The question popped out some Saturday at Jaime’s house, before Jaime even knew he was going to ask it.

“So,” he said to Paco, across the couch. “Have you and Brenda . . . gone all the way?”

--

The kiss happened at the park the evening after the mother box incident. Jaime had been thinking about Brenda’s body, bleeding and unconscious, in his arms, when he leaned in and did it. He expected her to pull away. Instead, she kissed him back.


--

“Nah,” Paco said, flipping channels on the TV. “We just started going out, you know? And anyway, she wants to take it slow.”

--

Jaime fumbled with the buttons on Brenda’s blouse, but Brenda pushed him away.

“S-sorry—” he stuttered, expecting her to reproach him, not wanting her to leave. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve got it,” Brenda said, cutting him off, and pulled the blouse up over her head.

--

“She’s not the kind of girl to just hook up randomly with someone,” Paco continued. “She takes this kind of thing seriously, you know? And I’m totally fine with that.”

--

Brenda’s bra, white with a tiny bow right between the cups, lay in the grass near where her shirt and shorts and Jaime’s shirt were. Jaime kissed her breasts, feeling their soft weight beneath his lips, his arms encircling her warm and yielding body. Brenda’s hands pressed down his back and toyed with the waistband of his jeans.

“Let’s,” she whispered, pressing her mouth wetly against his neck. “Let’s.”

“Okay,” Jaime said, and kissed her again, his mouth open and needy against hers.

--

“You can definitely understand where Brenda’s coming from, anyway,” Paco went on. “With her dad and all—and she’s still a virgin, right?”

--

Brenda clutched at Jaime’s shoulders, her hair splayed out in the grass. She smelled like sweat and musk and flowers and a million other things that Jaime couldn’t name but loved with his whole, entire being.

--

“Yeah,” Jaime said staring at the floor. “Definitely still a virgin.”