Her nose almost brushes mine, how close we are. Her laughter fades and her smile turns to wide-eyed surprise, mirroring me. My hands rest on her hips, our lacrosse sticks long discarded in the grass. She exhales a shallow breath, her gaze flitting to my lips and back up to my eyes, and damn if that doesn’t drive me crazy.

‘What are you doing, May?’ I whisper, each word a plea against her cheeks. ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘I don’t know,’ she murmurs, and her fingers move to lace behind my neck. ‘I’ve had the same question for you.’

So this is definitely not fake. This is definitely not for the crowd of zero people watching us right now. Definitely not like just hours earlier, as unbelievable as that was. What is it, then? Is it real?

We don’t get to find out. The patio door slides open with a squeak so loud they have to hear it the next neighbourhood over, and Ma’s voice yells, ‘Who’s that in my garden?’

May presses a hand to her mouth, the moment well and truly over, and stifles a laugh that escapes anyway. My mom throws on her glasses, squints, and says, ‘Oh! Just the lovebirds. It’s one a.m., Colt! Let May get to bed, will you?’

I wince, groaning loudly so I can make sure she hears it. ‘MA!’

‘CJ BRADLEY! BED!’ she shoots right back. Well, apparently my years away from home haven’t changed anything for her.

‘Bummer.’ May extremely casually disentangles her arms from around me, adjusting her duster jacket. ‘Guess it’s time for bed, CJ Bradley.’

I’ll never know how she does it. The simple switch-up, like she didn’t just activate every neuron in my brain, and I definitely – definitely – saw something light up for her, too. It was clearer than day this time.

She yawns as she walks back across the field, barefoot, snagging her heels and stick on the way, and then, as if it’s an afterthought, turns back, shooting me a smirk. ‘Night, top ched.’

Man.

Chapter Thirty-One

Hostile Attribution

May

The second I get back in the house, over to my temporary room in the fortunately generously finished basement, I think I’m probably going to explode from my repressed feelings. Because what just happened? What just changed? Or did nothing change, and that had been happening all this time?

I stay up all night thinking about it, staring up at the ceiling until I fall asleep because my eyes are literally tired of being open for so long, and the next day, I bring all of it to Jordan.

We start out in the backyard, at the brand-new field, slapping shots into the nets, and eventually, as all things do, it turns into lounging in the folding chairs and drinking sweet tea with just a hint of vodka.