"Kay-bear, you're going to have to be more specific if you want my help." Grandma's voice is irritated. It's the fourth time she's pressed for details, and the fourth time I've denied them.

Not that she can talk. She's being just as secretive about how she's doing. She's still towing the party line. I need more help, but, really, I'll be fine. Focus on school. Don't worry about me.

"It's not like I'm gonna know the guy," she says. "Aren't you too old to keep your crushes a secret?"

"Are you ever too old for that?"

"Hmm. I guess not. I've taught you too well." Her voice lifts. Back to hearty. Vivacious even.

But that only makes me think about the possibility she isn't full of life. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm not the one with boy problems."

"Okay, answer this. Are you doing better or worse than just after your heart attack?"

"Better."

My shoulders relax. Then tense. She almost died. It's a low bar.

"You'll tell me if you're there again?" I can't say the words. "If it gets that bad."

"Yes, Kay-bear, of course. Now tell me about the guy. You're making me feel old."

"He wants me. I know he does. But he keeps pretending otherwise."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"But do you know? Or do you want it to be true? You wouldn't be the first woman to convince herself of a man's interest."

"No." I turn my phone to speaker so I can check my outfit. "I'm putting you on speaker, Grandma."

"You know I prefer Gigi."

"You know I'm never going to call you Gigi."

I set my cell on my desk. This is outfit four. A plaid skirt and a white blouse. It screams schoolgirl. It screams I'm practically jail bait. It's hot. But it's not what I want.

"I know," I say. "I... I have evidence."

"Yeah? What? He accidentally post it on Facebook or something?"

"Something like that."

"Hmm..."

"What?" I undo the buttons of my blouse and slide it back onto its hanger. "Trust me, Grandma. I know. I have evidence."

"I could help more if you'd tell me the evidence."

And I could help more if she'd tell me the truth about her condition. But I'm not bringing that up. I don't want to fight. "I have it on good authority that he wants me. At least physically."

"Well, of course, Kay. You're a knock out. Every guy you're friends with on Facebook must want you after those pictures Emma posted."

"Grandma—"

"Hey, you got those boobs from your mom and she got them from me. Let me brag. Don't post bikini pics if you don't want attention."

"I didn't. Em did."

"She's a heartbreaker too. So tall and such long legs."

"Yeah. She is." I laugh. Heartbreaker is putting it lightly. "Guys go crazy for her, but she never gets attached."

"Kay-bear, if you want a guy's attention, it's easy. Show off your boobs. It will work. I promise."

I push my skirt off my hips. "But I need more than him wanting me. I need him to admit it."

"Boobs and booze. That's it."

"That's all it takes? Really?"

"Hey, you're the one asking a divorcée for guy advice."

My smile spreads over my cheeks. Grandma has the best sense of humor. She makes the cloudiest day feel bright. Not that there are many cloudy days here. "You promise you're okay?"

"Okay is relative, but I'm not dying anytime soon."

Soon is relative too. But I don't say that. I'd rather believe her. "I have to get ready. There's a party tonight. Emma's brother, you know—"

"Of course I know him. He's fine."

"Him and his friends are buying the tattoo shop."

"Ah."

"What?"

"The timing is interesting."

"Timing of what?"

"You needing guy advice. This guy gonna be at the party?"

I can admit that. "Yeah. But—"

"He have a name?"

"Bye, Grandma. I'll call you soon."

"A push up bra never hurts."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

I end the call.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe showing off my boobs is enough.

It can't hurt.

There. My cream dress, the one Emma made for me, it's perfect.

I slide it on and check my reflection. It hugs my curves. It scoops low enough to show off my chest. It only barely covers my ass.

It's perfect.

I'm not sure exactly what I'm trying to do.

But I'm sure I'm going to drive him out of his head.

I'm going to make it hard for him to pull that I don't want to talk about this, we're friends, we're nothing bullshit.

* * *

I take a shaky step into Inked Hearts.

The lights are dim.

The walls are adorned with purple, teal, and hot pink tinsel.

