The Sophomore (College Years 2)

Ellie chews on her lower lip. Something she does when she’s nervous. “Uh…three.”

“Three.” I nod, thinking of my own number. Way more than that. Though my hook ups over the summer didn’t involve much kissing. Feels too personal, lips on lips. “That’s a decent number.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” I send her an earnest look. “I swear.”

I don’t know if I necessarily believe her, but I’m going to get her to tell the truth.

Any way I can.

Fourteen

Ellie

I lied.

Jackson definitely wasn’t my first kiss. But I inflated my numbers. I’ve kissed someone before. But only one someone. Technically, that makes Jackson my second kiss.

Well, the second person I’ve ever kissed. The first person was during my sophomore year in high school. He was a year older. Played on the drumline in band. Marshall. Kind of cute, super nerdy, but not in a bad way. More in that shy boy who has potential way.

I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance, and we went out a couple of times after that. We kissed at the end of every date. Nothing earth shattering, but it was good practice. His lips were kind of dry though. And he did this slightly creepy thing with his tongue—it reminded me of a flickering snake tongue, ew—and yeah.

That was it.

Jackson, of course, kissed like a master. I can’t dwell on how many girls he might have kissed in his life. Just last summer alone. It’s too many. This is why he’s so good at it. Our kiss might’ve been brief, but it was by far the best kiss I’ve ever experienced. He knew just what to do with his lips. And his tongue.

Especially his tongue.

Now here I sit in Jackson’s car, and he’s looking at me in this funny way, asking me really personal stuff. Face-to-face, which is not normal for him. He keeps all the personal stuff for over DMs or texts.

The little chicken shit.

“So these three guys, how were they?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Kissing-wise. Too much tongue? Not enough?” He raises his brows.

“Not enough,” I say immediately, thinking of Marshall’s flickering tongue.

Gross.

“All of them weren’t enough?”

“Most,” I say with a shrug.

“Okay, okay.” He nods. “Too much slobber? Too dry?”

“Slobber?” I repeat.

Jackson chuckles, and the gravelly sound wraps all around me, settling right between my legs. “I gather you haven’t kissed someone who slobbers all over your face.”

“Um, no.” I grimace.

He’s quiet for a moment, contemplating me. Studying me a little too closely, probably searching for the lie. I keep my face as impassive as possible. “Are you sure you’ve kissed three other guys?”

“Are you calling me a liar?”