Chapter Nine

Grace

They say when it rains, it pours.

In my case, my week had been a thunderstorm wrapped inside a tornado.

It ripped away everything in my life, and all I could do was watch it swirling in the wind as I fell into the deep, dark depths of my own personal catastrophe.

“Honey pie, I’m so sorry. I know it’s the worst timing possible for you, but please consider this my official resignation.” Marla sat me down at the end of the week.

I was running on fumes at this point. West and I hadn’t been talking at all during our shifts, Grams had gone on an odd hunger strike, still mad about the CT scan that never happened, and college life was a disaster of hushed whispers and sympathetic glances ever since West St. Claire had pretty much declared I was under his protection.

Everyone knew West and I weren’t chummy, so they conveniently deducted he was feeling sorry for Toastie, his newest colleague, and wanted to make sure she didn’t off herself.

He’s the one who hates life, I wanted to scream in their faces. He’s the one who wants to die. Not me. I just want to be left alone.

“You’re quittin’?” I blinked at Marla, trying to keep my tone neutral. Marla nodded, gathering my hands in her oily, swollen palms and bringing them to her lips.

“Retiring. Movin’ away. Pete found a great condo in Florida, just outside Miami. Real nice and fancy, and so cheap for what we’re getting. We’ll be close to Joanne, my daughter, and her little stinkers. It’s been a long time coming. I ain’t a kid anymore. I want to enjoy my grandchildren, and go on walks, and get fat with my husband.”

Nothing about what she said was news to me. Still, I was irrationally upset. Not with Marla, of course. I could hardly blame her for wanting to better her own situation. But with the world. I depended on Marla, who at this point became more like family and less like an employee. She always put in extra hours and was on call twenty-four seven. Grams got along with her most of the time, and Marl never took any of her bullshit. Finding someone else was going to be a struggle. Marla was a Sheridan local, but not many people wanted to commute into my small town for work, and those who were willing to demanded to be financially compensated accordingly.

Even though I had some money put aside for medical bills for Grams, and her 401k payments kept us comfortable, I wasn’t exactly in tall cotton.

“Oh, Marla, that’s wonderful.” I stood up, swallowing down my panic, tugging her into a hug. I relished the small, bittersweet moment in her arms, feeling the pinch of pain behind my eyes. “You deserve it. You worked hard for so many years. I’m so happy for you and Pete.”

She reared her head back, patting my cheeks to make sure they were dry. I winced when she touched the scar tissue. It still felt raw. The skin was thinner than on my right, healthy side.

“Don’t worry, Gracie-Mae. I’m giving you a two-month notice. Plenty of time to find a replacement.”

I let out a breath. Two months was a good amount of time.

“Thanks. I’ll start searchin’ right away.”

“Although, you know where I stand in terms of what should happen next.” Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting back the words that wanted to tumble out of her mouth.

“I know. Especially with the hunger strike.” I bristled. Marla laughed.

“Yeah. ’Bout that. She’s been slipping cracklins into her room when she thinks I ain’t looking. And, well”—her laughter pitched higher—“I pretend not to look so she’ll eat.”

Shaking my head, I let out a relieved chuckle. “She’s impossible. What am I going to do with her?”

“Send her to her home!” Marla snorted. “She’ll thank you.”

Sensing a big, juicy moment, Grams crept into the kitchen in her calico housedress and bunny slippers.

“What’s all this fuss about?” She went straight for the utensil drawer, trying to yank it open. It didn’t budge. I’d installed magnets on every drawer that contained anything that could be used as a weapon earlier that week, the stuff you used when you had toddlers. I couldn’t take my chances. Not after the stove incident.

“Grandmomma, Marla just told me she will be leavin’ us in a couple months. She is movin’ to Florida to be closer to Joanne and her grandkids.” I turned to face Grams. Her back was still to me.

“Shoot! What’s this?” She wiggled the handle for the drawer, huffing. “I can’t open it!”

“Grams, did you hear me?” I asked.

“What in the name …” she muttered, ignoring the news—and me, still tugging.

“What do you need?” I rushed to her, eager to make amends after the ER incident. “I’ll get it for you.”

“What I need is to know how come I can’t open my own drawers in my own dang house to get a spoon out for my tea!” She spun on her heel to face me, waving her hand in the drawer’s direction. “Is this a part of your scheme, Courtney? To convince people that I have Lord knows what diseases? That I can’t even open a drawer? You wanna put me in a mental institute? Is that it?”

This time, I didn’t feel like playing her dead daughter anymore. It hurt too much.

“Grams, it’s not Courtney. It’s me, Gracie-Mae, and I don’t want to put you in a mental institution.”

“You want me to die there so you can take all my money and my house. So you can get high without anyone interruptin’ you. I see right through you, young lady. All you ever cared about were those boys and the drugs.”

“I just want you to get better,” I gritted out. I was getting tired of this tango.

“Yeah, by diagnosing me with somethin’ I don’t have and putting me on a whole lotta drugs. Not everybody wants to be sedated. Just because you like drugs, doesn’t mean they’re for me.”

“Grams.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s Grace.”

She pushed me. Hard. I stumbled across the kitchen, my back hitting the wall. A picture of my mother and me—the only one we had in this house of both of us—fell to the floor, the glass breaking.

It stung more than it hurt.

The humiliation.

The anger.

My helplessness in this situation.

I put my broken flame ring to my lips and whispered my wishes as Marla shot up from her seat, advancing toward my grandmother.

“Savannah!” The sharpness in her tone made the tiny hair on my arms stand on end. “Do you not recognize your granddaughter?”

Grams snapped her head toward Marla, her scowl melting into a sweet smile.

“What? Don’t be silly. I know exactly who she is.”

“You said Courtney,” Marla countered.

“Quiet!” Grams raised her voice. “Stop challengin’ my every step, both of you.”

Marla walked over to me. “Go to school, honey pie. I’ll be putting in some extra hours today. I promised your grandma I’d help rearrange her closet. All right?”

I stared at Grams but nodded.

I grabbed my backpack, keys, and wallet and dashed out. I waited until I was in my car before I let the first tear fall.

I thought about A Streetcar Named Desire.

Of Blanche’s biting loneliness that seeped so deep she didn’t even know what she was lonely for anymore. Blanche—like Grams—sat at home all day, her demons often her only companion.

I thought about the cruelty in giving someone freedom they didn’t know what to do with.

Grandma Savvy always used to say, if you’re not scared, you’re not brave.

Right now, I was one out of the two, but for her, I needed to be both.

