“I was angry that night and just felt too …” I stop and stare out the window serving as a mirror, silently searching for the right way to explain how I’d been feeling. “Structured?” I try the word, and it doesn’t quite seem to explain how I’d felt—the pressure, the confinement. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I just didn’t want to have the monotony of doing what was expected of me anymore.”

“You didn’t want to do what was expected of you, or you just needing a break from the expectations and conformity?”

“I don’t know, maybe both?” Max looks at me closely. His face is calm and doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment. He’s not looking at me like it was stupid that I had felt this way, or that I had been irresponsible, even though I had been, incredibly so. He’s looking at me with a look of empathy, like he understands the words I’m not saying. It’s a bit unnerving.

“I’m glad nothing more happened,” he says softly as his eyes search mine in a comforting way, like he’s trying to assure me of something. “Crazy isn’t a bad thing. I’d even go so far to say that it can be a really good thing.” He continues looking at me closely. “It’s just they tend to have better results when there’s someone there to look out for you.”

I can tell he’s waiting for me to acknowledge him, so I simply nod in agreement, showing my understanding.

“I’ll take you to do some crazy things,” Max offers, grabbing his spoon and digging into his sundae turning into ice cream soup.

I return my attention to my milkshake, trying not to allow myself to remember his promise.

“Thank you.”

I look up from my milkshake to watch Max dip his spoon back in his sundae. “For what?” I ask.

He looks up at me and his blue eyes radiate a warmth I’m starting to become familiar with. “For giving me that piece of you.” The words wrap around my brain, replaying over and over before I can stop them, and I have to focus to hear him continue. “I want every piece.”

My heart stops.

“Hey, Ace!” I keep my focus on Max, refusing to look away as he shifts his attention over my shoulder. I sigh as I reluctantly do the same.

“Hey, Emory.”

“Hey, there’s a party going on Friday at Silvestri’s. Have you heard about it?” I nod. “You want me to pick you up? It should be a good time.”

I try to conjure the warmest smile I can manage. “Sorry, I already have plans, but I hope you have a good time. Make sure Silvestri doesn’t go streaking this time. His neighbors are seriously going to call the cops on him.”

He looks slightly disappointed but smiles, nodding. “Seriously, I want to call the cops every time I have to see his white ass. I don’t know what about drinking makes that idiot feel the need to get naked.”

I give a courtesy laugh and turn my attention back to Max.

“Alright, well hey, I hope we can hang out again. It was great seeing you at the lake.” Emory adds.

“Yeah, definitely,” I say with a nod.

Emory nods a couple of times with a strained expression, like he’s debating whether to say something more, before he finally moves his attention to Max and lifts his chin toward him, then leaves.

“We should get going,” Max says, standing up as Emory disappears outside. My heart falls a bit as I try to act casual following his lead.

Saturday night I have the house to myself and groan when the doorbell rings. As I shuffle out of the den to answer it, I send a silent prayer that it isn’t Mindi. She’d mentioned being upset with Kyle, and I’m really not in the mood to hear about it tonight.

“Plans got canceled?” Max asks, surveying my yoga pants and T-shirt as I open the front door. I glance down at my outfit, suddenly very aware of the fact that my hair is pulled back in a messy bun and I’m not wearing a trace of makeup. Not to mention the shirt I’m wearing probably should have been thrown out at least a year ago. Thankfully my black yoga capris are kind of cute, and even flattering, but I still look like a mess.

I try to play off my discomfort by plastering a smile on my face and shake my head in response to his question.

“I thought you told Emory you had plans tonight?” Max asks, folding his arms across his chest as he leans against the doorjamb.

“This is my plan. I have a chocolate pie and a couple of episodes of Newsroom.”

“You turned down a date and a party to watch TV… in your pajamas?”

“It wasn’t going to be a date. I’ve told you, Emory and I are just friends. And yes, I turned down a party and hanging out with a friend to watch TV in my pajamas. Did you come over just to antagonize me about it?”

“No, I came to watch Newsroom and eat pie.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Make fun all you want. Go have fun on your … date?” I ask, looking at his dark washed jeans and black V-neck T-shirt.

Max follows my eyes and shrugs. “This is how I dress to eat pie and watch Newsroom.”

“Your loss.” I take a few steps away from the door. “The dress code for this kind of evening allows for sweatpants.”

“I’ll be back, then.” Max turns and I watch as he takes long strides back to his house.

Panic and excitement wash over me as I stare back down at my outfit, silently pledging to throw this shirt away in the morning. It will be too obvious to try and put on makeup or change my shirt now. I run a hand over my hair in an attempt to smooth it down as I make my way into the den where I’ve spent most of the day hibernating. Hoping to conceal my messy look, I start turning off some of the lights.

My mom has redecorated every room in our house several times, but my dad has banned her from touching the den. It’s always been his space. He has his home office in the back corner where his desk takes up a good portion of the wall. A large shelf hangs above it, adorned with medals and awards from golfing and different marathons. The wall surrounding it is covered in mismatched picture frames filled with my sisters and me from over the years. The stacks of professional awards that he’s received all sit stacked on the bookcase beside his desk so they’re hardly visible except for the large black frames.

A TV sits on the far wall, surrounded by couches and bookshelves. Although we have a family room downstairs with a larger TV, this room is primarily where we congregate to watch TV or movies as a family.

I glance around the room, now dimly lit by a couple of floor lamps, and panic resonates in me as I realize it has a slightly romantic feel. I quickly scramble to turn on nearly every light in the room, making it brighter than it was initially as the doorbell chimes.

I pull my shirt up to my nose and take a deep breath as I go to answer the door. Even from the thousand washes this shirt has endured, I can still smell the slight whisper of my perfume woven so deeply within the threads, I reckon it may be impossible to ever be washed out.

When I pull the door open Max stands before me still in the black V-neck T-shirt, but now wearing a pair of dark gray sweatpants in place of his jeans.

“Better?”

“Better,” I agree with a smirk.

“So do you blow off people a lot to be antisocial?”

I shrug as I lead him to the den and take a seat on the couch centered in front of the TV. Max comes and sits beside me; these casual interactions are becoming more natural and comfortable between us.

Max laughs at appropriate times and doesn’t talk when you need to be paying attention—two important show watching etiquettes so many people fail miserably at.

“So you enjoy partying, vegging out, and I keep seeing these books in your suitcase of a purse,” he says as the first episode concludes. “So I’m guessing you like to read.”

A quiet laugh escapes my lips, and I watch his eyes focus on my mouth.

“What else does Ace Bosse like to do?” His eyes travel back to mine.