When I pulled into the parking lot at the drugstore, he was leaning against the wall, waiting, one foot back on the stucco. His hair was in his eyes again, and he was wearing a black T-shirt and the cargo shorts he had pulled on earlier, when I had been cataloguing his tattoos. I noticed now there was another one on the back of his calf, but I couldn’t tell what it was. He wasn’t my type at all. I was usually into guys who had a lot of bulk, who made me feel petite and feminine next to them, and who were loud and chatty, the communications and marketing majors.

Phoenix looked dangerous. An elderly woman gave him a wide berth when she shuffled from her car to the store, eyeing him with suspicion. Unlike his cousins, though, he didn’t have any accessories, no chains, no studded bracelets. Riley and Tyler would make the metal detector at the airport lose its shit, they were always that covered in hardware. But Phoenix was bare except for his tattoos.

There was something beautiful about him. I knew I shouldn’t think of a guy in those terms, but he was. He had a strong jaw, cheekbones that a model would kill for, and that dark hair that fell with an ease that normally required a pro blowout, when I knew in reality he had probably just finger-combed it. I wasn’t sure if what I felt as I watched him was attraction, or simply appreciation that he was good-looking in a different way, one that spoke to me now, at this particular point in my life.

The outsider intrigued by the outsider.

Because that was how I felt—a self-imposed outsider in my former life.

I waved, and he pushed himself off the wall, raising a hand back in greeting.

When he opened the door and got into the passenger seat, he nodded slightly to the right, the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Woman in the car next to you is debating calling the cops. She thinks you’re here to buy drugs from me.”

Glancing past him, I saw there was a middle-aged woman with two kids in the backseat, and she was shaking her head in disgust, cell phone in her hand poised in front of her face, like she was debating whether or not it was worth it.

“Do I look like a meth addict?” I asked, glancing down at my grubby clothes. “Maybe I should have changed.”

“It’s not you, it’s me. People in this neighborhood can smell when you’ve been on the inside, I swear.” He gave me a shrug, his dark eyes indecipherable. “If I wasn’t so recently out, it might be entertaining. But I don’t want to deal with cops and their bullshit.”

I pulled out of the spot, glancing over at him. “You don’t have drugs on you, do you?” I hadn’t thought about that at all. I didn’t know if he was a user or not. Maybe those were the issues Tyler was talking about. The thought of having drugs in my car terrified me. All it took was one cop and I could find myself in serious trouble.

“No. I don’t do drugs. Or sell them. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke.” His knee came up to rest on the glove box of my car. “I’m a regular fucking Boy Scout, that’s what I am.”

It didn’t sound like sarcasm, but I wasn’t entirely sure if he was being serious or not. “I don’t do drugs. Or sell them. Or drink. Or smoke. But I did quit Girl Scouts in third grade once I realized they wanted us to sleep in a tent.”

He gave a half laugh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Nature makes me uncomfortable. And I was very concerned about using an outhouse.”

“Valid concern.” There was a pause then he asked, “So you don’t drink ever?”

“No. I used to, but I felt myself getting out of control with it, so I cut it out of my life.” It wasn’t something I needed and I didn’t mind telling Phoenix that. In fact, it felt empowering to say this was the way it was. I didn’t drink. Ever.

“How long has it been?”

“Ten weeks and three days.” The fact that I knew to the day surprised me. I guess I had been mentally ticking off each day without being entirely conscious of it.

“That’s awesome, seriously.”

As I drove back toward my house, I was very aware of the space he took up in my car, how he didn’t move at all, but his eyes were trained on me the entire time. For a second, I wished that I had worn a different shirt, one that didn’t have a coffee stain on the stomach area. But it didn’t matter. That’s not what this was about.

And I found myself weirdly excited that I had met someone who didn’t drink either. Someone who wasn’t going to be a preachy asshole about it. “Thanks,” I said. “I feel good about my choice. It’s working for me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who was totally clean,” he said, sounding intrigued by the idea.

I laughed. “Me either. We could form our own club. The Clean Club. Like the Clean Plate Club, only without the plate.”

He didn’t say anything, and when I shot a glance at him, his nose was scrunched up. “No?”

“I don’t know what the Clean Plate Club is, sorry. Though I’m down with being in the Clean Club. Membership two, huh?” He held his fist out to give me a bump, and at the red light I did, reaching out to him with a quick tap with my knuckles.

“The Clean Plate Club is what my mother always told me I could be in if I ate all of my dinner. It’s some bizarre attempt by parents to force kids to eat foods they don’t like or to essentially overeat in my opinion. So your mom didn’t do that, I take it?”

He made a sound, like that was hilarious. “Hardly. Most of the time my mother forgot to buy food. I guess I was automatically a member of the club.”

God, that sounded awful, and I felt like my foot was jammed up in my mouth. Pulling into my driveway I parked the car and turned to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

But he shook his head. “No. Hell no. Don’t do that. That’s not why I brought it up. I don’t want or need pity. I’m just telling it like it is.”

Was there pity on my face? I guess there was, because I did feel a profound sympathy for his childhood. It wasn’t fair that some kids got awesome parents and some got shitty ones. But that wasn’t really the same thing as pity. “Injustice makes me feel sad. It’s not personal.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. “Cool. This your place? You got any milk? That would be my drink of choice for the night.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, again not really sure. I turned off the car and palmed the keys nervously.

“Well, I’m pretty confident you’re a milk drinker. So am I.”

“Why, because of the kitten? That wasn’t a subliminal message.” Though he was right. I did drink milk. Behind coffee, it was my favorite drink. I wasn’t big on soft drinks. They left me hungry with an aftertaste in my mouth.

He just shrugged. “Because I can sense it. You have chocolate syrup, too, don’t you?”

“Of course. I have strawberry, too. Even milk needs a little variety now and then.” And were we really talking about milk? It seemed so random and innocent.

As we climbed the front porch, I hesitated at the front door. I realized I still didn’t know why Phoenix had been jail and my assumption that it was drug– or alcohol-related was clearly wrong. But if he were a serial rapist or a girlfriend beater, Tyler would have said that. Neither would Riley let him stay in the house with Jessica living there. Pushing my key into the lock, I studied him like his cheekbones, his eyelashes, could reveal the truth about him.

But only his lips could do that, and he wasn’t volunteering, and I couldn’t ask. It seemed too personal.

He flipped his hair out of his eye. “What? Having second thoughts about hanging out with me?”

I shook my head slowly, because I really wasn’t. I was just curious. “Just thinking that life is weird.” Every decision, every choice, altered the course of our lives, and it was sort of mind-blowing if you stopped and really thought about it.

“Life is like waiting in line at the grocery store. You wait, you slowly move forward, you pay the price, then you exit unsatisfied and broke.”