“What’s up?” I asked as I took a sip of my drink, not letting myself break eye contact with him. Topher—short for Christopher—was handsome in a way I had never gotten used to, not even after three years. It was the kind of handsome—tall, tan, blond, gray-eyed—that you saw in ads for expensive watches and luxury sweaters. There was a kind of polish and control to him that I had recognized immediately.

“Not much,” he said, taking a drink from his Sprite bottle, then setting it down and looking at me, his voice getting a little softer. “How are you holding up?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I’m fine,” I said. His expression didn’t change much, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Really,” I said firmly. “I’m leaving town for the summer at the end of the week anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be here dealing with it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Topher said, nodding. “That pre-med thing, right?”

I nodded, knowing better than to attach any meaning to the fact that Topher had remembered this. After all, it was what we’d both been taught to do. Hang on to dates and details, remember that colleague’s daughter’s name and where she’s going to college. Make sure you know that important donor loves orchids, and if you bring them up, she’ll be beyond pleased, and talk to you about them all night. Collect these facts about these people you don’t really know, and let them think you do. “You got it.”

“So this will probably be the last time we see each other for a while,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower.

“Maybe so,” I said, not letting myself look away, starting to smile.

Topher arched an eyebrow at me, and I saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pushed himself off the island and crossed to me. He leaned over, casually, every move just so, like he was in no hurry. His lips were right near my ear, but he didn’t speak at first, just let out a breath against my skin that made me shiver. “In that case,” he finally said, speaking low, even though we were the only ones in the kitchen. He took a lock of my hair and curled it around his finger before he let it drop. “Want to get out of here?”

Topher went first; he seemed to have a sixth sense for when empty rooms were available at parties, and I had an amazing ability to walk into just the wrong room at just the wrong time. He’d told me to meet him in the basement, and now I needed to wait long enough that nobody would see us disappearing together. Topher had established his ground rules early on—we couldn’t tell anyone (I’d decided my friends were an exception to this, since I trusted them completely)—and we’d do whatever we could to make sure nobody would find out. I’d established some of my own—nothing but kissing, and everything we did or talked about stayed between us. I also found that I could be honest with him in a way I never was with my other boyfriends. I knew that whatever I told him, he would keep to himself. Our situation was what I’d once heard Peter describe as “mutually assured destruction.” We knew too much about each other, and we both had too much to lose for either one of us to say anything.

When we both started dating people, these ground rules grew to include that we never did anything when either of us was with someone. Which meant we could go months without seeing each other. But it had become something that I’d gotten pretty reliant on.

I looked down at my phone again and realized that it was now safe for me to join him. I crossed through the living room and headed toward the basement, making sure to lock the door behind me.

Sometimes, making out with Topher was like quenching a thirst, and sometimes it just made me thirstier. Thankfully, tonight it was the first one. After we’d been kissing for a while, the intensity faded and our kisses grew slower and more lingering. I broke away and rested my head on his chest, and he smoothed my hair down absently with one hand.

I looked up from the couch where we were lying. This seemed to be more like a converted garage than a basement, with the couch and TV jockeying for space with workbenches and tools. Someone in Kevin Castillo’s family was clearly really into cars—there were three in the basement/garage and two more covered with tarps, tools stacked neatly next to them. I looked at the one nearest to us—a red vintage Mustang, and felt a sharp pang, the way I always did when I saw one. My mother’s had been yellow, a ’65 convertible that had been her pride and joy. But I hadn’t seen it in years—I assumed that it had gone wherever all her things had gone, either sold or to storage somewhere. All I did know was that when I moved into the new house, there was no trace of my mother in it.

I turned my back on the Mustang and ran my hand over the fabric of the couch. “This was surprisingly comfortable,” I said, and heard Topher give a short laugh.

“Well, it’s no laundry room.” I pushed myself up slightly to look at him, and he smiled as he pulled a lock of my hair forward, winding it around his finger. “I was thinking about that night a few days ago, actually.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Just about how lucky we were.” This made me sit up a little straighter, and I looked him in the eye, starting to get nervous, worried that he was suddenly changing the rules on me. “Lucky because we didn’t get caught,” he clarified, and I felt myself relax.

“We really were.” It was three years ago, but I could remember so clearly what it had been like—the thrill of my first real party, then the flashing lights streaking in through the window and my utter panic when I realized that not only was I in trouble, but I might have wrecked my father’s career. I was desperately searching for an exit in the chaos, and then, out of nowhere, was Topher Fitzpatrick, taking my hand in his. I didn’t know him—we went to different schools, and I’d said only about five words to him the year before, at an event at the governor’s mansion. But I saw in his eyes the exact same thing I was feeling—the paralyzing fear that comes with knowing just how high the stakes really are. He leaned closer to me to be heard above the noise of people running, panicking, bottles and glasses breaking as everyone tried to get out, and fast.