We looked at the stars while he passed me my drink. This—this was how I always imagined life should feel. The beach chairs in his parents’ backyard gave us the perfect view of a sparkling night sky.
I met Pedro through a mutual friend at a club. From the start, our personalities just clicked. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what attracted me to him—it wasn’t his style or even his looks. There was just something about him that made me stay.
“Hey, the game will be on in about 30 minutes. You wanna jump in the pool for a quick swim before kickoff?” he asked, a little too confidently.
I nodded, smiling. We stripped down to our underwear and I jumped in first, only to realize—I forgot my drink.
“Hey, Pedro!” I called, “Can you grab our drinks?”
He turned around, grabbed our red plastic cups, and walked them over to the edge of the pool. But instead of handing them to me like a gentleman, he splashed me right in the face.
“Hey! My hair isn’t naturally curly!” I yelled through laughter.
He handed me my drink, and we slipped into a conversation about how stars were formed, wondering if they’d still exist at the end of the world. You know, nerdy stuff—the kind of talk that makes you feel like the only two people on Earth.
Maybe it was the high. Maybe the drinks. Maybe the chemistry. Whatever it was, I was having a blast.
Pedro eventually climbed out of the pool, grabbed our towels, and reminded me the game was about to start. It was our team—one we weirdly always watched together because they won every time we did. Superstitious? Maybe. But we didn’t mess with the ritual.
His parents were out of town visiting family in California, so there was no need for me to rush home. Still, I couldn’t help but notice: he was in his 30s and still living at home. I didn’t know when he’d last been in a real relationship. It was clear he wasn’t in any rush to settle down.
But in that moment, I didn’t care. I enjoyed him. There were no expectations, even though feelings were starting to bubble beneath the surface. I knew deep down that this wouldn’t last—but it didn’t make the memories any less special.
I plopped onto the long sectional while he settled into the recliner.
“Hey,” he said, looking over, “Come over here.”
I didn’t hesitate. I curled into his lap just as the game began. We clinked cups, I grabbed snacks from the table, and we rode the emotional rollercoaster that is football.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s more dramatic—watching Grey’s Anatomy kill off yet another character or watching this team blow a lead in the last five minutes. Either way, my heart can only take so much.
We laughed, shouted, cheered, and—yes—I gave up too early, and he teased me for it. But our team won. And for the two of us, it felt like magic.
Later, we made our way to his childhood bedroom. And what happened after that?
Well, let’s just say—I never kiss and tell.
