2
Sophomore Year, Seven Years Ago
“You are NOT putting cut-up hot dog and kimchi in yours,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“Oh right, you can put that panda thing in yours, but I can’t put hot dog and kimchi in mine?” Nathan says, stirring his bizarre mug cake batter.
“Pandan is a legit cake flavor, you caveperson. What kind of mug cake has hot dog and kimchi?”
“The best kind,” Nathan says easily. “You know mine’s gonna come out tasting way better than yours, and then you’re just going to end up eating it all.”
“Not. Possible.”
Ten minutes later, I give a cry of frustration when my spoon hits the bottom of his mug. “Is that all there is?”
Nathan laughs. “Told you. Although I have to admit, panda is delicious.”
“It’s pan-DAN. We’re not eating the animal. It’s a plant.”
“OH! This whole time I thought we were eating, like, a secretion from pandas’ glands or something.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Seriously, this guy. “You are such a dork. Oh my god, I can’t believe—which gland?”
“Obviously anal.”
“Gross.”
He gives that grin, the one that makes his eyes almost fully close. The one that makes me want to throw up. Just to be clear, it makes me want to throw up because it’s so cute it does weird things to my stomach, not because it disgusts me. When I told Selena about the nauseating grin, she said, “Well, you either have stomach flu or you’re in love. Either way, stay away from me. I can’t afford to get sick.”
In love. I watch as Nathan gets up and heads to the fridge to make another hot dog and kimchi mug cake for me, and I know, of course I know, that I’m stupidly, annoyingly check-my-phone-every-half-minute in love with him. Ever since we got to know each other during freshers week, Nathan and I have become fast friends. It feels meant to be. We’ve even got the same last name: Chan. What are the chances of that? Okay, so it’s the most common surname in Hong Kong, which is where his dad’s from, and one of the most popular surnames in China, which is where my granddad’s from, but it feels like fate. We hang out almost every day and do lots of random stuff. We’ve located the best spots to nap in the library, we’ve found the best ice cream sandwich combo at Diddy Riese (white chocolate macadamia nut cookie with butter pecan), and today, he came over to my dorm’s common room to make mug cakes. It’s like my friendship with Selena, except with stomach-turning attraction on my part. On his part—
Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s attracted to me too. Sometimes I catch him watching me with his eyes all soft, which makes my stomach lurch (thank you, stomach). But then he’ll do stuff like rest his elbow on the top of my head when we’re waiting for the red light to change, and then I’m pretty sure he sees me as just a friend. Which I’m totally cool with. I’m down for platonic friendship, yeah. I’m chill. Totes chillax.
Nathan places a hand on my shoulder and I practically leap out of the chair. “Whoa, you okay?”
I snort. “Duh, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” It’s not as if I was interrupted mid-daydream about his abs, which I swear are visible through his UCLA hoodie.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“What?”
“About the party at Phi Kappa?”
A grimace takes over my face. “A frat party? What about it?”
“Um, do you wanna go? My friend’s a member, and he says their parties are great. I don’t know, could be fun.”
“You do realize a frat party is where every bad thing happens? Alcohol poisoning, date rape, hazing . . .”
“Okay, okay.” Nathan laughs. “I get it, you don’t have to go.”
Argh, why do I have to be such a killjoy? I do want to go. I just—I don’t know, I guess I’m deathly afraid that Nathan might realize I’m into him, and that would be massively embarrassing.
Thankfully, the microwave dings then. Nathan busies himself with taking out the mug cake. He moves so effortlessly around the shared kitchen, always with this liquid grace that reminds me of some feline creature. Like a lion, or a lynx. He sprinkles freshly cut chives over the mug cake and slides it over to me. I thank him even though I’ve lost my appetite.
“Anyway, I gotta go. I promised Matt I’d hit the gym with him.”
“Thanks for the cake,” I say in the world’s most casual voice. “Have a good workout,” I call out at the last minute, and then immediately regret it. That sounded like nagging.
He flashes me that grin again, and is gone. I slump back to my room. Selena barely looks up from her calculus textbook when I flop dramatically onto my bed. “Blue balls?” she says, scribbling in her notebook.
“The bluest balls,” I groan into my pillow.
