I opened my eyes to see beige walls instead of the vivid blue that surrounded my bed. My window was missing, replaced by a framed basketball jersey. I forgot for a moment that I slept at Clay's. In his bed. With his body pressed against my back.

Clay's hand rubbed up and down my side, moving around to my belly and up to my chest as he pressed against me, grinding his morning wood against my back. I didn't mind it, though. Especially when he started lazily kissing my shoulder.

"Good morning, baby," Clay said with a thick, just-awakened voice, deeper than usual.

I didn't want him to stop, so I leaned back into it, my hand grasping his hip, to pull him closer. "Morning."

Clay made a little moaning sound in the back of his throat, pressing harder against me. This continued for a few minutes with Clay kissing my shoulders and neck, nibbling on my earlobe. I loved that so much.

"Last night was so amazing," I said.

"Mm-hmm." Clay nodded against the side of my head. When he breathed out, I smelled mint. This bastard got up before me and brushed his fucking teeth.

"I'd kiss you, but my breath probably reeks," I complained passive aggressively.

Clay rolled away for a moment and returned, holding something against my lips. I opened my mouth and tasted a minty sweetness on my tongue.

"Okay, Boy Scout. You really thought of everything, huh?" I wondered how long he'd been awake to come up with that move.

"We can keep going if you want," I said.

Clay mumbled something incoherent against my ear, still rubbing against me.

"What?"

"My family will be waking up soon."

"I'm sure you could be quick."

"Do you really want to?"

I craned my neck around to look into his eyes. I nodded. "I kinda really do."

I reached between us to push my hand into his boxers.

Clay turned away again and returned with a condom, which he quickly rolled on. He grabbed the bottle of lube we left sitting out on the nightstand and prepared me the way I had for him.

As I predicted, it didn't take long for Clay to get into it. A few minutes later, it was over and Clay was panting in my ear. Clay was very clearly not a virgin, because he handled this part very well, finding the spot that made me turn to jelly in his arms with ease.

"You're very good at that," I said.

"Am I?"

I rolled over and propped my head up to look at Clay, who was grinning brightly. He seemed much too pleased with himself. But I didn't want to take this joy away from him by making a joke about him being the conceited one for once. This was only the second time Clay had ever had sex with a guy, and I wanted him to remember the experience fondly. I leaned forward to kiss him, thankful for the mint he gave me. "You are, actually."

Clay rubbed his fingers across my chest. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't know if you can, but you may."

Clay groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned his face into his pillow. "Okay, nerd. Whatever."

I laughed and kissed his cheek. "Ask your question."

He peeked through his lashes with the one eye that wasn't pressed to the pillow. "Do you have a preference?"

"Men."

Clay leaned toward me to beat his head against my shoulder. "Fucking hell. That's not what I meant." He pulled back to look at me. "I'm being serious."

"Okay. A preference for what?"

"Well, between last night and then what just happened, we've both done both. Do you like one way more than other?"

I moved in close to his face, grinning. "Are you asking if I'm a top or a bottom, Clay?"

"I was trying to avoid those terms, because it still feels weird to me saying them, but yeah. Basically."

"Last night was the first time I ever topped."

"Really?"

When Clay rolled onto his side and rested a hand on my waist, I rested my head on his pillow. Our faces were so close our noses almost touched. The heat of his skin radiated across the inch of space between our bodies, warming me all the way from my shoulders to my toes where his foot was caressing mine. "Alfie's the only guy I've had sex with before you. And like I said, he insisted. And I liked him, so I did what he wanted."

"Did you like it better? Last night, I mean."

I brushed my fingers through Clay's messy, bedraggled hair. "I did. But that doesn't mean I need you to do that ever again if you don't want to. What we did this morning was great. I wasn't kidding. You really are good."

Clay squinted his eyes, creating a line between his brows. "But you liked last night better. Right?" His voice had a slight tremor, sounding a little hesitant.

"It's different. Both are great! And if you're up for it, I'd like to continue doing both. But, I don't want to lie, so yes."

"I could tell." The corner of Clay's mouth quirked up.

"What? How?"

"You just had this look last night. I mean, I knew you enjoyed this morning, too. The way you kept pulling me closer. But there was just something in your eyes last night."

