Apparently, calling my parents to tell them that I needed stitches wasn’t the best plan. After going back and forth on the phone about how I shouldn’t be alone when I had a concussion, I finally agreed to come back home with my sadistic almost-murderer cat.

Why? So they can babysit me.

Or, as they like to call it, “watch over me.”

What’s amusing is when Mom informed me that she and Dad had made plans to go out for the night prior to hearing about my little incident. They were going to cancel their plans, plans that they rarely ever make, until I insisted that I’d be fine.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough for them.

Which is why I’m staring at Doug, who is currently wiping out the contents of our fridge, with his greased-up monkey hands, wearing dirty pants and muddy work boots still on. I’m surprised Mom didn’t make him change as soon as he walked in, but I guess it pays to be the oldest.

“So your cat tried killing you, huh?” he prompts, mouth full of the last piece of pizza my parents ordered for lunch.

I swear, the guy can eat an entire household worth of food, and not gain any weight. I envied him for that. If I even so much as breathed near a brownie, a gained ten pounds.

Doug isn’t necessarily a small guy. He’s six foot three, and built like a wrestler. Maybe not a pro wrestler, but same difference. Broad and muscular. Once upon a time, he thought his muscles were the shit. Probably still does. He seems to have toned down quite a bit though. Good thing, because I don’t think I could handle another ego like Ian’s.

“Yeah, he did. But what’s new?”

He snorts as he leans against the counter. “So what have you and the neighbor kid been up to? Mom said you were at your apartment, but I saw him coming out of his parent’s house earlier.”

“None of your business,” I inform him, taking out my cookie dough ice cream from the freezer. I grab a spoon from the drawer, and set it on the counter to thaw enough to eat.

“It is my business. You’re my little sister.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I hoist myself up onto the island, right next to the dessert I have every intention of eating for dinner.

He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps looking like they’re being squeezed to death in the navy Dickie shirt he’s wearing. “You two not talking? You used to be joined at the hip.”

My jaw ticks. “Seriously, Doug. Why do you care?”

Why does everybody care?

Mom and Dad asked me the same thing.

Why am I running from Will?

Why am I avoiding Will?

What happened between me and Will?

One thing I love about staying at my apartment is the lack of obligation to talk to anybody. Sure, it got lonely. Especially without Will to bug. But if I come home from school in a bad mood and don’t want to talk, I don’t have to worry about offending anybody by keeping quiet. If I want to just binge-watch episodes of Bob’s Burgers on Hulu, I don’t have anybody guilting me to do something more productive. I never have to divulge information I wasn’t willing to share.

Plus, I don’t have the answers.

Because it’s him that’s avoiding me.

I match his stance, crossing my arms over my chest. Only, my biceps, or serious lack thereof, don’t make the sleeves of my shirt tighten.

Man, I need to work out.

Or at least cut back on the carb intake, which is nearly impossible. Carbs are my soulmate. I have the T-shirt to prove it.

“We’re just …” I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re still friends, I guess. He’s just going through some stuff, so we haven’t talked much.”

Or at all.

“What are you going to do?” he questions, leaning forward and snatching my Ben & Jerry’s ice cream off the counter with his dirty hands.

You can tell he works for a living just based on his hands. They’re rough from calluses and stained from grease and dirt.

I narrow my eyes at him, knowing damn well he isn’t going to leave me any of the cookie dough chunks. He always picks them out and just leaves the vanilla ice cream.

Total dick move.

“I haven’t figured it out,” I admit.

Hopping off the counter, I walk over and swipe the ice cream from his hands. Then I grab my own spoon, digging into what little is left.

His face twists with amusement, like he’s thinking of something. “You could always climb to his window.”

My spoon stops mid-mouth at his suggestion, the idea echoing in my head.

He deadpans, guessing what I’m thinking. “No. No, absolutely not. I was kidding, Tessa.”

I put the ice cream down. “You can’t just say stuff like that to me and not expect me to do it! It’s a brilliant idea!”

