‘We still have such different destinations in life, Colt.’ I pick up another fry, and a dull wind comes through, tousling Colt’s wavy brown hair – that stupid (splendid, but stupid) ‘flow’ of his – as I glance up at the sky of perfectly clear stars. ‘You, professional lacrosse, far from home.’

‘And you?’ he says quietly.

‘I guess I seem like a square.’ I shoot him a smirk. ‘You think I’m a square.’

‘I never said that.’ Colt shakes his head, but the slightest smile sneaks out.

‘I have things I wanna do, but my best option is staying home. Holding it down. You have choices. We have different destinations,’ I repeat.

‘Hmm.’ He chews in thought before swallowing, swirling the beer in his can around a few times before he speaks. ‘May, I think … we don’t get assigned a direction in life. I get that I probably don’t understand what it’s like to become an adult here, where everything is so uncertain. But I think you choose your destination. And I think there comes a time when someone with the sort of talent you have has to make a choice as to who they wanna be.’

Colt’s dusky eyes glitter, magnetic, drawing me closer. I raise an eyebrow, setting down my beer and planting my chin on my hands. ‘A choice?’

‘Yep.’ His breath fans my cheeks. My eyes flit to his lips. On a normal day, I’d stop myself there. But something about the stars, and the truck, and the low rasp of Colt’s voice … all inhibitions leave my body. I’m doing exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t. Over, and over, and over, and apparently, it didn’t work. ‘Are you gonna be ordinary, or extraordinary?’

My breath catches as his fingers brush my temple, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. ‘You still got time, you know, before you make that choice. May.’ The soft, sweet whisper of Colt’s voice caresses my skin, a teasing smile entering his eyes before it traces its way across his lips. ‘But if you care, I think you’re pretty fucking extraordinary.’

The bass drum in my heart starts thudding on cue. Suddenly, my stomach is a flurry of something I’ve not felt since high school, not since I thought Colt was going to kiss me after the championship game sophomore year, and then stupendously didn’t, probably because the guys swept him away for a victory lap of the field. Every so often, I wonder if he would have kissed me. Now, I think to myself, I might be getting my answer.

‘No one’s watching, New Haven.’ My voice is a quavering sound that floats on the air and dissolves a moment later, threatening to cave to the hand that cups my cheek. ‘You don’t have to pretend here.’