I grinned.

We just had it a few days ago. Don’t you get sick of it?

Look who you’re talking to. I have a one-track mind. I like what I like, he typed.

You know how to get what you want that’s for sure, I said.

Send me a pic of you.

I took a selfie of me with a crazy expression on my face and my tongue hanging out.

You look like dad.

I laughed.

See you soon.

Mom and Malcolm arrived around four. She hadn’t seen the place yet, so I gave her the tour. She asked where Dax was, and I told her he was rarely around. She didn’t know Dax was the guy from freshman year, and I didn’t tell her. There was no reason to.

But I did tell her about Hartford. She let out a long sigh, but accepted it along with the promise she could hook me up with her boss’s son.

I laughed.

She left to head to work, and Malcolm and I played a quick game of Scrabble while the sauce and noodles cooked.

Dax came in the back door. He was sweaty, wearing athletic shorts and a white wife-beater. Obviously he’d been working out. He ran his eyes over me, his gaze lingering on my bare left hand, a strange intensity in his eyes.

“Hey, bro,” he said to Malcolm as they greeted each other.

“Is that my sister’s name on your chest?” he asked, cocking his head as he peered at Dax’s chest.

Oh. I hadn’t noticed you could see part of his tattoo, too caught up in the fact that he was here.

Had he worn that to the gym? He was showing people?

My heart fluttered.

I busied myself checking the stove.

Malcolm walked over and got in Dax’s personal space to get a better look, taking in the top of the flag and the bottom of my name that disappeared under his shirt. Dax didn’t seem to mind.

“Will you take off your shirt?” Malcolm asked.

Dax looked at me, shrugged, and pulled his shirt off.

Like mine, the redness of the image had healed leaving only a vibrant flag, and my name written in black.

My eyes popped at the hard muscles of his pecs, the tanned skin of his six-pack, the deep V that tapered down to his hips. He looked even bulkier than in London.

Malcolm glanced at me. “Did you know this?”

“She has one too,” Dax said, stalking around the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. He chugged it, eyes on me, making me squirm.

Malcolm cocked his head, studied me, and then checked out Dax’s face. A flicker of understanding dawned. “Oh. I get it. You two like each other. You’re probably having sex.”

Dax spit out a mouthful of water then grabbed a dishtowel to get it up off the floor.

“Malcolm, remember those conversations that aren’t your business? This is one of those,” I said sternly.

Dax rose back up from cleaning the water.

“Are you mad at me for saying inappropriate things?” he asked Dax, a dip in his shoulders.

“No, dude. Not at all.”

Malcolm nodded. “Good. Then tell me what it’s like to get a tattoo.”

“Sure.” They sat down at the table as I stayed at the stove, listening as Dax described the process, how long it takes to heal, and if it hurts. Malcolm had a million questions, and Dax answered each one, describing the shop where we’d gone and the different images he’d seen people get. He showed him his dragonfly, turning his bicep so Malcolm could peer down at it and trace over it.

“Remi loves flying things,” he mused, glancing at me. “She tried to beat me at Scrabble with quail but I got her with Xerox.”

“Good job.” Dax laughed. “Once I beat my brother Declan with Xylol. He claimed it wasn’t a real word, so I pulled the dictionary out and proved it. It’s some kind of volatile hydrocarbon apparently. I won, and to this day he still doesn’t know that it was a total Hail Mary. Now I refuse to play with him, so I can say I won the last game.”

Malcolm laughed and wandered off to watch television while I finished everything up on the stove.

“Do you want to eat with us?” I asked, at the sudden silence in the kitchen.

He walked over and stood next to me, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He studied me intently like he always did.

“Stop staring at me,” I said. “You’re making me paranoid and it’s kinda creepy.”

He spun me around and pinned me against the counter. “Is it really over?”

I didn’t have to ask what he was talking about.

“Yes.”

“Why?” His voice was raw.

I touched his lips, wanting them on mine. A few beats of silence went by.

He groaned. “Remi, just say it.”

“Because he’s not you. I want you.”

He inhaled sharply, fear on his face. “Remi, don’t you see—you don’t need me. You need a guy like him. I can’t be what’s on your list. I don’t have a plan after college. I’m not responsible. I live from day to day. Hell, I don’t even know if I can sell this house.”

My eyes softened. “For you, I don’t have a list. I don’t need one. You check all my boxes, Dax.”

He let me go and stalked around the room, his hands all over the place as he spoke. “Every fiber of me wants to believe what you say. I’ve pictured us a million times, but in the end you leave me for someone who’s got his shit together—like fucking Hartford. I can’t watch someone I—I . . .” He stopped and exhaled. “You’re the only girl who’s ever walked away from me. Ever. You went out my frat bedroom door, and you never looked back. You were pregnant and you never looked back.”