“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Isn’t the point of covering your eyes … so that you don’t know?”

“No, it’s so I don’t actually see what’s happening. But I need to know. It’ll freak me out even more to not know,” I admit.

“Come on.” Max peels a hand from my face and wraps it in his. As I turn from the screen, shrill screams and slashing sounds echo through the dark basement, making my heart accelerate even without the image.

“Where are you guys going?” Kendall whispers.

“We thought you guys might enjoy some alone time,” Max replies.

He leads me out to his driveway where he opens the door to his Jeep for me. I look at him curiously, and without question, I climb in.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere your poor heart won’t have to work so hard.” Max reverses down the driveway with a small grin.

When we pull into Maggie Lou’s, the old fifties diner that my dad and I used to frequent during soccer season—and now with Lilly— or on the occasional outing when he’s feeling nostalgic. I look over at Max accusingly.

“What?” he asks a broad smile upon his lips.

“Don’t what me! How’d you know?”

“Know what? That this is your favorite place to get ice cream?” I give him half an eye roll, not able to stop the amused smirk on my face as I shake my head and follow after him as he climbs out of the Jeep.

We settle into a booth, sitting across from one another, and place our order. They’ve added a new milkshake flavor: chocolate fudge marshmallow. It sounds like the cure to any and all ailments and problems, so I go with it. Max orders a brownie fudge sundae with caramel, coffee, and chocolate-toffee ice cream with caramel, marshmallow, and chocolate sauce—no nuts. This is terrible; I’m officially head over heels for this guy just because he ordered the most perfect ice cream dish ever.

“Do you have a thing with ordering in threes?” I tease as Margaret, the daughter of the original Maggie Lou, walks away with our orders scribbled down on a tablet.

“Do you often get greeted on a first name basis by fifties diner waitress?” I grin in response and turn my attention to Margaret as she makes her way back to our table holding two ice waters. She makes eye contact with me and then turns her gaze to Max and back to me with a smile as she wiggles her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Max turns to look at her to see what’s holding my attention, and she giggles guiltily as a small blush fills her full cheeks.

He watches her retreat a ways before turning his attention back to me. “So tell me the deep, dark secrets of Ace.” Max slides a glass of water over to me.

“Deep, dark secrets?”

“Didn’t you know? That’s what friends do.”

“There’s not much to tell really, except my name isn’t really Ace,” I answer, keeping my voice and expression serious. He doesn’t look amused, which makes me laugh as I spin the straw in my ice water.

“Too many to keep track of?” There’s an edge to his inquiry.

“No, it’s quite possible that I live one of the most boring lives of anyone that you’ve ever met,” I admit. “I have a tendency to overanalyze things to a fault, if you haven’t yet noticed. Which usually prevents too many acts of crazy, other than the zip line of course … and the whole TP incident at Marshall’s.”

“You haven’t done anything crazy?”

I shrug, looking up at the side of the car that they’ve somehow attached to the wall a few booths over and briefly wonder if it’s real. “No, crazy and I haven’t really been introduced. I’ve met stupid a couple of times.”

Max grins at me, his blue eyes brightening with mischief. “My mom says that crazy and stupid are sort of two strands of the same thread.”

Margaret returns and slides our desserts to us, and the sight of them makes me momentarily forget what we’re discussing.

“Is there anything else I can get you kids?” she asks with a warm smile.

I shake my head turning my attention to her. “We’re good. Thanks, Margaret.”

“I bet,” she answers. Backing away she gives me two thumbs up and fans her face to indicate how attractive she finds Max. I shake my head, trying to stifle a laugh, as Max follows my eyes to see Margaret’s widen as she quickly turns and walks away.

A small laugh erupts from me that he’s now come within half seconds of catching her both times. I turn my attention to his colossal sundae that looks like Christmas morning in a dish.

“Are you ogling my ice cream?” Max asks, lifting his trademark single eyebrow.

“There’s a definite possibility that I am.” He grins and pushes his sundae toward me, offering me the handle of his spoon.

I open my mouth to object, but Max pushes his spoon closer to my hand. “Sometimes you have to go for what you want, Ace.”

I stare back at him for a brief moment before taking his spoon and dipping it into a mound of chocolate-toffee and coffee ice cream and shoveling it into my mouth with great satisfaction before turning the spoon and offering him the handle. The cold ice cream melts in my mouth as the warm fudge sauce coats my tongue, and the fluffy whipped cream melts like a cloud. The bite is heavenly.

Max grips the proffered spoon with a grin.

“You order really good ice cream,” I mumble, taking a drink of my water. “Do you want to try mine?”

“You try it first.”

“You let me try yours first.” Max shrugs, watching me patiently. I smirk, grabbing the milkshake and using my spoon to scoop a taste of it.

He watches me closely. “They make the best milkshakes,” I say, sliding the glass to him.

Max takes my spoon and dips it in the milkshake. His eyes glance toward me as he holds it a few inches from his mouth. “You were telling me about the time you were introduced to crazy.”

I nod, trying to force my attention from watching Max’s lips curve around my spoon as he eats a mouthful of my shake.

“Alright, well other than the one you witnessed involving Kendall and fifteen rolls of toilet paper; my crazy moment, which really, you’ll classify as stupid here in a moment … in high school I drank a decent amount, not like an alcoholic or anything, but certainly past my limit.”

“Uh oh, does this involve streaking or waking up to someone strange?”

My eyes grow with surprise. “Those would be classified as crazy and stupid; I can see your point, but alcohol doesn’t have that effect on me,” I say, shaking my head. “I hear I’m a funny drunk and can get a little … friendly.”

Max throws his head back and laughs, and I feel my cheeks flush, instantly regretting admitting this to him.

“Friendly, huh? I thought you said this doesn’t involve waking up to someone strange?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“So no streaking or awkward one-night stands. What did happen?”

I fold the paper napkin in front of me, avoiding looking at Max. “I drank too much one night at a party over Christmas break. I didn’t follow any of the rules, even my own. It was really stupid. I truly have little recollection of the entire night, but I ended up having to have my stomach pumped because I wouldn’t regain consciousness and they were afraid of alcohol poisoning.” I slowly glide my finger along the crease of the napkin. “Not one of my finer moments.” My eyes travel up to Max’s face; he’s staring back at me with a serious expression. The playfulness is gone, and I appreciate that he doesn’t crack a joke like most. Nothing about that night, nor the next day, or next month while my parents discussed date rape, peer pressure, drunk driving, and every other negative effect, at extensive length with me while I remained at home, grounded, was even remotely humorous.

“Weren’t you there with someone to look out for each other?” Max’s brilliant blue eyes are focused on me, the skin between his eyebrows crinkled with confusion.

“Not really.” I shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot of people that were there. I’d been dating Levi Peterson.” I pause to look at Max’s face and see the recognition in his eyes at the name. “Yeah, he was an ass,” I say, nodding with a sheepish grin as I return to folding my napkin, running the back of my thumbnail over another crease.