“Pretty sure the book’s called The Bluest Eye.”
I turn my head and glare at her. “You’re not very empathetic.”
“Did he ask you to go to the Phi Kappa party?”
“How did you know about that?”
Selena rolls her eyes. “Because I have a social life? And Nathan was very casually asking if you were going.”
I groan. “I am the worst at parties. If he ever saw me at one, he’d realize I am the most unamazing person in the world.”
“That’s why you haven’t gone to any parties here?” Selena gawks at me. “Boy, you have issues. Okay. It’s settled. You’re going to this one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, you can’t make me, I won’t. I won’t!”
• • •
Friday night, Selena and I stand outside Phi Kappa, a house that’s quite literally vibrating with music. I mean, I can actually see the windows rattling with each deep bass beat.
“This is a bad idea,” I moan. The only parties I like are the sit-around-playing-board-games kind.
“Focus,” Selena says, grabbing me by the shoulders. “You look hot as shit, and we’re gonna go in there and you’re gonna find Nathan, and I’m gonna find some hot girl or guy, whichever comes first, and we’re both gonna score tonight.”
“Score?” I squeak.
“You know, smash?”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Bone? Coitus? Do I really have to say ‘sexual intercourse’?”
My voice comes out several octaves higher than most human voices usually go. “I wasn’t going to—I’m not ready to—”
Selena cackles. “Oh god, your face. I’m just kidding. No fucking tonight, okay? You and Nathan are too adorable to fall for the drunk one-night-stand bullshit. We’ll just find him, he’ll take one look at you in this outfit, and that’ll be that. He’s going to DIE.”
“Not literally, I hope,” I mutter under my breath, just in case the curse is listening in. I take a deep breath and follow Selena as she struts confidently into the heaving frat house.
It’s even worse inside than I thought it would be. The music is so loud my teeth rattle to the beat. Selena dives into the crowd, slithering between the hot, pulsing bodies, pulling me along with her. I have no idea where we’re headed or how she even knows where to go. Someone spills an icy drink down the tight jeans Selena’s lent me for the night and I squeal, letting go of Selena’s hand, but any sound I make is immediately swallowed by the din. The bodies heave and close behind Selena. I cry out her name, but even I can’t hear my own voice.
And now I’m alone. I take a deep breath, which is a mistake. Frat houses probably don’t smell great at the best of times, and an hour into a roaring party, it smells radioactive. I gag, steel myself, and plunge back into the crowd, calling out for Selena. Some drunk guy stumbles and crashes into me, his sudden momentum making me stumble. I’m about to be trampled. This is not a good way to die—
“Whoa, hey,” someone says, pulling me off the sticky floor.
“Nathan,” I breathe.
He blinks. “Meddy?” Then he seems to actually see me for the first time, and his eyes widen. “Wow.”
I gnaw on my lip. Selena would be so proud of his reaction, but I feel stupid, as if I’m wearing someone else’s clothes. Which I am. Selena’s stuffed me into a pair of jeans so tight I’m pretty sure they’re going to have to be cut off my legs, and a shimmery, backless tank top that doesn’t allow for a bra. She says it’s fine since bras are really only for women with boobs. Harsh but true.
“Oh, hey,” I say, as if I totally was not expecting to see him here, as if I didn’t expressly come here half naked just to surprise him into loving me back.
“What?” he shouts.
“I said ‘Hey!’” I shout back.
“Hey yourself,” he shouts. At least, I think that’s what he shouts.
“What?” I shout. We both shake our heads and laugh, and whatever awkwardness there was between us melts away like a little piece of marshmallow. He takes my hand and squeezes it before leading me across the room. My heart squeezes painfully—argh, he’s going to notice how sweaty my palms are and then he’ll let go and I’ll lose him in the crowd the same way I lost Selena—but Nathan keeps a tight grip on my fingers and weaves through the crowd slowly, turning back every few steps to make sure I’m okay. And then suddenly, we’re out in the backyard, chilly night wind stinging my face and my bare back, making me break out in goose bumps. Nathan closes the glass door behind us, and the thumping music is cut off, thank god.
“You made it,” Nathan says, giving me a one-armed hug. “Where’s Selena?”
“Somewhere inside.” I check my phone and send her a quick message letting her know I’m in the backyard.
