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“I wouldn’t mind if you were bad at kissing,” he muses, not letting go of my hand. “That just means we get to practice more.”
“I really like you, Carter Morgan. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anybody before.”
“I don’t think it matters if somebody is bad at it,” he says, and then uncrosses his arms to hold up a hand when he sees me start to interrupt. “No, seriously. Who cares? That just means you do it more often, right? And this sort of thing isn’t really about what you’re doing or how you’re doing it. I think who you’re with means more. Carter could be a truly terrible kisser, but how would you know? You enjoy kissing him, and that’s all that matters.”
“Max, this is Zeke. He is the best thing that has ever happened to Carter.”
“I like you. Everything about you. I’m not sure when I gave you the impression that I didn’t like the way you look, but I’m sorry if I did. I like your body.”
“Sweetheart,” Carter says, and rubs a hand over my back.
“Things are going well?” “Yeah. Great.” “You’re happy?” he asks, and I gape at him. When was the last time an adult in my life asked me that question? “Yeah. I’m really happy. This has been the best year I’ve had since starting school here.” This earns me the smallest of smiles. Coach Mackenzie once told me that he and I were alike. He’d meant it as a warning—a cautionary tale of what not to be. But I took it as the highest of compliments. He’s the best role model I’ve ever had. I want to be like him.
He’s like my own personal ray of sunshine.
This time, when I laugh, I curl upward to kiss him. I have no idea how I was able to survive so long without Zeke Cassidy. I think if he ever left me, I’d die.
