“Mom, Dad, this is Richie.” His dad looks at me pointedly. “Richard Cohen. Foster’s old teammate.” I lean in to shake his hand. “Uh, yeah. That’s right.” “We’re dating,” Seth says. My stomach flip-flops, and I pull back. “Wait, we are?” “We’re not?” Seth blinks up at me. “What would you call it?” “Hanging out, having se—uh”—I glance at his parents and rephrase—“spending time together? Other … stuff.” Seth laughs. “And you don’t think that’s dating?” Oh. “Well, how am I supposed to know? I’ve never done this before.” Seth’s mom clears her throat because, oh yeah, we should probably have this
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