I sat at the back row of the theater, watching as Tess and Lauren butchered the roles of Stella and Blanche, respectively, during rehearsal.

Tess wasn’t bad, but she kept overacting to compensate for her loss to Lauren for Blanche’s role.

She also complained about it, often.

“Blanche has so much more meat! Stella is meek and timid.”

“Grow up, Tess. Learn how to be graceful in defeat.” Lauren snorted.

“I never lose,”Tess replied, her tone taking an edge I’d never heard before.

Lauren tossed her hair and smiled at her serenely. “That so? Then how come you’re not on West. St. Claire’s arm right about now?”

Aiden, who played Stanley, wasn’t exceptionally bad either, but he needed to tone down his frowning and glaring. He looked so constipated I worried people would throw Pepto-Bismol onstage instead of flowers at the end of the show.

About halfway through rehearsal, someone slid into the seat next to me. Peculiar, seeing as all the other seats were empty. Even though I didn’t turn to look at him, I knew exactly who it was. It frightened me that I recognized him so quickly.

His scent of winter, candy apple, and alpha male. Wild and unique.

I balanced my feet on the back of the seat in front of me, trying to refocus on the actors onstage. I was still mad at West. Mainly because he’d screwed someone else last Friday while mumbling my nickname. But the official reason was him embarrassing me to no end by making a big stink out of how Reign had treated me. I’d sailed through college ignoring the odd taunt. Reign De La Salle was one of many idiots I’d learned to overlook. West had redirected the limelight to my face again, and now everybody was talking about me—my story, my face, my hopeless future.

It was like high school all over again.

West draped his muscular arm over my headrest. His body language was indifferent, dripping confidence; he took something out of his front pocket—a small planner—and dropped it in my lap.

“Circle the date.”

I ignored him, still glaring at the stage.

“When you’re letting me out of the doghouse,” he explained.

I pressed my lips together, resisting a faint smile, pouring metaphorical lava over the butterflies swirling in my stomach, taking flight upwards to my chest.

They were exactly the reason keeping my distance from him was a good idea.

The man had heartbreak written all over him.

“No can do. This planner doesn’t go beyond mid-next year,” I drawled, my eyes still trained on the stage. I didn’t need to look to know planners didn’t go beyond twelve months. Tess threw her head back during a scene, trying to steal Lauren’s limelight.

The scene was cut due to the fact Lauren stumbled all over her lines.

“Dang it! She threw me off focus.” Lauren stomped, choking the manuscript in her hand.

Tess parked her fists on her waist, puffing her cheeks.

“Nothing should throw you off when you’re in the zone. I’m a method actor, Lauren. Untouchable once I get into character. I’ve been telling Professor McGraw for weeks that I should be Blanche. I was born for the role.”

Secure in her stance she’d been robbed out of the role while Lauren tried to memorize her next few sentences, Tess’ feline eyes began to wander the rows. They stopped and widened, a glint of excitement zinging through them when she noticed us. She gave us a wave.

“West! Grace! Howdy!”

I waved back. West jerked his chin forward, a barely noticeable hello, and cut his gaze back to me.

“What about probation?” he asked. “It’s my first offense.”

I shook my head. “Third. You’ve been gettin’ on my nerves since day one.”

“Damn you, woman, you think working with you is a picnic?” He bristled.

“I’m sure it’s not, but I don’t butt into your business and draw unwelcome attention to you,” I pointed out.

“What am I charged with here exactly?” He rearranged his mammoth frame in his seat, his whole body angled toward mine now.

“You made a big stink out of what De La Salle said, and now I’m this pathetic emo kid who is at your mercy. You made me look helpless. Weak. A charity case.” I turned my head, meeting his eyes.

The twinge in my chest became a full-on pull.

“So, you’re mad at me for sticking up for you?” His eyebrows pinched together.

“I can fight my own wars.”

“Bullshit. You’ve never once shown up for battle.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You are my business.” He examined me, greatly enjoying the way my entire face turned pink under my makeup.

“I figured I am. I just wonder why that is. Did you need a pet project? I thought you had plenty on your plate already.”

“Because you’re my friend.” His eyes narrowed into two slits of grim resolution. That was it. I was his friend, and I didn’t have a say in this. “When someone disrespects my friends, they disrespect me. And nobody disrespects me. We clear about that?”

I turned my head to the stage, but only because I didn’t trust myself not to launch at him with a hug. I’d never had anyone burst into my life, kicking the door down on their way in, and stick around after realizing how truly broken I was.

West was the first person to insist on being my friend, whether I was interested or not. It was unchartered territory for me. My instincts told me to push him away before he did the dumping, but every single cell in my body screamed to let him in.

He threw his arms in the air, exasperated. “Fine. You want me to back off? You got it. Either way, the asshole won’t bother you anymore, so there’s that.”

“Woo-hoo. Thanks, Captain St. Claire.” I fist-pumped the air mockingly. Now I had West’s word he wasn’t going to butt into my life. But I still wasn’t placated. If anything, after the initial exhilaration of West seeking me out publicly at the auditorium, I was even angrier than before.

I knew exactly why—Melanie—but I couldn’t tell him that.

“You realize you’re being a bitch, right? You can’t not-know that.”

I knew I was being impossible, and it killed me that I couldn’t stop. My shiny red self-destruction button was switched on, and I wanted to hit the bastard again and again with my fist, until there was nothing left of our friendship, so I could go back to being alone and invisible and safe in my bubble of nothingness.

His phone danced in his hand. He killed the call before I could see the name on the screen.

Melanie asking for a second round? Did you tell her you’re a one-night kind of guy?

“What is this really about, Texas?” He raked his eyes over my face.

Cruz Finlay, the play’s director, looked up from beside the stage and waved the script in our direction. “Excuse me, do you mind? You’re distracting my actors.”

“Your actors are distractin’ us,” I muttered under my breath. West snorted next to me.

“Grace. West!” Tess gestured at us again. “What’s happening? Are y’all here for me?”

Tess was great, but she had the tendency to think the world revolved around her. Guess it grated on my nerves so much because I used to be exactly like her.

My stomach twisted into knots. If I chose to get flustered every time West received female attention, I’d go through a mental breakdown three times a day.

West stood up, jerking my arm, forcing me to my feet.

“Here for Texas. Now that I got her, I’ll get outta your hair.”

He saluted a shocked Tess and dragged me out the doors like a caveman. I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I refrained from smacking his hand away. Once we were out of the auditorium, he pinned me against the wall, boxing me with his arms on each side of my body. His phone beeped again. He ignored it, angling his face down so his lips were dangerously close to mine.