There's even a Welcome Kaylee banner hanging from the wall. It's in Emma's messy scrawl with a drawing—a tattoo mockup—in each of the four corners.

One from each of the guys. I recognize their styles.

It's...

I blink back a tear.

Emma bounces out from behind the desk. "Surprise. Sort of." She throws her arms around me. "I really am glad you're here."

"Me too." I hug her back. Emma is the best. This would be impossible without her.

"Didn't you throw her a party last week?" Dean moves out from his suite.

"It was her birthday." Emma steps aside. "This is different. And it's for you too. It's so cool that you're buying the shop." She turns to me. "You should have seen that meeting. Dean actually wore slacks."

"Really?" That's hard to believe.

"Don't worry. I don't mind you picturing me without my jeans." He winks. "All these parties too much fun for you, yet?"

"No. It's sweet." It really is.

He moves in to hug me hello. It's sincere—a rarity for him. I really do feel like he's glad I'm here.

I pull back with a smile. "Why are you complaining about the chance to get drunk and make a fool of yourself?"

He laughs. "That's why I like you. Sharp tongue."

My gaze flits around the room. There's Ryan and Walker lining up bottles on the front counter. But where's Brendon?

"I'm not complaining." He releases me and turns to Em. "I'm making sure I get an invite."

"You're a little old..." She smiles, reveling in her teasing.

He mimes being stabbed in the gut. When that gets her laughing, he takes it further. Pretends to double over. Falls to his knees. Mumbles his last words as he falls backward and lands on the floor, splayed out.

Emma nudges him with the toe of her shiny silver stilettos. "Dead. Let's check his pockets."

"Pervert," he mumbles.

"Not the word I'd use." Ryan steps forward. He nods to me in that I don't think there's any reason why we need to show compassion toward each other Ryan kind of way. "You're always welcome here, Kaylee."

"Thanks." I study his expression. Should we hug? Shake hands? Uh... I step forward. Move my hands out from my sides.

Ryan pulls me into a hug. It's quick. Messy. Awkward. He steps back, wipes his brow, sighs. Let's never do that again.

Dean jumps to his feet. He actually jumps from his position flat on his back. That's circus acrobat stuff.

He looks to Walker. "You joining this party too?"

Walker shrugs, effortlessly cool. He's the type who takes everything in stride. Nothing bothers him. Or so he claims.

He's a lot like Brendon, really. He's tall and broad with dark hair and dark eyes. He has that same tendency to keep everything to himself. But, with Walker, his typical state is fun, party boy. With Brendon it's serious, quiet artist.

They're the same, but they're opposites too.

He takes his turn hugging me then motions to the booze set up behind us. "What are you drinking?"

Uh... making a fool of myself at my party was bad enough. I'm not doing it in front of everyone.

But I'm not going to be the weird girl who doesn't drink either.

"Jack and diet," I say.

"A girl after my own heart." Walker winks. He brings me to the counter/bar, pours a generous cocktail for me and a straight whiskey for himself. "You're starting school soon, yeah?"

"Two weeks."

He looks to the party—Dean, Emma, and Ryan are in some triangle of teasing. Ryan is actually laughing. Weird.

"Where's Brendon?" I take a sip of my drink. Not bad. Like a richer version of soda. One that destroys my inhibitions. Gets me saying all the things I need to keep secret.

"Something about mind your own business." Walker laughs. "I think he's making something for you."

"Yeah?" My voice jumps two octaves.

"The glimpse I caught looked fucking amazing."

"You're not gonna give me a hint?"

He shakes his head. "More fun this way."

"Cruel."

"Maybe."

"How was the meeting? Was he excited."

"Yeah. Well, for Brendon. You know him. Deadpan."

"And you?"

"Hey, I'm charming. He's—"

"He's charming."

"Well, yeah." He looks me in the eyes. "You tend to find people charming when you're into them."

"What?"

"Everybody knows."

"Who's everybody?"

He motions to the room.

"Not Em."

