P.S. I Still Love You(78)

“You broke up,” he repeats, his face blank.

That’s when I notice Kitty lurking in the doorway like a little spy. “What do you want, Kitty?”

“Um . . . is there any red pepper hummus left?” she asks.

“I don’t know—go check.”

John is wide-eyed. “This is your little sister?” To Kitty he says, “The last time I saw you, you were still a little kid.”

“Yeah, I grew up,” she says, not even a little bit nicely.

I throw her a look. “Be polite to our guest.” Kitty turns on her heels and runs upstairs. “Sorry about my sister. She’s really close with Peter and she gets crazy ideas. . . .”

“Crazy ideas?” John repeats.

I could slap myself. “Yeah, I mean, she thinks that something’s going on with us. But obviously there isn’t, and you don’t, like, like me like that, so, yeah, it’s crazy.” Like, why do I speak? Why did God give me a mouth if I’m just going to say dumb stuff with it?

It’s so quiet I open my mouth to say more dumb stuff, but then he says, “Well . . . it’s not that crazy.”

“Right! I mean, I didn’t mean crazy—” My mouth snaps shut, and I stare straight ahead.

“Do you remember that time we played spin the bottle in my basement?”

I nod.

“I was nervous to kiss you, because I’d never kissed a girl before,” he says, and picks up the glass of sweet tea again. He takes a swig, but there’s no tea left, just ice. His eyes meet mine, and he grins. “All the guys gave me such a hard time afterward for whiffing it.”

“You didn’t whiff it,” I say.

“I think that was around when Trevor’s old brother told us he made a girl . . .” John hesitates, and I nod eagerly so he’ll go on. “He claimed he gave a girl an orgasm just by kissing her.”

I let out a shrieky laugh and clap my hands to my mouth. “That’s the biggest lie I ever heard! I never saw him talk to even one girl. Besides, I don’t think that’s even possible. And if it was possible, I highly doubt Sean Pike was capable of it.”

John laughs too. “Well, I know it’s a lie now, but at the time we all believed him.”

“I mean, was it a great kiss? No, it wasn’t.” John winces and I quickly continue. “But it wasn’t an altogether terrible one. I swear. And listen, it’s not like I’m an expert on kissing anyway. Who am I to say?”

“Okay okay, you can stop trying to make me feel better.” He sets down his glass. “I’ve gotten much better at it. That’s what the girls tell me.”

This conversation has taken a strange and confessional turn, and I’m nervous but not in a bad way. I like sharing secrets, being coconspirators. “Oh, so you’ve kissed that many, huh?”

He laughs again. “A respectable number.” He pauses. “I’m surprised you even remember that day. You were so into Kavinsky, I don’t think you even noticed who else was there.”

I push him in the shoulder. “I was not ‘so into Kavinsky’!”

“Yes you were. You kept your eyes on that bottle the whole game, like this.” John picks up the bottle and lasers his eyes at it. “Waiting for your moment.”

I’m bright red, I know I am. “Oh, be quiet.”

Laughing, he says, “Like a hawk on its prey.”

“Shut up!” Now I’m laughing too. “How do you even remember that?”

“Because I was doing the same thing,” he says.

“You were staring at Peter too?” I say it like a joke, to tease, because this is fun. For the first time in days I’m having fun.

He looks right at me, navy-blue eyes sure and steady, and my breath catches in my chest. “No. I was looking at you.”

There’s a humming in my ears, and it’s the sound of my heart beating in triple measure. In memory, everything seems to happen to music. One of my favorite lines from The Glass Menagerie. If I close my eyes I can almost hear it, that day in John Ambrose McClaren’s basement. Years from now, when I look back on this moment, what music will I hear then?

His eyes hold mine, and I feel a flutter that starts in my throat and moves across my collarbone and chest. “I like you, Lara Jean. I liked you then and I like you even more now. I know you and Kavinsky just broke up, and you’re still sad, but I just want to make it unequivocally clear.”