The earthy, male scent of him seeped into my system. My heart beat so wildly I almost threw up.

“Let’s try this again. Why are you mad at me, Texas? Don’t give me the Reign excuse. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“People are goin’ to talk, now that you came to the auditorium and called me Texas in front of everyone. Hope you’re happy.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “The amount of fucks I give equals the amount of shit I give. Which is zero, in case you’re wondering. Don’t change the subject.”

“You don’t care if people think you are hookin’ up below your league?” I taunted.

“I don’t care if people think I’m hooking up with livestock. And you’re not below my league. Now, I’m going to ask you this a third and last time—why are you mad? Answer carefully. There won’t be a fourth chance. I’ll flip you upside down and shake the answer out of you.”

“You wouldn’t.” I scoffed.

His eyebrows shot up, a mischievous sneer curling over his lips.

Crap, he totally would. I deflated. “I’m not mad at you. I just want you to stop actin’ like I’m a charity case. I’ve been doin’ fine on my own, and I don’t want the attention you bring to me.”

He scanned me, looking for cracks in my façade.

Finally, he relented, pushing back from the wall. I felt the loss of him everywhere.

“If I stop bringing attention to your ass, are you going to go back to being relatively sane?”

“I am sane.”

“Debatable.”

“Tell me one thing that’s insane about me.”

“You wear hoodies when it’s a hundred and twelve degrees out, you’re nurturing an unhealthy obsession with the nineties, you think you’re unattractive, you br—”

“Okay. Fine, I get it. I said one.”

He tucked a candy stick between his straight teeth, smiling like the Devil.

“I’m a competitive bastard. Once I start, it’s hard to stop. Truce?” He offered me his pinky.

All I could think about was him kissing Melanie roughly as he’d unbuttoned her jeans, my nickname falling from his lips. My own lips stung, but I curled my pinky in his, almost laughing at how large his finger was against mine. It was the second time we’d done that. I liked that we had a thing.

“Ready to bail?” He nudged me.

“Bail where?”

“Austin. I just got a text from Karlie that the truck broke down and we don’t have a shift. My schedule’s wide open.”

I frowned and checked my phone. Sure enough, I had the same text. Still, spending time with West outside work? That would be a big fat no with never-and-ever on top.

“No can do. I have rehearsals back-to-back.”

“I don’t know how to break it to you, but nothing is going to salvage this play. It’s the worst thing to happen to Texas since the Jonas Brothers.” West made an adorable face, a cross between genuinely sorry and sarcastic.

“Don’t you dare hate on the Jonas Brothers. They’re a national treasure.” I wagged my finger at him, a giggle bubbling from my throat.

“That’s a plot twist.” He snatched my finger, tugging me toward him. “I pegged you for a My Bloody Valentine type of girl.”

“I do know bands that were formed after the nineties,” I protested.

“Prove it. But before that, let’s hit the road.”

With everything going on, it would be nice to unwind and take the day off. Besides, I’d already decided I wasn’t going to fall in love with West St. Claire, and I’d been massively successful in not remotely liking guys before him.

What was the harm in one short trip to the city?

“You’re twistin’ my arm here.” I sighed.

“I’ve been known for helping women discover their flexibility.”

I scrunched my nose and shoved him away, savoring the hardness of his chest against my palm.

“Gross. I’ll bring my backpack.”

“Nuh-uh. I don’t trust you to come back, and Cruz Finlay is one distraction away from a stroke. I’ll fetch it.”

He marched into the auditorium, returning with my backpack. He hoisted it over his shoulder as he flipped his keyring around his finger. I bounced on the balls of my feet, catching his long stride.

“Skipping. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you are the h-word.” He grinned.

“High?” I asked, still skipping to my displeasure.

Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.

He laughed, slanting his gaze sideways, watching me. “No, doofus. Happy.”

“I ain’t happy.”

“The shit-eating grin on your face begs to differ.” He flicked my chin.

“You’re rude.”

“You’re glowing.”

I threw my hair over my shoulder, feeling unexpectedly pretty. My heart swelled, like it was soaked in water, and my whole body tingled.

“Fuuuuuck,” he drawled. “The sheer joy. Who even are you? Have I been catfished?” He stopped, picking me up from the floor and turning me sideways. He frowned, pretending to read something on my back. Instructions or a manual. He whistled. I kicked the air until he let me down, my giggles rolling out of my mouth uncontrollably.

We were doing a lot of touching—more touching than I’d done in the last four years, in fact—and the butterflies in my stomach were swirling and cartwheeling nonstop.

“Yup. You’re the real Texas. I got the 2.0 version. Are you water-resistant?”

“Not at this time.”

“Shame. I bet you’re a sight in a two-piece.”

“You’re about to be cut into twenty pieces if you keep it up.”

I felt like I was my old self again, and I didn’t know why, but I thought he felt the same about himself, too.

That for some reason, we brought out in each other the previous people that we were and missed terribly.

We stopped by his Ducati. He took out two helmets, shoving one into my hands. This time, I turned around, ditched my ball cap, and put it on dutifully.

“Two helmets?” I turned back to face him when my helmet was on.

He shrugged. “Knew I was going to thaw your frigid ass.”

“Are you always so confident?”

“Every second of the day.” He spat out the apple candy in his mouth, putting his helmet on. “Are you always so nosy?”

“When I’m interested in something enough to explore it.” I raised one shoulder. “While we’re on the subject of my being nosy—what’s with the apple candy? A bit dated, ain’t it?”

“Not for me. Don’t you have something that’s nostalgic to you? A piece of your history that’s close to your heart?”

Without meaning to, I brushed my fingers over my flame ring, feeling my throat working.

“I do, actually. This flame ring”—I lifted my hand—“belonged to my mom.”

“It’s …” He took my small, soft hand in his big, rough one, examining it. “Hideous. Anyway, the apple candy is it for me.”

Feeling frisky, I grabbed one of them from his back pocket, where I knew he stashed them, and stuck it into my mouth under the helmet.

“It’s … tasteless.”

So tasteless, in fact, that I wondered what had him coming back to this specific candy, over and over again. Of course, if he wanted me to know, he’d volunteer the information.

West grinned, giving a lazy shake of his head.