He gapes at me. “You’re going to kill yourself. Literally break your neck.” He shakes his head, giving me a warning. A warning he can see I am not taking. “If you die, don’t bitch at me.”

I put my hands on my hips. “If I die, I’ll be too dead to complain, now won’t I?”

“But our parents won’t be,” he grounds out, eyes shooting me another ignored warning.

“Well I am their favorite. They’d miss me.”

He grunts, taking back the ice cream. “You wish, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” I blast, irritated that he always insists I am.

“You’re always going to be to me.”

“I’m practically twenty-one,” I point out gingerly. “And stop acting like you’re old. You’re only twenty-five!”

“You still have a week, kid.” I want to stab him in the hand with a fork. But I restrain myself, because I’m nice like that. “And I’m twenty-six.”

“Not for another month!” How is it fair he gets to round up his age when I can’t? “You’re infuriating,” I inform him.

He smiles. “It’s my job. As the older brother, I’m obligated to piss you off. I’m also supposed to be overprotective, so I guess you seeing Will isn’t supposed to go down with me. Plus, you’re gonna fall and break your neck if you try.”

I cross my arms on my chest. “You have little faith in me,” I state, almost sadly. “And you never played the typical brother role before, so don’t bother now. It’s weird. “

He just rolls his eyes.

I ignore the look he gives me, the one that says “don’t mess with my authority,” and walk toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he demands, quickly following behind me.

“Where do you think, oh wise one?” I snip, opening the door.

“Tess, come on. They left me to look after you, not let you climb the side of buildings like a damn Spiderman wannabe.”

Shows how much he really knows me. I’ve always been a Batman girl.

Pathetic.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Doug.”

“They want to make sure you’re okay after your concussion.”

I turn to face him. “I’m fine. Like I’ve told you, and them, a million times. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going next door to see my best friend.”

“Nobody does something this stupid for their best friend,” he calls after me.

I know, I want to tell him.

I sneak past the window to their living room, where the glow of the television screen reflects off the glass. His parents are both there, probably watching another episode of NCIS. I swear, they’re obsessed with Gibs. I’ve seen them perfect the head smack using Will and Ryder as their practice dummies.

Well, really, it’s Will and Ryder’s fault. Even I’m surprised at half the stuff that comes out of their mouths. They deserve every head slap they get.

When I turn the corner and look up, I see the bedroom light on in Will’s window. My eyes travel to the lattice structure that his dad built for his mom. My feet are tiny enough where I can climb it at least halfway, and try getting the rain gutter from there.

Thankfully, Will’s room is right off the flat roof of their add-on that they built as a wash room a few years ago. It gives me less to have to hang from.

I grip the lattice in my hands, managing to climb about a third of a way before I feel it start to tilt backward from my weight. My pulse spikes in my body, and my heart drops in my chest. Adrenaline floods my body as I try balancing back out so I don’t fall.

Somehow, it works.

Releasing a breath, I start climbing again. This time, faster. When I reach the rain gutter, I grip the edges, hoping not to cut myself from the sharp edges.

I hear leaves and twigs snap from below me.

Expecting Doug, I say, “Go away, dillweed. Tattle to Mom and Dad if you must.”

The laugh isn’t from Doug though.

I look down, which is probably not the best idea since I hate heights, and see Ryder peering up at me.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his hands shoved casually in his jeans pockets.

My heart squeezes in my chest when I see how far up I am.

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to see Will.”

“You’re aware we have a front door, right?”

My grip tightens on the gutter. “I figure this way there would be less of a chance of rejection from him. He can slam the front door shut in my face, but he can’t push me off a roof.”

Well, he could. But something tells me he won’t.

He mumbles something that I can’t hear. Then says, “I guess. If you don’t die first.”

My stomach churns. “Help me then!”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Seriously?” I gasp, feeling my grip slip. “If you don’t help me, I swear to God, I will never share my cheese fries with you again!”

