Excerpt:

That night, you took a clove cigarette out of the pocket of your velvet jacket, and we shared it, walking east down the train tracks, toward Huber park. I remember how our fingers touched when we traded the cigarette. And how I kissed its sweet, damp filter, sucking smoke into my mouth and puffing it back out. Wishing I was kissing you. We walked east along the tracks and I’d never done that before -- walked on the train tracks -- and I was unreasonably scared that a train was going to come out of nowhere and hit us, but I tried not to let on. I was still trying to make you think I was cool.

“You’re not a smoker, are you?” you asked me at one point, as you took the cigarette back from me one time. You had a half smile on your face, but it wasn’t a mean smile. You were looking at me like you thought I was cute. You took a drag, and blew a smoke ring, your tongue a little curl between your lips.

“Not really,” I said. “Why?”

“You’re not inhaling, my dear,” you said. You were always calling me that. My dear. From the first night we met. It was so you, Kit -- little bit pretentious, a little bit condescending, and yet, oddly, bizarrely, undeniably sexy.

“Of course I’m inhaling,” I said. I took the cigarette back from you -- I grabbed your hand with both of mine, then kept my left hand still wrapped around your wrist while I brought the cigarette to my mouth with my right, for a kiss and a mouthful of smoke and a puff. “See?” I said.

“Exactly,” you said. “Not inhaling.”

I stopped walking. We stood in the middle of the train tracks, facing each other.

“Here, give it to me,” you said. “I’ll show you.”

“No,” I said.

You held out your hand, and cocked your head. “Yes,” you said.

“Smoke your own,” I said.

“That is my own, my dear.” You reached for my hand and I jerked it away. Shaking my head and smiling, like a naughty kid.

Then I took off running down the tracks. I remember looking down at the railroad ties, the dark oil-stained gravel between them. I could hear you running behind me. I looked up ahead at the curve of the tracks, the glistening of light along them from the buildings of downtown. I ran fast. I felt like I could run forever. The air was cold and sweet in my lungs. I could hear your footsteps, fast behind me, the crunch of gravel and the slap of your shoes on the railroad ties. Then you caught me. Grabbed me around the middle, pinning my arms, and hugged me from behind. You put your mouth to my ear. I could feel your warm breath on my neck and hear your panting gasps coming fast.

“So you like to be chased, is that it?” you said into my ear. You kept your arms around me. I didn’t struggle. The cigarette was burning low in the fingers of my right hand. I could feel its ember getting warm near my knuckles. I looked straight ahead, at those tracks, heading east. And I felt suddenly calm. Because I didn’t know when it would happen, exactly, but I knew, at that moment, that you were definitely going to kiss me.