I waited for him to mount the motorcycle then hopped behind him. He brought my arms to clasp his pecs. The engine roared to life. We zipped through the highway, bypassing a traffic jam, the dessert wind licking at our bodies. I pressed against him, inhaling as much as I could of him. I loved wearing a helmet. It covered my face completely, giving the illusion I could be anyone. When I was like this, draped over a gorgeous man, my long blonde hair twirling, and all people could see was my body, it looked like I was normal. Just another girl going about her day.

No one could guess that my body and face were scarred.

That my grandmomma was sick.

That I was going to fail my semester this year.

The whole time, West’s phone was vibrating in his pocket. I could feel it against my inner thigh. But I didn’t want to chance ruining the moment by asking who it was.

We got to 2nd Street District, grabbed iced coffee, and walked around for a little while. The streets were crowded, booming with college kids and shoppers and blossoming flowerpots; light-decorated trees lined everywhere. The coffee shops poured with chattering youth. We talked about school and Friday night fights, and about my acting when West stopped dead on the curb and yanked my hoodie sleeve, causing a human traffic jam behind us.

“Jack. Fucking. Pot.”

I looked up at the sign in front of us. It was a ball cap shop. I rearranged my faded gray cap self-consciously. I only took it off when I wore West’s helmet or I was at home. He grabbed my hand, leading me inside.

“If you’re going to hide your face under this thing for eternity, at least don’t saddle me with the same old Nike logo. Keep shit fresh for me, Tex. That’s the recipe for a good relationship.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to turn around when I try them. I must protect my virtue.” I kept it light, shoving my fists back into my hoodie’s pockets. We strolled between rows of hats. Unlike the street, the place was quiet. Other than a salesman in his late teens staffing the register, it was just the two of us.

“Not being seen is really that big a deal to you, huh?” West ran a hand over a dozen hats.

I thumbed through a stack of university-themed caps, shrugging.

“I like my privacy.”

“You like being invisible.”

“What’s the problem with that?”

“That you’re not.” He stopped walking, rubbing his knuckles against his chiseled jaw. “Let’s compromise—I’ll close my eyes every time you try a cap on and open them when you’re ready. Trust me?”

“Why do you even care?” I stopped next to him, eyeing a baby pink cap with a cherry print on it. I was a girly girl and owned up to it prior to The Fire. I thought the cap would look super cute and wondered why I hadn’t thought of buying a new one before. But the answer was obvious—I didn’t think anyone was looking at me, and when they did, it was clearly for the wrong reasons.

“Texas, I can’t even begin to tell you. The inside of this ball cap must smell like a used dental floss. I want you to own at least a dozen caps so you can alternate. Ball caps for weddings, funerals, parties, work, school …” His eyes caught the baby pink one I was holding. He grabbed it from my hand and slapped it against my sternum.

“Try it.”

“Close your eyes.”

“If I do, you can’t turn around.”

“Hey, that wasn’t a part of the deal!” I protested.

“You were a cheerleader, right?”

“Yeah. Before—”

“What’s the first thing they do in practice, before you make it to the team?”

I frowned, trying to remember. “Uh, trust falls?”

“Exactly. This is our trust fall. Trust I won’t open my eyes.”

“You told me trusting people is putting your optimism in the wrong place,” I pointed out.

He twisted his face. “Don’t listen to my ass. I’m just a fucking no-good punk who is only good with his knuckles.”

“But …”

He put his finger to my lips. His eyes crinkled at the sides with a smile. I could tell it meant something to him. That I put my trust in him. Even if I didn’t know why.

“I won’t let you fall, Tex,” he said quietly.

“Promise?”

“I don’t promise. I never promise.” He tsked. Wasn’t that what he was doing? I wondered what made him so hell-bent on never promising even the smallest, most trivial things. “Try me.”

The air was thick with silence as I considered his request. He squeezed his eyes shut. I took off my gray cap slowly, the adrenaline whooshing in my veins. I stared at him in shock, relishing the small liberating moment. I could practically feel his arms as I figuratively fell backward into them.

How he caught me.

How he kept his word and didn’t sneak a peek.

I grabbed the pink cap. It wasn’t bent on the sides, so when I put it on, West could still see a little more of my face than I was comfortable with. I secured it over my head, took a deep breath, and tapped West’s shoulder to signal he could open his eyes.

“Decent?” he teased.

“Not by my standards,” I mumbled.

His eyes fluttered open.

“Whaddaya think?” Even though it was only a cap, I motioned at my entire body, posing a-la Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City. It sounded stupid, but it felt like trying on a wedding dress.

He flashed me a lopsided, half-moon grin that made my knees weak, and whistled.

West reached for the cap and my heart stuttered. For a second, I could feel my body hitting the ground as he let go of me. But no. He didn’t take it off. He bent it the way I liked it, so it shielded both sides of my face.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Cap’s all right, too.”

“Thank you.” The softness in my voice jarred me. “And not cool, dude. If you bend it, you buy it.”

“That’s fake news. Ask any girl I’ve hooked up with.”

I chuckled dully. I wasn’t amused by the fact he was known for sleeping around.

“’Sides, we’re buying it,” he said flatly.

I turned around to change back to my old hat and checked the price, then proceeded to snort.

“For fifty-five bucks? You’re kiddin’ me.”

“My treat.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You already got me dinner once. We can’t make it a habit.”

But he was swaggering to the register, spinning the pink cherry cap with his finger on his way there, not paying me any attention. I followed him, groaning. I knew he was going to do whatever he wanted.

“It’s not a habit. It’s a trade-off. I got you something I thought you needed, now it’s your turn to get me something. How ’bout them apples?” He jerked his wallet chain (which my nineties heart had noted was very much in sync with my favorite era) and took it out, dropping a few notes on the counter in front of the salesman.

“Snap. You’re West St. Claire. Sher U, right?” The guy’s face brightened.

They did a bro-shake.

“Saw your fight with Williams last year. You thrashed him. Is he still even alive?”

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” West stuck a green apple candy in his mouth, back to being his cocky, jerk self.

“You should go pro. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen. You go there.”

“You’re a good kid,” West said.

“Will you sign my cap?”

He did, and he also agreed to take a picture with the guy. We got out of the store in high spirits.

“So what do you think I need?” He was referring to our trade-off.

I tapped my lips, pretending to mull it over. “A genital guard.”

He laughed. “You’ve got jokes, Texas.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who left you ballet shoes before I even knew your name.”

West tugged his wallet back into his pocket, handing me the bag with my new cap. “You never acknowledged that. I wondered if it ever happened. I was starting to question my own sanity.”