While I’m on my phone, Nathan greets the other people out here. There’s a handful of them, all of them carrying red plastic cups or bottles of IPA. Okay, I can do this. Its way more relaxed out here. I shove my hands in my pockets, or try to, anyway. It turns out these stupid jeans are way too tight to fit even a pinky in. Nathan introduces me to his friends, whose names I immediately forget, but when I tell them mine, a couple of them light up and glance at Nathan, who narrows his eyes back at them. My heart clatters against my rib cage. Does that mean he’s told his friends about me? DOES THAT MEAN HE LOVES ME IN A MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS WAY?
Okay, slow down, bunny boiler. It doesn’t mean anything. A girl hands me a bottle of IPA and holds out a bottle opener to me. “Just hang it on that hook when you’re done.” She points at a hook that’s been nailed onto a tree in the middle of the yard.
I do as she told me, and when I turn around from the tree, I walk right into Nathan’s chest. “Oof.”
“You okay? Sorry, I thought you knew I was right behind you.”
I rub my nose. “Geez, are you wearing a breastplate under your shirt?”
He flexes his biceps dramatically. “What can I say? I’m just really cut.”
“More like bony.” He isn’t, though. Not by a long shot. I tear my horny eyes away from his pecs. What is it about guys’ pecs that I find so attractive? It’s like I’m a boob man, but the reverse. A pec girl. Then my gaze lands on Nathan’s hands, and I think, Mmm, he has nice hands. Maybe I’m a hand girl. Or maybe I’m just a Nathan everything girl.
I lean back against the tree trunk in an effort to look, well, effortless, but that turns out to be a massive mistake. Pro tip: don’t lean against a tree trunk when wearing a backless top. “Shit,” I hiss, rubbing at my back. “What’s on this stupid tree, razor blades?”
“Um, that would be tree bark. Let me see your back.” And before I know it, Nathan’s fingers are on my bare skin. A warm, strong hand against my chilled back. My muscles melt into water. My stomach is basically a puddle. I swallow, reminding myself to breathe. “Just a scratch. You’ll live.” But his hand doesn’t leave my back. Instead, his fingers splay across it, making my entire body tingle. “You cold?”
I can barely speak as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. This is it. This is when I tell him that I’ve been having sex dreams about him—no, that I have a massive crush on him, that I think he’s as perfect as humans come. His jacket’s so big it hangs off my shoulders.
“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously tiny you are?”
“Excuse you, I am five feet two—”
“On a good day, in heels,” Nathan murmurs, giving me that dimpled smile. He pulls the jacket closed around me and gives a little tug, as if he doesn’t want to let go. I don’t want him to let go. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft velvet.
I look up and fall into his gaze. “Hey.” For once, there are no jokes, no smartass remarks, no thick layer of friendship between us. It’s just him, and me, and the chilly desert night, and string lights glowing like stars around us.
“I’m glad you came,” Nathan says.
And for once, I’m 100 percent honest with him. “I came to see you.”
That smile again, and then he dips his head, stooping low as I raise mine, and our lips meet in a soft crush that obliterates whatever other thoughts I had.
Okay, okay. Okay. I’ve kissed boys before. Okay, two boys. Okay, one of them was the back of my hand. The kiss with the other boy wasn’t great; I mean, my hand was better, honestly. I’ve never liked the look of those Hollywood open-mouthed kisses; I eat way too much fermented shrimp paste to have any qualms about me being a great kisser. When it comes to kissing, it’s closed mouth all the way for me.
But this. Holy shit. Nathan is the perfect counter to my prudish mouth. His lips are soft, and his breath is a heady mix of rum and mint, and he doesn’t just slip his tongue in like Christian Miller did in ninth grade. Nathan takes his time, touching his lips to mine so gently, so feathery soft, until I’m a boneless, watery mass. I wrap my arms around his broad, strong shoulders for support, and he half-lifts me off my feet. And then before I know it, my mouth parts, and I’m really kissing Nathan Chan, and it is hot as hell.
In this moment, I know this is it. There is no one like Nathan, not the way he’s holding me, so firmly, the length of my body pressed up against his. And the moment I realize it, I know I’m pretty much screwed.