Angry heat crawls across my skin as I absorb his tone. It suggests I took more than the four years that it usually takes to graduate medical school, not a year less, thanks to Boston’s unique program. That I was behind the curve when, actually, I finished at the top of my class. He also manages to make it sound like he’s congratulating me for winning a middle school science fair.

My dad and Henry have turned back to the grill. I should take the opportunity to leave as well.

Instead, I ask, “How long are you back for?”

“Three weeks.” Gray appears relaxed as he leans against the railing of the deck, but for some reason, it suddenly seems like he’s on edge about something.

“Big plans?”

“Nope. You want to hang out?”

I stare at him. He’s fucking with me. I know he is, and the amused twinkle in his eye—the only thing that hasn’t changed from his seven-year-old self—confirms it. Still, my stomach flips at the suggestion.

“I’m busy.”

“Uh-huh. I regret not becoming a doctor less and less every day.”

I glance at our dads, who are fiddling with the grill settings and paying no attention to us. “You considered it?”

“Not really.”

Gray leans down and snags a can of seltzer out of the cooler next to the stairs. The lines of muscle in his forearms tense and shift. I could list each tendon off by name. Instead, I take the opportunity to ogle the rest of his body. I have no idea what sort of physical training airmen go through. Whatever it is, it must be intense because Gray is ripped. Flip a tire in shape.

He’s wearing navy shorts and a light blue button-down. Both look tailor-made to his tall frame. At five-nine, I’m used to guys being roughly my height or shorter. It’s not a problem with Charleston East’s former star shooting guard—the one guy I’d like to have some sort of advantage over.

He tilts the sparkling water up to take a long sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and his dark brown hair flops to the side, revealing freckles on his forehead. It must have been sunny wherever he was located for his last deployment.

I don’t usually have any trouble coming up with small talk. Especially when I’m nervous—that’s often when I’m chattiest. Unfortunately, the last few minutes have confirmed that Gray Phillips still throws me off-kilter. Despite the fact that I’ve known him for most of my life, I’ve never acquired any form of immunity to his presence. If anything, time has weakened my defenses.

“Hey, Evie.” Noah appears and breaks the awkward tension hovering between me and Gray.