We sit down, and I’m taking off my coat and getting comfy in my seat when Peter’s phone buzzes.
He pulls it out of his pocket and then puts it away, and I know it was Gen, but I feel like I can’t ask.
Her presence has punctured the night. Two vampire bite marks right into it.
The lights dim, and Peter puts his arm back around me. Is he going to keep it there the whole
movie, I wonder. I feel stiff, and I try to even my breathing. He whispers in my ear, “Relax, Covey.”
I’m trying, but it’s sort of impossible to relax on command under these circumstances. Peter gives
my shoulder a squeeze, and he leans in and nuzzles my neck. “You smell nice,” he says in a low
voice.
I laugh, a touch too loudly, and the man sitting in front of us whips around in his seat and glares at
me. Chastened, I say to Peter, “Sorry, I’m really ticklish.”
“No worries,” he says, keeping his arm around me.
I smile and nod, but now I’m wondering—is he expecting that we’re going to do stuff during the
movie? Is that why he picked seats in the back when there were still free seats in the middle? Panic is
rising inside me. Genevieve is here! And other people too! I might have made out with him in a hot
tub, but there wasn’t anyone around to see. Also, I kind of just want to watch the movie. I lean
forward to take a sip of soda, but really it’s just so I can subtly move away from him.
After the movie we have an unspoken understanding to hustle out so we don’t run into Genevieve
again. The two of us bolt out of the theater like the devil is on our heels—which, I suppose, she sort
of is. Peter’s hungry, but I’m too full from all the junk to eat a real dinner, so I suggest we just go to
the diner and I’ll share his fries. But Peter says, “I feel like we should go to a real restaurant since
this is your first date.”
“I never knew you had such a romantic side.” I say it like it’s a joke, but I mean it.
“Get used to it,” he boasts. “I know how to treat a girl.”
He takes me to Biscuit Soul Food—his favorite restaurant, he says. I watch him scarf down fried
chicken with hot honey and Tabasco drizzled on top, and I wonder how many times Genevieve has sat
and watched him do the very same thing. Our town isn’t that big. There aren’t many places we can go
that he hasn’t already been with Genevieve. When I get up to go to the bathroom, I suddenly wonder if
he’s texting her back, but I make myself push this thought out of my mind tout de suite. So what if he
does text back? They’re still friends. He’s allowed. I’m not going to let Gen ruin this night for me. I
want to be right here, in this moment, just the two of us on our first date.
I sit back down, and Peter’s finished his fried chicken and he has a pile of dirty napkins in front of
him. He has a habit of wiping his fingers every time he takes a bite. There’s honey on his cheek, and a
bit of breading is stuck to it, but I don’t tell him, because I think it’s funny.
“So how was your first date?” Peter asks me, stretching back in his chair. “Tell it to me like it
wasn’t me that took you.”
“I liked it when you knew what kinds of movie theater snacks I like.” He nods encouragingly.
“And... I liked the movie.”
“Yeah, I got that. You kept shushing me and pointing at the screen.”
“That man in front of us was getting mad.” I hesitate. I’m not sure if I should say this next thing I
want to say, the thing I’ve been thinking all night. “I don’t know... is it just me, or.. .”
He leans in closer, now he’s listening. “What?”