Jordaan wasn't faring any better. A few minutes later I saw him looking defeated and I asked what was wrong. "This kid James," he said. "I was smoking a cigarette on the porch and he asked if we could buttfuck, and I was like whoa, okay, but I'm always on top."

"What happened?"

"He meant his cigarette. He meant he wanted to light his cigarette on mine."

"Oh."

"I think I scared him."

"I think this girl he likes — she might be into me."

"Which one?"

"With the dreadlocks."

"She's cute. Do it."

"Really? Is that how it works? I feel stupid."

He shook his head and dropped his cigarette on the floor. "Think of it," he said, looking over at Juniper, "as a thank you note."

I'd done the one-night-stand thing: vodka, etc. But music made me shy. At the time, I'd only played cafes and open mics, in little bands with friends. I was never that asshole on the stairs at the party with the Ovation, mumbling his way through "Blackbird" in hopes of a gnashing, weepy-eyed catharsis fuck. My idea of a good cliché was Morrissey: debonair and romantic, crooning and spooning. But I didn't have the flair. And Juniper wasn't the girl for that. Besides, James was crushing on her. He was my friend. Very tall. You know.

"Just let him stay here," Juniper said. We had migrated back to my place, where she, Jordaan, my roommates and myself were the only ones left.

"He came all this way," Juniper went on. "Let him sleep on the couch."

"I'll stay up all night," Jordaan said. "I'll catch the early bus."

"You'll need supplies," I said.

He nodded. "I feel faint already."

"Okay," I said. "Who wants to walk to 7-Eleven with me and buy this guy — what do I buy?"

"Cigarettes," Juniper said. "He needs cigarettes. Maybe a Snickers bar or something."

Jordaan held out his arms. "All of this and more."

So Juniper and I walked through the cold Oregon night to that bastion of romantic mythology: 7-Eleven. I didn't feel in control. More like on display. Juniper moved a little too far away, then a little too close, like I was a campfire. She asked about my life, laughed at everything, which I didn't get until I realized I'd been aiming for laughs. Tumbling for the right notes. She asked about particular songs, whom they were about or for. I told her the story of a girl I knew in Portland who had a stalker force his way into her apartment, only to stand on her balcony and cry.

"What was he crying about?" Juniper asked.

"She called the police," I said. "So she never found out. But you could see the docks from her balcony, right? All the factories by the water. Maybe they looked sad?"

Juniper nodded, sucked in a kind of sigh, and then she grabbed my shirt and I tripped a little. It was dark, the middle of the street. We kissed. 7-Eleven was about a block away.

We bought Jordaan his supplies. Juniper opened his cigarettes as we walked back, put one in my mouth, took it and put it in her mouth, and then she threw it away and we kissed again. Slurpy, urgent kisses, with hands squeezing on hips. I was happy, along for the ride.