“How can I come in and drink beer if I’m moving the cows for you?” I ask. People always tell me that I have a grumpy voice. But lately it’s extra grumpy when I talk to Kyle.

“Come later,” he says. “After chores.”

Only Kyle would pretend that’s a workable plan. He expects me to abandon my workout, drive forty minutes home, move the cows’ grazing fence before it gets dark, and then finish the other farm chores.

Then drive forty minutes back for a free beer? Ridiculous.

And here’s the shitty thing—Kyle gets paid by our dad for farming. But I don’t. “You have two jobs, and Kyle does most of the ranch work,” he’d said last year when he’d finally added Kyle to the payroll.

That would make sense if only it were true. But Dad’s back problems started getting worse right after that, so I’ve been pitching in three nights a week. “Let me get this straight. I’m doing your chores for free so that you can earn money elsewhere?”

“Please?” he begs. “What if I paid you twenty bucks? It’s only a two-hour gig, but Alec says the beer-industry people are big tippers.”

I look forlornly toward the gym. If I’d gotten here ten minutes earlier I would have been inside already, unreachable. I do everything that’s asked of me. Everything. And nobody really appreciates it.

“Tell me this—what are your plans for the rest of the week?” I demand. He’s terrible at planning. And I need him to use his head for once, before I lose mine.

“Well, tomorrow I promised Dad I’d take him to the newest Robot Wars movie in Montpelier…”

While he talks, my attention is snagged by a man who’s just climbed out of a bright blue Volkswagen Bug. He’s reading the sign on the door of the gym. I can’t see his face, because he’s turned to the side. But I get a good look at his muscular shoulders, which are straining his black T-shirt. And his forearms have terrific muscle definition…

“Kieran?” my brother prompts. “Did you get that?”

No, I was just admiring a dude. I close my eyes and try to forget the hot guy across the parking lot. This is the extent of my sex life—admiring men, and then feeling confused about it. I spent the first twenty years of my life thinking that attractive men were interesting to me only because I admired them as people and wanted to be like them.

But that was only half right. Lately it’s gotten harder to ignore the fact that I also want to be under them. Or over them. Or even side by side.

Just as I’m having this bold thought, the guy reaches for the door to the gym. And he turns his body in a way that lets me see his face…

That’s when everything goes a little haywire. Because I recognize that face. It’s been years since I’ve seen it, though. And I’d bet every dollar in my wallet that he doesn’t even know my name.