"It was you."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know if I can explain it exactly. And it's probably gonna sound really douchey if I try."

He raised one finger to stroke my chin. "I won't judge."

"It was just like when you were really into it, I got like a charge knowing that I caused that feeling for you. It made it feel better for me somehow."

"I liked last night better too."

"You did?" I didn't mean to sound so shocked. "Didn't it hurt? When I first started with Alfie, I kind of hated it. It took several times before I started to enjoy it."

"It was painful at first, but then once I got over the initial, like... I don't know. I don't want to say shock, 'cause that's the wrong word. Like, once I understood the mechanics, I guess, and I could relax, it just got really good. I just felt like... I felt like I finally understood what I've been missing all this time... why sex never really felt right."

"Sounds like you had real come to Jesus moment." I grinned.

Clay let out a long breath, like the disappointed hiss of a deflating balloon. "Did you really just make a sex pun about Jesus?"

"I think I did." I nodded, cracking into a smirk. "Yeah."

"Maybe I should get out of this bed before it gets struck by lightning." Clay moved as if he were about to get up.

Laughing, I threw myself on top of him to prevent him from going anywhere. He also laughed, then he kissed my cheek. "I guess you want me to go down with you, huh?"

"Going down with you sounds like a hell of a good time."

"Stop making everything so dirty." Clay tried to hide his amusement, but he failed miserably.

I started kissing all over his face, which made him giggle. With my leg wedged between both of his, I felt him getting excited again.

I started kissing down Clay's neck.

Before I could move below his collarbone, a knock on the door interrupted my progress. Someone tried the knob, which didn't budge, since he locked it. They knocked again.

"Clay," Mrs. Miller said.

I stared into his widened eyes. He called out, "Yeah?"

I started kissing his shoulder. I loved the line of freckles there. They were so cute.

"Stop," he whispered.

I smiled at him, moving to kiss his lips. He started kissing me back, his hands trailing up and down my spine.

"Are you hungry?" Mrs. Miller asked. "I'm making waffles."

Clay turned his head as I kissed his neck. "Uh, yeah. Sure, Mom. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay."

Clay gave me a peck on the lips and whispered, "You can sneak out the back way, if you want. I can keep them distracted."

"Oh, and, Clay," Mrs. Miller said. "Would you ask Emmett if he'd also like some waffles, too?"

Clay's mouth fell open. I just snickered as I fell over sideways into my former spot. The sheets already gone cool from my brief absence.

Clay turned to me, no longer bothering to lower his voice. "Do you want waffles, baby?"

"Yes."

"He wants waffles!" Clay yelled.

"Blueberry, chocolate chip, or plain?" Mrs. Miller asked.

"Ooh!" I decided to speak for myself. "Is all of the above an option?"

"Sure thing," Mrs. Miller said.

Clay flopped over on top of me, burying his face in my chest. "I can't believe that just happened."

I laughed again, running my fingers through his hair. "It's okay, honey."

"Do you think she heard us earlier?"

"I'd say there's a decent chance."

Clay's voice came out slightly muffled as his lips moved against my chest to speak. "And you aren't humiliated?"

"Why? Because we were having sex? You're my boyfriend. That's what boyfriends do. Don't be such a prude."

Clay picked up his head to glare at me. "It's my mom! Like, I know she knows I've had sex before. And I'm sure she suspected me and you would do it at some point, but I didn't want her to be in the next room."

I wrapped my arms around Clay's shoulders, kissing his temple, trying desperately not to laugh at his pitiful expression.

He was too freaked out to go beyond kissing now, so we dragged ourselves out of bed to get dressed. I borrowed a shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, since my suit wasn't exactly appropriate breakfast attire.

Clay hesitated and took a deep breath before opening his bedroom door. He kept his eyes low as he crossed the kitchen to sit at the table in the same chair he always sat in, crossing his arms over his chest. Teddy was the only other person at the table. His dark ringlets were a mess, giving off major Doc Brown vibes. Mrs. Miller was pouring batter into the waffle iron.

I didn't bother hurrying after Clay. Mrs. Miller knew what she knew. There was no point in being embarrassed about it. As long as she didn't freak out on me for defiling her son, I didn't much care what she knew.

