“I’m not friends with any seniors, Holden,” she tells me.

The ball of guilt reappears. We used to be friends, until I fucked it up. “I’ll be there.”

“Don’t say it like it’s an enticement.”

It’s a dig I should probably be offended by. Instead, I’m amused. I like her sass. Like how it feels like we’re kids again. It also provides an opening. “If it’s such a hardship to be around me, Cassia, what was last weekend?”

She looks back outside, but not before I catch her cheeks flush. Again. “I was just…” Her gaze darts back to me. “It was no big deal.”

“Ri-ght,” I drawl the word, adding more syllables than it needs. “You said that before.”

“And I meant it.”

“Did you?” I sound jealous, and I hate that I do.

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Of course other guys have been interested in her.

Usually, it’s easy to tune girls out when they mention exes. But I’m suddenly furious with myself for not knowing if Cassia even has any. She’s best friends with my sister, for fuck’s sake. I should have set any misplaced jealousy aside and ensured no one was taking advantage of her.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

Apparently, I’m being transparent with my feelings. My hand tightens around the napkin. “Got it.”

There’s a change in her face. It softens with something that looks like uncertainty. “You wouldn’t—I mean, it didn’t even mean anything to you, right?”

I stare at her, too confused to answer. Does she seriously think I go to these extremes to spend time around a girl on a regular basis? That I do it ever?

I went to her house later that weekend. I concocted a bogus story to have an argument with her in the courtyard. And now I’m sitting here under the pretense of helping out a fourteen-year-old’s love life.

“Does it matter?”

We stare at each other, looking for tells and truths. At least, that’s what I’m doing.

Most of the time, Cassia is the most even-tempered person you could imagine meeting. She treats everyone the way she looks after the abandoned animals she cares so much about—with respect and kindness. Around me, Cassia seems to run on extremes. She’s cold and detached or she’s grinding on my lap.

“Uh, Cassia?”

Cassia jolts, almost knocking over her water glass as she glances at Maggie, who’s now standing at the end of our booth. “Yeah. Everything okay?”

“It’s after four.”

Cassia pulls her phone out of her pocket, glances at the screen, and swears. She hustles out of the booth, her movements so hurried and jerky that she almost upends everything on the table.