"Maybe." He plants his hands on the counter behind us. "But everybody else."

"It's just... I, um..." God, it's hard to talk. Or think. "Don't say anything."

He brings his fingers to his mouth and pulls an invisible zipper. My lips are sealed.

I bury my nose in my drink. The booze only makes my cheeks warmer. It only makes my throat drier.

Everyone knows?

As in everyone talks about it.

As in—

"Hey." Brendon's steady voice flows into my ears. He plants next to me, on the other side. His eyes go to Walker. "You mind?"

The tattoo artists share a look. It says a lot and it's all about me.

Still, Walker takes his leave.

Brendon moves closer. The back of his hand brushes mine. His thigh presses against mine.

He leans in to whisper. "I have something for you."

"What's that?"

"Close your eyes." His breath warms my neck. It sends shivers down my spine. It sends heat to my core.

"Okay." I do.

His fingers skim my shoulder. Then it's a cotton swab. Rubbing alcohol on my skin.

He pats it dry.

Presses something against it.

Wets it.

Oh...

I turn toward him.

He grabs my other shoulder. Stops me. "I didn't say you could open your eyes." His voice is low, demanding. That same tone he used the other night. "One more minute."

My tongues slides over my lips. My knees knock together. My breath hitches.

Slowly, he peels off the paper sticking to my skin. Then it's cool air on my shoulder. And his fingers curling around my wrist. Peeling my hands from my eyes.

He takes my other hand, leads me to his chair, and turns me toward the mirror. "What do you think?"

It's the topless mermaid he promised for my birthday. She's sitting on a rock, her long blond hair covering her chest, her green eyes on the book in her hands.

It's perfect.

"I love it." I can't help myself. I throw my arms around him and squeeze tightly. "Would you do it right now, if I asked?"

"You've been drinking."

"But tomorrow?"

"In a week, maybe. You're not impulsive."

"What if I asked Dean to do it?"

"No."

"No?"

His voice gets stern. "No, Kay. There's no way Dean is touching you." Regret streaks his eyes. Like he wishes he hadn't said that.

It could be normal I'm responsible for your well-being, I'm taking care of you protectiveness.

But it's not.

I know it.

He knows it.

But does he know I know?

I stare into his dark eyes, but that doesn't offer any illumination.

"Hey! No private conversations." Dean moves toward us. "We've got plans. Important ones."

Brendon shoots him a really look.

Dean shoots back a sly smile. "We're gonna play Never Have I Ever."

"You're going to be drunk in five minutes flat." That's Leighton, the girl who works at the counter. I guess I didn't hear her come in.

Even Ryan laughs. "I'm not carting your plastered ass home."

"You overestimate me. It's all rumors." Dean moves toward the lobby—to the benches for customers. "Everybody get a drink. Then we'll see who wins."

"Don't you win by losing?" Leighton asks. She runs a hand through her short, pastel pink hair. "And isn't this game for kids?" She looks to me and Emma. "No offense."

"I think it's more for high school kids," I say.

"But it's fun." Emma looks to Dean. "Just bring cups and whiskey."

"Demanding," he teases back.

"You're not used to taking orders yet?" Walker plops on the bench on the right. "Brendon and Ryan are always bossing you around."

"You too." Dean flips him off.

Walker shakes his head. "I don't live to irritate them."

"You don't?" Ryan takes a seat on the other bench, as far away from Walker as possible. "That's news."

The guys flip each other off.

Slowly, everyone fills in the bench seats.

Grabs a drink.

The guys, save Ryan, are all on the other bench.

I'm sandwiched between Emma and Leighton.

I'm staring at Brendon, trying to figure out what the intensity in his eyes means.

I don't know.

I smooth my dress. Tap my toes together. Gather my hair on my right shoulder.

This is a game you win by losing.

Which means I don't have a chance.

I haven't done anything. Not unless you count getting straight As and writing dirty fan fiction.

I...

I'm going to lose.

And everyone is going to know.

Everyone is going to know I'm the sweet girl who doesn't get the guy.