“You really know how to hit a guy where it hurts,” he informs me.

I roll my eyes. “If lack of cheese fries is how to hurt you the most, then I seriously question your manhood.”

There’s a pause. “Now is that any way for you to talk to somebody who wants to help?”

“Ryder!” I all but hiss as my hand slips some more.

He swears. “Okay, okay. Hold on.”

I count the seconds he’s away.

Thirty-eight.

Although it feels a lot longer when you’re hanging from a rain gutter. I can feel my heart go into overdrive in my chest, my palms getting sweaty. Then, all the sudden, a ladder appears next to me.

I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“You owe me a lot of cheese fries.”

“I’ll buy you a bucket full tomorrow.”

“I’m counting on it.” Then he’s gone.

I manage to slide over so I’m stepping on the ladder. Apparently, he’s not worried I’m going to knock it over. I swear, his mind is one track. Cheese fries is all it took for him to focus solely on the task.

Shaking my head, I find the courage to climb the rest of the way up. Once I’m on the roof, I peek down at the ground. It’s actually not that far away, probably ten or fifteen feet.

Still neck-breaking worthy.

I crawl over to Will’s window, and knock on the glass. I can hear music playing from inside, but I don’t see him. Is he even in there?

I can’t open the window from the outside. It’s probably locked anyway. The cool night air nips at my skin as the breeze picks up. I sit back, thinking about what I can do.

Before I come up with anything, Will walks through the doorway of his room.

Only, he’s not completely clothed.

And by that, I mean, he was clearly in the shower. The only thing covering him is a white towel, and I make a high-pitched squeaking noise when he goes to pull it off.

That draws his attention right to me.

His eyes go wide for a millisecond, then he’s rushing over to the window.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” he demands, one hand holding up his towel, and the other on the chipped sill.

My eyes are doing their own thing before I can stop them. I mean, there’s practically a naked guy standing right in front of me. I can’t help but look, especially seeing how many muscles he has.

I knew he was built. But …

I gulp. “I … uh …”

Sighing, he steps back. “You climbed to my window, Tess? Really?”

“I didn’t think it’d be as hard as it was,” I admit sheepishly, finally pulling my eyes away from his torso.

He has to know I was checking him out, which causes my cheeks to heat up. With my luck, they’re a blotchy shade of red. Good thing it’s getting dark so he won’t see them.

“Get in here,” he orders, making room for me.

I slowly, and carefully, make my way in, trying not to brush against him. He’s standing so close, it’s hard not to though. My arm grazes his chest, which is still slightly damp from his shower, and I bite down on my lip. Hard.

There is nothing soft about him, which makes me feel slightly pudgy. I may even be regretting the three slices of pizza I devoured at lunch.

Will’s eyes lock with my chin, and his eyes widen. “What happened?” he demands, tilting it up carefully, examining the damage.

His warm fingers stroke my jaw, and it causes my heart to go haywire in my chest. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s doing it.

“Um … Ollie tried killing me.” My voice cracks, coming out like a low, inaudible sound.

He curses.

“He, uh, failed.” Obviously, you’re standing here alive. I shrug. “It’s just some stitches. And a concussion. It’s really not a big deal—”

His eyes are hard, his jaw locked. “A concussion? When did this happen?”

I turn my head, his fingers dropping from my chin. I miss the warmth they gave, but it helps me clear my head.

“This morning.”

I notice his fists clench tight. “You didn’t call me.”

Is he serious? I cross my arms on my chest, walking away from him. “You haven’t called me in days, Will. So don’t lecture me about me not informing you when I needed to go to the hospital.”

His hands go to his hair, his fingers threading in the wet strands. The actions make the muscles on his chest stretch taut, and I avert my eyes.

He may be my best friend, but I’m not blind.

Will’s hot. Not just boy-next-door hot, but drool-worthy attractive. No matter what he wears, he looks good in it. And there’s no denying that he looks good now, his sculpted body showcased just for me to see.

