“What was her name?” I can’t help it. The questions are just falling out of my mouth before I have time to think better of them.

He steps a little bit farther away from the table, and I follow. “Emily.”

“But you aren’t sure she liked it?” It’s so weird to be here, at Fred’s and surrounded by our friends who are sitting in the booth only a few feet away and still having the most intimate conversation we’ve ever had.

“Honestly,” he says quietly, “I don’t know. I mean, she was into it, sure, but I would love to know how she remembers that night now, looking back. She moved away after graduation, but we were together a little over a year before that. I just...” He blinks away. “The only place we could have any privacy was on my dad’s little rowboat, down at the dock. The third time, we’d stolen beers from her dad. I just played around with her, and the rope, and it was...” He stops talking, finally just saying, “Yeah.”

I nod, sipping my water. I think I know what he’s telling me—that seeing his girlfriend like that did something good for him, and shaped what he likes now. But I don’t really need to hear him talking about it anymore.

“That morning I saw you at Starbucks,” he says.

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Yeah? What about it?”

He shrugs, giving me a do-I-need-to-drag-it-from-you look. “I know you hooked up, but you didn’t look like you were particularly relaxed.”

“Ah, right. The mother woke us up,” I tell him. “In person. Second-worst lay of my life the night before.”

He barks out a delighted laugh. “Who was the first?”

“My first. I realize now he was tiny, but it still hurt. I swear I look back on it now and see my virginity being taken by a baby carrot.”

“What are you talking about over here?” Lola asks, appearing out of nowhere and sidling up to me.

Finn is barely recovered from his laughing fit. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Baby carrot,” I tell her with a knowing grin.

Lola nods, smiling at him. “Awesome, right? Poor Jesse Sandoval.”

“Our girl is a poet,” Finn agrees.

Our girl. It eases somewhat the tiny twinge I still feel when I remember Finn told me about the television show because he didn’t want to share it with more permanent members of his life.

Oliver steps out of the booth and joins our little circle. “So we’re standing tonight? Usually Harlow likes to sit and throw things at me across the table.”

I laugh because it’s true. “You just have these creepy Crocodile Dundee reflexes.”