Meg could remember her seventh grader self, shunning romance because it had been her least favorite book genre for as long as she could remember. She belonged to the clique that held a certain dislike to seeing public displays of affection, the population of kids that protruded tongues at the sight of their parents kissing.
Three years into the future she was sitting between her best friend's legs with her head thrown back on his shoulder. It was times like this when she could imagine her younger self standing before her, eyeing her with a cline of disgust, but as quick as the image appeared, it dissolved into the air, and Meg's head would easily be emptied after every thought devolved down to mush.
She had never been spooned before. Not to mention Nicolas was needlessly a foot and two inches taller, and that provided her best-slash-boyfriend access to bear-hugging her from behind, pulling her closer until she could feel his heartbeat thrumming against her back. Meg's stomach had begun to sport countless butterflies, and her heart had
long ago abandoned her chest, drifting with her bloodstream and ending up anywhere. Nick's arms grazed over her front, leaving Meg to hold her breath as he placed his entire forearm against her upper chest. This was a ridiculous reminder of her utter lack of breasts, and this stupid piece of shit behind her was passively teasing her, wordlessly so.
“You're so short,” he mumbled, his voice soft as he spoke into her ear. “You're just tall,” Meg scoffed, trying to keep her breaths steady and far from shallow. Assessing their situation, Nick's arms were locking her in place, holding her by the chest and by her waist. She had never been held so gently yet so firmly by anyone, not her
family, not her friends, and especially not in those places. Hearing his heartbeat was one thing, but having hers heard by him was entirely another. Meg might as well have died then and there from the humiliation. Fortunately she had her back to him, granting him no access whatsoever to seeing her face.
One second. Two seconds.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. They had stayed there, basking in the quiet ambience, and Nick had taken this as an opportunity to grab her by the ear with his teeth.
As if Meg hadn't been embarrassed enough, she let out a whimper from the surprise. Nibbling. “Nicolas Rivera, you fucker,” Meg snapped, frozen as she felt the blood beneath her skin begin to burn. “What the fuck?”
Nick hummed in response, withdrawing his lips only to reclaim her ear two seconds later. “You keep moaning.” “And you suppose I'm to blame?” She felt him roll his eyes, and she could picture his lips twitch into the smallest hint of a grin.
Alas, Nick withdrew, supporting his head with hers, only to whisper, “You should probably know I'm getting a boner.” And Meg never would have paid it that much attention had he never brought it up. “You're,” Nick paused to plant a quick kiss to her neck, “you're squeezing it.”
“I know,” she answered, trying not to laugh through her voice. “Let's just pretend I can't feel it against my back.” This warranted her a gentle slap to the cheek, and Meg succumbed to a chuckle.