I may actually start drooling if I’m not careful.

I don’t know what that says about me for checking him out. But in the pit of my stomach, there’s no guilt for doing it. I mean, he’s in a towel. Who can blame me for staring when he’s practically naked?

Forcing naughty thoughts out of my head, or at least to the back of my brain, I clear my throat.

“Can you maybe put some pants on?”

There’s a stretch of silence between us. I sneak a peek at him, and see him looking down like he forgot he was only sporting a towel. He curses again and then goes over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of black boxers.

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, grabbing his pajama pants from the back of his desk chair as he walks back out of his room.

I can breathe when he’s out of sight.

Remember why you’re here, I remind myself.

Seeing him like that completely distracted me.

Who wouldn’t be? No wonder Sheri always warned me away from him. I’d be cautious if my boyfriend looked like that, too.

Busying my mind from overthinking, I peruse his room. It’s the same always. Light gray walls, dark gray patterned curtains, black bedspread. He’s got a few posters on the wall of tractors, and one of some supermodel that’s half naked.

She’s a redhead. I never wondered before, but does Will have a type?

Would I look good as a redhead?

I bitch slap that thought far, far away.

Just in time for Will to come in.

He’s still shirtless, but the rest of him is clothed. It helps me breathe a little easier, makes it a little less awkward. Not because seeing him naked is weird, but because it’s embarrassing to try not to ogle him like man candy.

I fail at that.

He sits on the edge of his bed, what abs he has bending and causing a ripple of muscle in his torso. I force my eyes away, and look at his desk.

It’s then I notice a cat-shaped chocolate sitting in a box next to his computer. I walk over, running my hands across the plastic showcasing it.

“It’s for you,” I hear him say, his voice barely a murmur.

Does he not want me here?

My hands go to my sides, fidgeting with the end of my blue unicorn tee. It’s a white unicorn with a rainbow background that says, “Mystical As F*ck.” I have a T-shirt collection larger than most women’s shoe collection.

Yet another addiction I need to break.

I let go of the hem of my shirt. “When did you get that?”

I manage to look at him, biting my lip.

“Almost two weeks ago,” he admits, shifting his leg so his knee is bent and foot is perched on the edge of the bed frame. He drapes his arm on his knee, giving me a small smile.

Almost two weeks ago.

Fourteen days.

It’s been that long since we last talked.

The curiosity and hurt is too much for me to keep silent about.

I have to know. “What happened between us, Will? Why … why have you been avoiding me?”

His lips twitch. “I’m not avoiding you.”

I gape at him. Will just lied to me.

That doesn’t fly with me. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You’ve been around! Even Doug saw you earlier. You couldn’t have just texted me? Something! For all I knew, you were dead.”

He deadpans. “You’re being dramatic. You just said that your brother saw me. Clearly, that means I’m not dead.”

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around the fact we’re bullshitting each other. When have we ever done that? Why start now?

“Plus,” he adds, “you could have contacted me. But you didn’t. I’m sure you’ve been busy with Ian.”

He says Ian’s name like it’s a disease he doesn’t want to catch.

“What are you talking about, Will?”

“I saw you two.”

I stare at him, a dumb expression on my face.

“At the diner,” he adds in exasperation. “I knew it was going to happen, Tess. I just … I didn’t think it would. I hoped it wouldn’t.”

He saw us at the diner?

“Will, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Ian took me out to lunch to hang out. I hadn’t seen him since then until he showed up to take me to the hospital.”

His eyes go to my chin again. His lips are pressed tight and his eyes are a dark shade of green. He peels his eyes away from my chin, away from me completely.

His jaw unlocks. “You don’t have to pretend, Tess. Just admit that you’re with Ian. I’m a big boy, I can take it.’

His words catch me off guard.

As soon as they soak in, I can’t hold in my response. It isn’t just confusion. It’s anger. “Obviously, you can’t take it. You’re acting like a child, Will! And over something that isn’t even true! Ian and I aren’t together.”