Mrs. Miller turned to face me. "Do you want some coffee, sweetheart? Or maybe juice?"

"Coffee sounds great. We were up really late."

"Emmett!" Clay had turned in his chair, gripping the back with white knuckles, glaring at me. He shook his head.

That's not what I meant. I couldn't help snickering at his distraught face.

"How was the date?" she asked, handing me a mug. She gestured to the coffee station they had set up next to the microwave, on its own separate counter. "I want to hear all about it. Where'd you go?"

After adding a splash of the creamer, I poured in an inordinate amount of sugar. "Clay took me to that Italian steakhouse across town. Stefano's."

"Ooh! I love that place. They have such a good merlot. It's perfect with their filet mignon."

I went to the silverware drawer and got out a spoon to stir my coffee. After I finished with it, I licked it and put it in the sink. "I wouldn't know about that, but the steak was pretty great."

"Did you do anything else?" Mrs. Miller asked as she took out the golden brown waffles and poured more batter onto the iron.

"We went dancing at this place I know," I said, leaning against the counter behind me.

"That was fun," Clay mused, no longer sulking. He even had a hint of a smile.

Mrs. Miller chuckled and threw a look over her shoulder at me. "Clay's always loved dancing. You should see him at a wedding. He's the life of the party. He can even get the wallflowers going."

I grinned, glancing over at my adorable boyfriend, who just kept getting more adorable with every new thing I learned about him.

She cracked up, laughing about something, and clutched her stomach. She looked over at Clay. "Do you remember when you were eight and I taught you the hustle? My parents' 50th anniversary party."

Clay nodded, also looking amused. "I had everyone on the floor doing it."

"I have a video." Mrs. Miller tapped me on the shoulder. "I'll send it to you later."

"Fantastic!"

Mrs. Miller handed me a plate and waved to the counter where she'd set up her own waffle bar with several fruits, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and three different syrups.

I started with a blueberry waffle, adding fresh blueberries, whipped cream, and a drizzle of maple syrup. Clay came over to make his own, brushing a hand along the small of my back. He chose chocolate chip, drowning it with syrup, filling each of the tiny squares on his waffle.

We stuffed our faces, both of us returning for seconds. I had just gotten my third helping when Rachel shuffled in, wiping her eyes. One of her purple streaks stuck up in the center of her head like the feathers of a cockatiel.

Mrs. Miller handed her a plate, which she loaded up with everything on offer, and trudged to the table, yawning as she took her seat across from Clay. She got four bites into her waffle before she noticed me. Her eyes went wide. "Hi! I didn't know you were coming over."

Rachel's eyes dipped down to my chest. "Why are you wearing Clay's shirt?"

I looked down to see that the shirt Clay gave me had HUNTINGTON HIGH SCHOOL ATHLETICS DEPT printed across the front. A box beneath that had Lennox-Miller handwritten in thick black marker. "You gave me your gym clothes."

"Relax. It's a spare," Clay said.

"Seriously, though." Rachel waved her hand to draw our attention from each other. "Why are you—"

Rachel examined me more carefully. She seemed particularly interested in my hair, which I imagined was a mess—I hadn't looked in a mirror yet, to be sure. I could see her weary mind processing all this information. Her gaze bounced back and forth between me and Clay, her mouth slowly falling open. "You slept here!"

I nodded.

She leaned down close to the table and lowered her voice. "Did you guys... y'know?"

Clay looked at me. "Don't answer that."

"You totally did it!"

"Rachel!" Clay growled.

"Who did what?" Mr. Miller asked, entering the kitchen. He went over to kiss Mrs. Miller's cheek. She handed him a plate, already fixed. He came over and sat at the end of the table. "Morning, kids."

Mr. Miller did a double take when he glanced at me. "Hello."

"Hi." I gave a meek wave.

Mr. Miller looked at Clay, who was staring at his plate, pushing the remnants of his waffle through the brown lake of leftover syrup on his plate with his fork. Mr. Miller's gaze shifted to his wife as she sat down with her own plate. He seemed to be questioning my presence, though he didn't say a word. Mrs. Miller just shook her head and started eating.

Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. Rachel pouted as she glared at her mother. "So Clay can have his boyfriend sleep over, but my boyfriend can't even be in my room with the door closed."

Clay mouthed, "Bitch," at his sister.

She just stuck her tongue out at him.

Mr. Miller choked on his coffee. "Clay did what?"

Mrs. Miller waved a hand at him. "We'll talk about it later."

Rachel dropped her fork on her plate with a loud clatter. "Just because he's gay doesn't mean he should get special treatment."

"You're fifteen, Rachel," Mrs. Miller said. "Clay is almost eighteen. There's a big difference."

Rachel crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "You're telling me you would've let Summer spend the night with him and not said a word about it?"

Mrs. Miller cleared her throat and took a sip of her juice. The answer was clearly no.

"I just want to know how that is fair." She gestured toward me and Clay.

Clay was still fuming. His nostrils flared, his eyes scrunched into slits. "When we have sex, no one gets pregnant."

Oh my God! He did not just say that.

"I can't help that I have a uterus." Rachel's head swung to her mother and then she turned to Mr. Miller. "This is sexism."

"Clay! Rachel!" Mr. Miller grumbled, running a hand over his face. "Can we please drop this? At least until breakfast is over."

The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone seemed upset or annoyed. To avoid being in the middle of their family discussion, I said, "I think I should go."

"Don't." Clay grabbed my thigh as I twisted in my seat to get up.

I gripped his hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "I really should get home. My mom will be calling soon, anyway."

Clay ignored his family and leaned in to give me a peck on the lips. "Call me."

I glanced sideways at the family, all of them watching, before looking back at Clay. "I kinda need a ride home."

"Oh my God! I'm so dumb. Of course." Clay jumped up and followed me back to the bedroom, where I gathered up my clothes, placing them into an empty gym bag, which he held open for me. He zipped the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

I paused at the door when I noticed my tattered copy of The Great Gatsby (the spine broken so many times the name was no longer legible), laying on Clay's desk. I pointed it out. "Have you read any of it?"

"The whole thing." Clay held up two fingers. "Twice."

"You read it twice?" I couldn't help but smile. I mean, it wasn't that long. It was no Moby Dick or War and Peace. The month he'd had it was certainly enough time to do so. He just seemed so reluctant to even give it a try when I asked him to read it.

"I really liked it." Clay reached out for my good hand, lacing our fingers together.

"What was your favorite part?"

"Honestly, your notes."

"My notes?"

"Yeah. You're kind of hilarious, baby. You should be like a book reviewer or something."

"I mean, that would be like a dream come true, but it's hard to break into doing that as a job, and I don't have the time to do it as a hobby."

"I especially loved where you wrote like a whole page-long diatribe at the end of the book about what a selfish bitch Daisy is. I'm not sure I completely agree with everything you said—it was kinda vicious—but I could mostly see where you were coming from."

I brought my free hand up to cover my mouth, feeling slightly embarrassed about that. "I was going through something with Alfie when I wrote that."

Clay nodded. "I figured. You accidentally switched into male pronouns near the end."

"I've never noticed that."

Clay reached over to pick up the book, holding it out towards me. "I'm sorry I didn't give it back sooner."

"Keep it."

"Really?" Clay's lips stretched into a wide smile as he hugged it to his chest.

I stepped up to give him a peck on the lips. "I can't take away your favorite part of the book."

"Have you annotated any other books?"

"Tons." I was kind of turned on that Clay knew what annotated meant, which I know was a really weird thing to get turned on by.

He laid the book down and walked outside. "I'd love to read some of them."

I followed him, closing the door behind me. "Sure," I said, nodding. I loved that I could share this part of myself with him, and he genuinely seemed excited about it. If it would get Clay to read more, I would annotate every book in my collection.

"I'll give you my copy of Wuthering Heights next. Honestly, knowing the things you like, you're probably going to hate the actual book, because all the characters are unlikeable—although it's on purpose, they're not meant to be liked. But I reread it after I caught Alfie with that girl last year, when he ghosted me. So practically every character gets one of those tirades at some point in the book. Cathy and Heathcliff each got more than one."

He took my left hand in his, lacing our fingers as we walked around the house. "I can't wait!"