“You should do that regardless. But no, I got ’em. Still have them at home. Not sure what to do with them yet, but my poor girl complex wouldn’t allow me to throw them out,” I admitted, laughing. “Want them back?”

“Keep ’em. I’m not sure ballet is my field. I’m kind of a big girl.” He feigned shyness, and I snorted, imagining him in a tutu.

After a quick cap change in an alleyway, I came back out with the pink cap. He catcalled me, and I swaggered past him, swaying my butt like I was some sort of femme fatal.

His phone buzzed again. He killed it.

“Aren’t you gonna take that at some point?” I turned around and walked backwards, my eyes on him. “It’s okay if you have better things to do.”

“I don’t have better things to do,” he clipped, his mood changing back to sullen.

“Whoever is callin’ might have somethin’ important to tell you.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized a hookup wouldn’t call him dozens of times a day. Worry settled in my gut. It was more serious than that.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Your turn, Tex,” he called out to me as I charged ahead. “Where to?”

“Ever had a Frito pie, Maine?”

His face broke into the goofiest, sweetest grin I’d ever seen. His eyes twinkled like fine jewels. I’d once watched a documentary about the fall of the Berlin Wall. Saw the thousands of people bringing hammers and bricks to it, demolishing it with their bare hands, glowing with triumph, buzzing with deep, dark ache. This was what I felt happened to my walls of defense the moment he truly flashed me a genuine smile. It was crumbling, brick by brick, as thousands of little Wests pounded their fists upon it, making it collapse.

“Can’t say that I have.” West tilted his head sideways.

“Let’s get Christina, then. We have places to see. Frito pies to eat.” He inclined his head, just as the last brick in my wall shattered.

“Lead the way.”

“It’s … odd.” West leaned back in his seat, dropping his fork directly into the Frito pie. I slapped a hand over my heart, gasping.

“Are you for real right now?”

He nodded, picking up his fork, dissecting the pie with a frown.

“What’s in this thing, anyway? Beef, beans, cheese, enchilada sauce, tortilla chips, sour cream, corn, pecans …” He started naming all the ingredients. “It reminds me of that time Rachel from Friends had two recipe pages stuck together and made that disgusting strawberry beef cake pie. You throw everything into this thing other than the kitchen sink.”

“Oh.” I smiled cheerfully. “The kitchen sink is there, all right. Right at the bottom. One layer away from the crust.”

He burst out laughing. I signaled for the check and paid it. “Besides, I’ll have you know, Joey liked that pie a lot.”

“Joey liked eating everything. That was the joke.”

“I take it you’re a picky eater.”

“Not really. Disgusting shit is where I draw the line.” He scratched at his square jaw, giving it some thought. “And pussy. I don’t eat pussy either.”

I choked on my Diet Pepsi, spitting some of it back into my cup. “Excuse me?”

“You asked about my eating habits. Thought I’d be forthcoming.”

“Why don’t you …” I left the question unfinished. I never talked to guys about sex. Actually, I never talked to Karlie or Grams about it either. Marla was out of the question, for obvious reasons, too. It wasn’t that I’d never done it. I had. When I was sixteen, with my ex-boyfriend, Tucker. But we’d never actually discussed it, and the experience was lackluster to say the least.

“Eat pussy?” He completed the question for me, enjoying my unease. “It seems like an intimate thing to do. I have nothing against pussies. Some of my favorite times were spent inside them. I just don’t want to get too acquainted with ones who’ve been around the block. If I had a steady lay, well, that’d be a different story.”

“Ever had a steady lay?”

He nodded.

“In high school. Ate her out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. How ’bout you?”

“Same.”

“Did he eat you out?” he asked, insultingly casual. I felt the tips of my ears growing impossibly hot.

“Yes.”

“Did you reciprocate?”

“Of course. Equality for all, right?”

West sat back in his chair, his jaw ticking.

“Ever heard of positive discrimination? Whatever happened to feminism?”

I bit down on my lip, trying not to laugh. Was he actually jealous?

“I’m guessin’ your oral sex rule doesn’t apply to being on the receiving end?” I cocked an eyebrow. He smirked down at me, like he was proud that I was carrying the conversation without combusting into a thousand pieces of embarrassment.

“Correct. Never met a blowjob I didn’t like.”

“That’s not very feminist.”

“Hey, do you have any idea how many bras I’ve ruined in my lifetime?”

“And they say romance is dead.” I rolled my eyes. He tugged my cap down. We were both incredibly at ease.

“Where to now, Tex?”

“Another Mexican dig,” I said without missing a beat.

“Another pie?” His eyes flared in mock horror. “You’re putting me through this again?”

“Sure am. Until you admit Frito pies are the best thing to happen to humanity since agriculture and language.”

“Frito pies are the best thing to happen to humanity since agriculture and language,” he deadpanned.

I laughed. “Nice try.”

We got out of the restaurant and walked into the one next to it. He didn’t like the Frito pie there either. After the third one I made him try, he got up from his seat and shook his head.

“No more Frito pies. It’s against my human rights.”

“C’mon, don’t be so narrow-minded,” I teased, catching his steps. My face hurt from laughing, and I wondered if it was because we’d had that much fun, or because I wasn’t used to laughing anymore. “We were just warmin’ up.”

“I’m vetoing the pie.” He shook his head, flipping his keys around his index.

“Maine,” I whined.

“Texas.”

I jerked his hand, but he didn’t budge, soldiering toward his Ducati.

“Pretty please with a cherry on top,” my purr turned flirty—raspy, even—as sixteen-year-old Grace took the reins over my mouth.

“Of course there’d be a cherry on top. You put everything else into this pie.”

My heart, bloated with glee and soaked with laughter, began to deflate. It was nearing late afternoon. Truth was, I wasn’t too hot on another Frito pie either. I just didn’t want to leave. To go back to Sheridan. Let the West and Grace bubble burst. I wanted to continue being careless and happy. To feel beautiful—or at least not hideous—for a few more hours.

West stopped by the Ducati, handing me my helmet. I quickly changed from my cap to the helmet, shoving both my ball caps into the bag I was given by the salesman.

We rode back to Sheridan in silence, my hair whipping my neck and shoulders. When we reached Sheridan limits, West took a turn toward downtown, to Main Street.

“It’s my birthday today,” he said out of nowhere.

“What?!” I shrieked into his ear. My voice was muffled by the wind and helmet. “It is?”

He grunted, “Yeah.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-two years young.”

“Holy shit.”

“Way to make me feel good about it, Tex.”

“You bought me a gift on your birthday. This is all wrong. Stop. Stop right now.”

