The thumping of some good old Nirvana rattled the windows, and my brother’s grinning face appeared as he displayed exaggerated surprise at finding me at work.

I mock-punched the window over his face, and he laughed. The music stopped, and the window slid down before he killed the engine.

“I’m freezing my nads off, and you want to be funny? You’re such an asshole.”

His dimples carved grooves in his unshaven cheeks. “Fill ’er up, sonny boy.”

“Eat shit and die.”

Asher snorted. “God, I love it when you can’t come up with better insults than the ones we used when we were twelve.”

“My brain, along with over half my body, is frozen solid. What are you doing here?”

He sobered some, his dimples disappearing. “You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m working and studying and trying to survive off spaghetti and sarcasm. I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”

“What time are you done?”

“Nine thirty. Less than twenty minutes now, thank God, but who’s counting? Do you need gas?”

“Yeah, but I can do it.”

He opened the car door and climbed out. Grunged out like usual in beat-up jeans, a band T-shirt, and with his worn leather jacket on top, Ash was everything I wasn’t at that moment. He was good looking, radiated confidence and swagger, was popular, and didn’t have a care in the world.

I caught a hint of his body spray and noticed his hair was damp.

“Were you at the gym?”

“Yeah. Just finished. I went home, showered, changed, and came to find you.”

He reached for the pump, but I batted his hand away. “Don’t. It’s my job. My boss will give me shit if I let you pump your own gas in this area.”

“Fine.” He watched as I fit the nozzle into his tank and started the flow. “I assume you got Jay’s email too?” he asked.

“Yeah.” It had come through that morning.

“Dude, they’re coming next Friday. We have to be in the studio at eight Saturday morning.”

“I know.” I focused on the ticking numbers on the pump.

Asher shuffled and stuck his hands in his pockets, blowing steamy breath into the cold night air. He wasn’t dressed for the weather.

“What are you doing after work?” he asked.

“Studying.”

“Do you have a test tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Fridays are your easy days, right?”

“Yeah. Two classes. That’s it.”

We both watched the numbers on the pump. I knew what he’d come to ask, and my insides squirmed and swooped and tingled at the thought of another private practice session with Asher. They were not normal feelings, yet I couldn’t figure out what they meant or why I was having them.

“Mom and Dad are hosting a dinner party right now. I escaped so I didn’t get roped into dry conversations and disgusting sherry.”

“Oh yeah?”