His eyes widen as he gapes at me.

Something flashes in his eyes, I don’t know what. I’m too worked up to even try analyzing the way he’s looking at me.

“Seriously?” I gripe. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week because of your pissing war with Ian? And while we’re on the topic, I found out that you know about what happened between us. Don’t you think your feud with him should have ended after you punched him in the frigging face?”

He pales.

“Yeah,” I say dryly. “I heard about that.”

He stays silent.

I can’t believe he thought we were together. Why would he—

Realization slams into me like a freight train.

Ian said a group of girls were walking by the window at the diner when he leaned in and pretended to kiss me.

You need to make him jealous.

It wasn’t a group of girls. It was Will.

I swipe a palm down my face. “Ian and I aren’t together. We’re friends, honestly. Yes, we slept together three years ago. No, I don’t regret it. And no, I don’t want to be with him. Ian was just being … Ian at the diner.”

His eyes uncloud, the storm in them fading.

“You’re not with Ian?” he repeats slowly.

I shake my head.

“You don’t like him?”

“I like him,” I say casually. His shoulders tense. “But not as anything more than a friend. And he doesn’t see me as anything more either. We’re just catching up. He knows I’m a fan of the band. I even got to chill with the guys earlier.”

He rakes his hand through his hair. “Which is how you found out about what I did,” he concludes.

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ when I say it.

He just nods.

I can’t help but pride myself in the fact that Will is jealous. I mean, why else would he avoid me? As sucky as it was, it’s a good sign.

Is it a good sign? The way my heart reacts says yes.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, swearing under his breath. “I have a lot going on, and that was just the icing on the cake. You seemed … you seemed happy. You haven’t been happy in a while, not really. I figured if Ian was who made you that way, then I wouldn’t intervene. I didn’t want to get in the way of that because of how I feel toward him.”

How he feels toward him?

He’s blaming his actions on his hate for Ian. Unless he’s telling me he’s gay, which I don’t think he is, he’s making excuses. Again. Or, does he really not care like I do?

Mixed signals are a bitch.

I brush it off, too tired to try to think past it. “Look, I wanted to see you for a reason. I miss you, Will. I don’t like not talking. And my mom told me about the farm. I’m sorry about that. Next time, come talk to me. That’s got to be stressful. You should have somebody outside of the family to talk to about it.”

Walking over to him, I sit on the mattress right beside him.

He lets out a long sigh. “I was being an idiot.”

I nod. “I’m not going to argue with that.”

He laughs. “Of course not.” He puts an arm around my shoulder and tugs me into him, his lips touching the top of my head.

Warm sensations travel throughout my body as he kisses my hair.

I close my eyes. “So, are we good now?”

He tightens his grip. “We’re good.”

I pull away a little, grinning big. “Good,” I declare, “because you owe me. And I have the perfect way that you can make up your silliness.”

He looks cautious.

“We’re going to the drive-in next weekend.”

“The drive-in?” he repeats. He goes to say something else, but back pedals. Realization washes over his face. “Your birthday is next Saturday.”

I nod once. “Yes, it is. And you know what I want? I want you to come see the double feature they’re playing. It’s Ghostbusters back to back. I know you think the second movie pales in comparison to the first—”

“It does,” he cuts me off.

“—but it’s my birthday, and that’s all I want.”

“To see a movie with me?”

“To see two movies. And eat lots of junk food. We haven’t been there yet this summer, and summer is winding down. We need to go before school starts.”

He thinks about it for a long moment, like he’s actually contemplating saying no.

I know him better than that.

“Fine,” he agrees.

“And,” I add, grinning at him, “Ian is coming, too. So you’re going to have suck it up and be nice. You both mean a lot to me, and I want to celebrate my birthday with you.”

He doesn’t hide his distaste.

“No punching him in the face this time,” I warn.

He looks away. “No promises.”