He stopped by the Albertsons grocery store. I ran inside without taking off my helmet, then came back out with a bottle of tequila wrapped in a brown paper bag and some birthday candles. They were the cheapest kind, but better than nothing at all. I hopped back on, wrapping my arms around him.

“To Sheridan Plaza,” I instructed.

“Have you started drinking without me? Why would I do that?” He whipped his head around, his stormy eyes zeroing in on mine through his helmet.

“I’ve never been there,” I admitted hoarsely.

He tore his helmet from his head, the engine still running, and scowled. I was lucky I still had my helmet on, because West St. Claire’s face so close to mine, his lips a breath away from my mouth, was the definition of seduction. A film of sweat made his tousled, gold-brown hair stick to his temples and forehead and his carved cheekbones glow under the sun.

“You’re shitting me.”

I shook my head.

“You grew up in Sheridan and never been to the Plaza?”

I nodded.

“Fine. But you’re not allowed to go there by yourself. Promise me.”

“No promises.” I wiggled my eyebrows, throwing his rule back in his face. “Tit for tat. Why don’t you want me to go there?”

“The place is a cum dumpster.”

“Isn’t that where you hook up with all your lady friends?” I kept my tone light.

“Hence why it’s a cum dumpster. It’s no place for a lady.” He pushed his helmet back on and kicked his foot forward, getting back on the road.

When we reached Sheridan Plaza, West parked at the back, leading me inside. The ground floor was empty, save for a few soggy mattresses, cigarette butts, and red Solo cups strewn about. We took the concrete stairs up to the second floor. The left wing, which was probably meant to be a food court, was vast and empty. There were gym mats scattered around, framed by crates and boxes to create a ring, with enough space around it to contain at least a hundred people. The right wing of the floor consisted of small rooms that were supposed to be the stores, where there were yet more mattresses in each small alcove. Like filthy individual motel rooms. No wonder people liked coming here. The place was a makeshift brothel.

West showed me around quickly, clasping my hand in a punishing grip, like the vibes in this place could suck my tender soul straight into hell. He held the paper bag with the tequila bottle in his free hand.

“That’s basically it. Third floor is management. It’s where our offices are,” he said, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. I snorted.

“Do you work nine-to-five?”

“More like sixty-nine.” We took the stairway to the third floor.

The minute I saw the elevator bank in front of me, my smile collapsed. He couldn’t see that, since he had his back to me.

So that was where he took all of his hookups.

Where he and Melanie melded together into one.

I needed to say something to change the subject, quick.

“What do you wanna do? When you graduate this year?” I swiveled to face him, clearing my throat.

He ran a hand through his hair, the A tattoo in his flexed inner bicep taunting me, reminding me how little I knew about him.

“Sharp change of subject. Guess I haven’t thought about it.”

“Don’t you have any preference? Ideas? Aspirations?”

“No, no, and no.” He stopped, turned his back to me, and lifted his arms in the air. “I don’t want to talk about the future. Trust fall, Tex. Catch.”

Before I knew what was happening, his body swung toward mine. I let out a little wheeze, opening my arms to try to clasp him. Crap. I needed more time to prepare. He was heavy. Really heavy. I fell right along with him, crushed by his weight, and winced, bracing myself for the cold concrete behind me. But when he fell on top of me, his whole body pressed over mine, I realized there was a mattress behind me that blocked the fall.

That’s why he’d done it.

He knew I didn’t have time to catch him, but also that we’d both fall onto something soft. He’d just wanted to see if I’d try to catch him.

Damn this man.

I cackled, shoving him off of me. He rolled around, popping the tequila bottle open. He was about to take a swig, but I snatched it from his hand before he could.

“Not so fast, birthday boy. I would like to make a toast.”

He sat up, listening intently. Seriously. He looked like a curious kid all of a sudden, about to be given a very important lecture about his favorite subject.

It broke my heart to see him hungry for my words, because it was clear he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday. He didn’t do anything with his friends and didn’t bother telling me about it until later today.

In fact, he was planning to work a shift at the food truck.

For some reason, West St. Claire wasn’t very happy he’d been born, and knowing that nearly undid my soul, breaking it to pieces.

“I would like to make a toast to a very special friend of mine, who, despite my being stubborn and sometimes a handful, is always there for me.” I tried to keep my tone casual, but I was pretty emotional, realizing all the things I said weren’t an exaggeration of the truth.

West rolled his eyes. “Get to the part where you talk about me, you little shit.”

I swatted his shoulder. “I don’t care what the entire universe says about you, West St. Claire. I don’t care that you are a fighter and you ride a monster named Christina and that you’re a man-whore. To me, you’re just a cool guy who always does the right thing, and that’s enough. No.” I felt myself flushing. “It’s more than enough. It’s everything. Happy birthday, jerk-face.”

I tipped my head back, took a swig of the tequila, and passed it to him, embracing the burning sensation slithering down my throat. We stayed on that mattress for two whole hours, drinking and talking. The conversation was all over the place, ranging from our childhoods to football, TV shows and music, then books. The more we drank, the less we made sense, until we both had two completely separate conversations at the same time.

By the time we finished the bottle, it was dark outside. The Plaza got surprisingly chilly. We were both perched on the mattress, our arms brushing, staring at the ceiling.

“Know what I feel like?” I asked.

“Pushing me away for no fucking reason other than your heighten sense of self-preservation?” he asked dryly. I snickered. Touché.

“Some real Mexican food to soak up all the alcohol.”

He picked up the empty tequila bottle, squeezing one eye shut as he stared into the bottom of it. “You mean, like fish tacos and tortilla chips?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t know where we can find something like that ’round here.”

We exchanged knowing grins. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t okay, but it made perfect sense. Hell, we’d broken so many rules today, one more wouldn’t kill us.

And really, Mrs. Contreras would never find out.

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, birthday boy?” My grin widened.

“I’m thinking Texas just got a whole lot more fun.”

We staggered into the food truck, locking it behind us, keeping the window shut. I turned around and pressed my index to my mouth.

“Shhh!”

“We’re both quiet, dummy.” He gave my neck a squeeze, chuckling as he brushed past me.

West flicked on the light and turned on the grill while I cut vegetables. I prepared soft tacos, stuck the birthday candles on them, and lit them up. Since the truck had come back from the shop, we were a few ingredients short, like sour cream and guac, but we were too drunk to care.

I butchered the song “Happy Birthday,” somehow missing all the notes, and let West blow out the candles.

