I stick my tongue out at her. “That song is classic T. Swift.”

“It’s the time I have an issue with, not the song.”

I turn to my parents. “I can stay here and look after everything while you’re gone.” Their house is ten minutes closer to the hospital anyway.

They both look thrilled, which makes it worth it. My father whispers something in my mother’s ear that makes her laugh as she leans against him.

It feels good to be home.

CHAPTER TWO

Sloane waits until six p.m. to inform me she told Emmett we’d go to Malone’s—our local bar of choice—to settle our debts from moving. I don’t have any issue with thanking him and Noah for lugging our possessions around. I do have an issue with going out with Gray Phillips—who I’m certain will be there too—but I can’t say so without undoing years of denial, so I have no choice but to agree to the outing.

For the second time today, I spend too long deciding on what to wear. I also put on heels, which I hardly ever wear. They pinch my toes, but they also make my legs look miles long. Sloane gives me an approving nod before we leave the house.

When we walk into the bar, it’s already packed. Malone’s doesn’t run the tightest of ships when it comes to enforcing the drinking age, meaning the dark stone walls are hardly visible past the crowds. Not only with college students home for the summer, but also with young professionals reliving the nostalgia of coming here and hoping not to get carded.

A long bar dominates the center of the room with a chalkboard menu that displays tonight’s specialty cocktails. We shuffle between the crowded barstools and the circular leather booths that line the walls.

“There are the guys.” Sloane makes a beeline toward the back of the bar.

I take a deep breath, then follow her over to the booth, where Noah, Emmett, Gray, and the fourth member of their usual crew, Harrison, are all sitting. Gray and Emmett have their backs to us, but Noah spots us right away and smiles. He and Harrison move further into the booth, so Sloane and I can sit. I sink down onto the buttery leather immediately, grateful to be off my feet.

My seat is directly across from Gray, who’s typing something on his phone. My throbbing toes remind me I’m wearing these death traps because of him—because I want to appear older, wiser, and closer to his towering height—and it pisses me off for multiple reasons. Mainly because he didn’t even notice.

I know almost everything about the human heart. Its anatomy, its flaws, its cadence.

I can’t figure out how to fix mine. To make it stop beating faster for the one guy it shouldn’t.