner between two ex-girlfriends” outfit. I stared at my closest for fifteen minutes, tried on a few outfits, had Lillian and Talia yay and nay them, and ended up with a black short-sleeved button-down with a pineapple print, sleeves rolled up, skinny gray jeans that stopped at my ankles, and black Chelsea boots.
“Are you sure I look okay?” I asked and did a final spin as they stretched out on the couch.
“Are you seriously asking if you look okay when you’re the fittest you’ve ever been and will ever be in your life?” Lillian said, holding a steaming bowl of chicken ramen. “Get out of here, clown.”
I huffed. That wasn’t the point. This was Kennedy Reed we were talking about. The bar so high that no girl had even come close to touching.
I tossed her a stern side-eye and then looked at Talia. She sat straight up and studied me. Hair, very little makeup, shirt, pants, shoes, and then back up for one last look.
“Hmm, can you French tuck your shirt?” Talia asked. “What would Tan from Queer Eye tell you?”
I tucked the front of my shirt into my pants. “He would tell me to French tuck it.”
“Boom. There you go. Looks like you’re going out on a nice, very gay date.”
“That was the point…and also not to look like I’m trying too hard. Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”
They both observed me again. “No, not really. But are you going to try?” Lillian asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I’m going to see where the night takes us.”
“Into your bed?”
“I’m not allowed to burn fifty calories going to the store. You think I’m allowed to have sex?”
“That’s a wildly overdramatic rule if you ask me.”
“Stop rubbing it in!” Talia hollered, and that garnered a bellowing laugh from Lillian, who’d been making it known that she broke her dry spell with Tinder Fireman the night before. “And do we need to keep tabs on your location?”
“I’ve known this girl since I was seven. Her go-to in Never Have I Ever is that she’s never cheated on a test. I think it’s safe to say that she’s probably the one person you don’t need a location for.”
“I almost forgot what it was like for Quinn Hughes to go on a date,” Lillian said, resting a hand over her heart. “My baby girl is growing up.”
“We didn’t get this whole outfit check before the last date,” Talia said to Lillian.
“It’s not a date.”
“Okay,” the two of them said with an eye roll.
This wasn’t a date. It was a reunion dinner, or what Kennedy called a celebratory feast. It was just two people who had known each other for sixteen years meeting in a city three thousand miles away from home to have dinner.
Even though my heart and stomach fluttered as hard and fast as if it were a date. My brain needed to reassure all my organs jolting awake that this was definitely not a date.
I couldn’t believe I had to Uber to the restaurant that was in the Castro District, one neighborhood over from my Mission house. At any other time, I would have walked the mile and a half so I could enjoy the cool fresh air, something other than stuffy chlorine air or stale sweaty air from the weight room. But nope, I had to be that person who spent ten dollars for a few blocks, leaving me with extra time to think, reflect, and worry. My heart thrummed in my chest as if I was already at the Olympics, ready to swim my first race.
The times I had used my dating app, I’d talked to quite a few women. It was how I’d met Alexis. But heading to the restaurant, my heart weighed more than it did on the way to my first blind date. This was much scarier than meeting a complete stranger. There were no expectations for those. The bar was basically set on the ground. No history complicated things. There was nothing to lose.
But now, I had expectations. This was the second time I would see Kennedy since high school and the first time after college. Throughout the past five years, I’d clung to this hope that Kennedy and I would find a way to be together again. But that ray of hope dimmed a little more each year with her on the East Coast and me on the West, and the texting that spaced out as time went on. We had so much history together, so much at stake, it fogged my mind until the Uber driver snapped me out of it to tell me we were here.
Then there was the waiting. I texted her when I grabbed a table that she’d have a drink waiting for her. I was so thirsty from all the worry and doubt that I needed lemon water ASAP. As for Kennedy’s drink, I had no idea what to get. She’d been two months out from her twenty-first birthday back when we had our last dinner. Last I knew, she liked Captain Morgan. I went with a Captain and Coke. That was playing it safe, right?
My phone chirped on the table with a text from her. Walking in!
Holy crap. This was it. This was—
Kennedy stepped through the entrance, and my throat caught. The hostess gestured to me, and her eyes found me instantly. Her smile grew as she walked, and my legs melted into my seat. Her skin glowed with sun, and her ash brown hair curled in slight waves past her chest, the ends lighter than her roots. Her eyes were still a soft bright green that flipped my stomach upside down when they locked with mine. And that smile. I swear, the whole time she weaved around tables, my body thought it was getting ready for a workout from the rush of adrenaline and the sweat on the back of my neck.
She wore an olive green one-shoulder top that made her eyes pop and short jean shorts that instantly stole my attention. I stood to greet her, but the words died on my lips. “Hi,” I said, but it felt as if the words carelessly spilled from my mouth. I tried not to let my stare linger, but my gaze went to her face, her exposed shoulder, and her legs, unabashedly skimming across every inch of exposed, sun-kissed skin.