“What did you ask for?” I rubbed his arm, placing my chin on his shoulder as we both watched the thin trail of smoke curling up from the candles.

“If I tell you, you promise not to dig into the subject?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Tex. I don’t want you going girly on my ass. The only reason we’re here is because you’re not that person.”

“Spill it out, boy.” I laughed.

“I asked to never want to die again.”

My throat clogged up, and it got all quiet, but I kept my word, not pressing the issue. “Then I’ll wish for that, too,” I said softly.

We sat on the floor and ate broken, distressed tacos while I asked him this or that nineties questions. I decided not to dig into why West befriended me anymore. Instead, I’d run with what we had going and see where it took us.

I hadn’t been this happy in years, and that had to count for something.

West was in the midst of explaining to me why fanny packs were boner killers when someone rapped the window outside the truck.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

We both fell silent, staring at each other with wide eyes, mid-bites. I clasped my lips together, stifling a laugh. I rarely got drunk anymore, and I forgot how giggly I turn once I get tipsy.

“Hey, the lights are on,” the man outside the truck said. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the truck. He was probably trying to peek inside through the window cracks. “Open up, y’all.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, trying to contain my laughter, but a small horrifying snort escaped my nose. West’s eyes broadened, and he grinned big.

I covered my face, mortified that he’d heard, my whole body shaking with silent laughter.

“Look at the truck,” one of the two people outside said, muffled. “It’s shaking. Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking if what you’re thinking is true, they’re definitely not going to open up for us, Rick, and I ain’t eatin’ no food from there either.”

They thought we were having sex! Oh, Lord. I let out a second, uncontrolled snort, unable to hold it back, tipping backwards. West pounced on me, pinning me flat across the floor, straddling my waist and pressing his hand over my mouth to silence me.

Our tacos were discarded around us, and all the air left my lungs as I watched him on top of me, his groin pushed against my belly. Nothing about what he did was meant to be sexual. He just wanted me to shut the hell up so we wouldn’t get in trouble. We weren’t supposed to be here, and if Mrs. Contreras found out, she’d probably fire us both, her affection toward me be damned.

Still, my whole body came alive, and a small moan escaped me as his delicious weight pushed against me. I felt my nipples puckering against my bra. The friction against its fabric every time I moved made my mouth water. His thighs were so strong and muscular, I wanted him to hike up, unzip himself, and put his penis in my mouth.

West curled his fingers around my lips. I resisted the urge to lick his palm. I could feel his skin, rough and salty, against my mouth. He leaned deeper into me, engulfing me everywhere, so heavy I could barely breathe. His eyes were dead-set on mine. I wasn’t laughing anymore. The people outside kept trying to look into the truck, flashing their phone’s flashlights inside, decorating West’s face with soft slivers of light.

Both our hearts thudded wildly, so fast I could hear them, almost see their imprints through our shirts.

The crunching became quieter, and the sound of crickets outside the truck enhanced. They were leaving.

West leaned all the way down, propping my ball cap sideways, resting his forehead over mine. Our chests bumped into one another with each violent breath. He closed his eyes. The tips of our noses touched. A heady, strange feeling overcame me. Something told me I was going to replay this moment in my head for years to come.

He removed his hand from my mouth and tugged on an electric cord next to us, turning the lights off.

Pound, pound, pound, went my heart.

“Texas.” His whisper blanketed me, making me feel fuzzy and warm.

“Maine.” My voice was thick, strange. Not mine.

The truck was so dark I couldn’t see anything. My eyes were glued to what I imagined was the curve of his lips, and even though my brain told me a kiss was the worst possible thing that could happen to our friendship, the rest of me rebelled, desperate to feel his mouth on mine.

“Today didn’t suck.” His breath tickled my face.

I swallowed, losing my ability to speak. “No, it didn’t.” My lips moved a breath away from his.

“My birthdays usually suck,” he explained.

“Oh.”

I had officially stopped showing any signs of intelligence. I blamed his proximity. It made me drunker than the actual tequila.

“Texas,” he said again.

“Maine?” I shook with anticipation.

“Permission to do something really fucking stupid, yet acutely necessary right now?”

My heart flip-flopped in my chest. I wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but I was darn sure what my answer would be.

“Granted.”

“Happy birthday to me.” His mouth descended on mine in the pitch black.

Every cell in my body blossomed and sang. I arched my back, my mouth falling open to accommodate his tongue. The brush of his lips against mine sent a shiver down my spine, and I growled, the blood in my veins sweet and sticky.

West’s phone buzzed to life again. He pulled away quickly, breaking the trance we were in. He scrambled up to his feet, turning the light on, and I followed suit, gathering the discarded taco pieces as he turned his back to me and finally picked up the call.

“Yeah?” He sounded short of breath. Flustered. He was pacing now.

I busied myself, throwing the broken tacos into the trash, my eyes wandering discreetly to his jeans, detecting the outline of his erection. It was long, thick, and inviting. It was good to know that he was driving me mad, but that I was capable of doing the same to him.

Oblivious to my perverted thoughts, West turned around and ran a hand through his messy hair, giving me his back once again.

“Been busy.”

Pause.

“Just hanging out with a friend.”

Pause.

“Yeah, a she.”

Pause.

“Because there’s nothing to tell. She’s just a friend. As I mentioned in my previous fucking sentence. You should do more memory puzzles, Mom. Give your brain a little workout.”

Ouch.

“Feels about the same as last year.” He let out an icy, impersonal chuckle. “Anyway, gotta run. Say hi to Dad from me. Bye now.”

He shoved his phone into his back pocket and turned around, his cool, collected expression making me feel like I was a complete stranger. Like the entire day hadn’t happened.

“Ready to hit the road? I don’t know if I’m good to drive, but I’ll walk you home.” His jade eyes were hard as diamonds, and there was not even a hint of the warmth that swam in them a second ago.

“Was that your mom?”

I didn’t think I’d ever heard anyone talking to their mother so impersonally. As someone who grew up without a mother, I always watched the interactions my friends had with theirs carefully. The bickering, the exasperation, the vein of love running between them in an invisible cord.

The closeness varied, but there was always this underlying, built-in familiarity that wasn’t there between West and his mother.

“Yeah.” He helped me clean up the floor, going about everything quickly and efficiently, avoiding my gaze. Whatever that phone call had meant, it had thrown him off-kilter. “My friends know better than to try to celebrate my birthday, but my mother still tries.”

Why didn’t he celebrate his birthdays?

And why had he chosen to share this one with me?

I knew I wasn’t going to get any answers. Not tonight.

I rubbed his arm with a smile. “Wanna say hi to Grams?”

“Are you kidding?” He scoffed. “Only reason I hang out with your sorry ass is to get close with Mrs. S.”

West

And the Idiot of the Decade Award goes to …

Me.

It was going straight to my fucking open arms.

Kissing Texas was by far the craziest thing I’d done since moving to … well, Texas.

She’d been drunk enough to let it happen, and I was dumb enough to piss all over my rules.

My unlikely savior was my mother. The second I’d heard my phone ringing, I remembered.

Remembered why I was here.

Why I’d never go back to Maine.

Why I didn’t do girlfriends or serious relationships or had a plan for the future.

East was right—I liked Grace Shaw, and if I didn’t keep my hands to myself, I was about to drag both of us into a clusterfuck she didn’t deserve and I had no idea how to get out of.

No promises, no disappointments.

That was my motto in life.

Grace and I walked side by side. She was still buzzed, bouncing around and talking animatedly. She was cute with her little pink cap and blonde hair. A part of me couldn’t wait for the moment she’d see past her own insecurities and open up. Guys would start asking her out the minute she stopped giving them the don’t-get-close signals. Another part of me wanted to skin each and every one of those motherfuckers and make drum kits for orphans out of their flesh. They didn’t deserve her. I didn’t know who ‘they’ were per se. Just faceless, hopefully dick-less dudes.

“…said she might not let me pass this semester. Which is actually frightening. But I can’t go onstage. I know there’s some good special effects makeup, but what’s the point in that? Everyone would be trying to drill a hole through my makeup with their eyes to see my new face. The play would take the backseat, and my freaky new face would be the talk of town. No, I can’t go onstage. Not without the ball cap. Which, let’s admit it, isn’t really an option,” I heard Grace explaining in the background, and fuck, I’d blanked out again, this time thinking about what it’d have been like to finish that kiss. To have more than the quick peck we’d managed to slip through before I got a phone call.

“Who?” I asked as we reached her doorstep.

“Professor McGraw.” She stopped by the low gate leading to her house. “You wandered off, didn’t you?” She reached to stroke my hair to one side, trying to make it resemble something neat. I’d only cut it every few months, and even that only happened when East literally sat my ass down and put scissors to it.

I groaned, looking away. Girls touched me, constantly. Giving me head, kissing me, groping me, riding me. But it’d been a hot minute since anyone had touched me like that. With care instead of lust. No one since Whitley had, anyway.

The door swung open and an older woman breezed out, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Honey pie, I saw the porch lights turning on. I left you some food in the microwave, if the old bat didn’t get to it yet. Sorry I don’t have time to wait till you take your shower. Pete’s coming down with somethin’. No time to piddle. Call if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mar.” Texas reached on her toes to hug the woman. We both walked up to her porch. Marla clapped my shoulder on her way to her car in hello.

“Treat her nicely, boy, or I’ll be sure to acquaint you with my shotgun.”

Fucking Texas.

“I’ll entertain Mrs. S while you get a shower,” I offered Grace as Marla took off in her Dodge. The shotgun remark passed over her head like Marla had offered me tea.

“Oh, it’s fine. Really.” She blushed under her makeup.

“That’s a statement, not an offer. Move it.” I pressed a hand against her lower back, close enough to her ass to get my mind rolling. My dick strained inside my jeans, and I couldn’t wait to get home and rub one out.

Texas bolted upstairs to the shower, and I strolled into the living room, making myself at home. It looked old, but the foundation around it was pretty new, which told me all I needed to know. There was a fire here, and parts of the house were remodeled.

Savannah was sitting on a recliner in front of the TV, knitting something that looked like a never-ending scarf. Her eyes were blank, her mouth pressed into a thin line of discontent.

I sat in front of her. “Hey, Mrs. Shaw. Remember me?”

She looked up from her twelve-foot scarf, above the rim of her glasses, then dropped her gaze back to her knitting.

“Of course I do,” she said, her tense expression relaxing. “You’re my husband, Freddie.”

Ten minutes later, Texas was out of the shower, and I was one hundred percent sure her grandmother had dementia. Mrs. S spent the time I’d been watching over her asking me about people I didn’t know and apparently worked with, recited entire conversations we hadn’t had, and treated me like I was her dead husband. This wasn’t an act. She had no clue who I was.

Grace came down the stairs, taking them two at a time, wearing an oversized, long-sleeved shirt she used as pajamas. Her legs were bare, and my eyes licked them greedily. Her legs were perfect. Tan and long and athletic. I could easily visualize them wrapped around my waist.

But I didn’t.

Because we were JUST FUCKING FRIENDS, as I kept forgetting. Maybe I needed to stick a Post-It note to the insides of my eyelids. Just and Friends.

My pupils finally slid up to the rest of her. She was wearing the ball cap, and her face was full of freshly applied makeup.

We playing it like that, huh, Tex?

I stood up.

“Thanks so much for doin’ this. I really appreciate it.” Grace threw her arms around me when she reached the landing, giving me a squeeze. Her tits pressed against my pecs. She wasn’t wearing a bra. West Junior made a mental note to do her more solids if she repaid us in hugs. She led me back to the front door, her polite way to tell me to get the fuck out.

“What’s with the makeup?”

“What’s with the screwed-up relationship with your parents?” she ricocheted back to my court, opening the door for me.

Touché.

I flicked the back of her ear. “For the sake of full disclosure, if you cage in on me tomorrow at school, I’m going to hurl your ass into the fountain and scrub every inch of that face clean of makeup.”

She grinned. “I ain’t doin’ that no more. Pinky promise.” She gave me her pinky. I wrapped her pinky in mine and pulled her into my body, kissing her unmarred cheek. She gasped. I drew back, smirking back at her before she had the chance to freak out.

I stepped down her porch stairs, feeling surprisingly light, even though it was my birthday, and my birthdays were the worst days of my life.

I stopped at the last squeaky step, turning around, knowing she was still at the door.

“Hey, Texas?”

She rested her forehead against the door, smiling at me sleepily.

“You should open up a little.”

“So should you.”

“I think I am.”

It was the first birthday in the last five years where I’d actually cracked a smile. Which was insane to think about. It made me feel guilty as hell. No wonder Mom, Dad, and East had called me all day. They probably thought I’d finally offed myself.

That this time I had a deer-on-the-road moment I managed to seize.

Grace bit her bee-stung lower lip in a way that told me she was fighting one of her make-the-world-melt grins.

“I think I am, too.”