My ears strain, trying to catch any hint of sound downstairs. All I can hear is the steady thrum of my own heart, whooshing softly as the excitement from our encounter slowly fades.

I hate how much of an effect he has on me.

I hate how I was lingering in the kitchen, hoping he’d come home.

I hate how he only calls me flower when we’re alone.

And if I’m honest with myself, I know Holden is the main reason I barely sleep in this room. Anticipation of a possible encounter acts as a powerful stimulant, followed by overanalyzing each word we exchange if he does come home. I know those sentences will be the highlight of my week.

But acknowledging that won’t do me any good. It makes it harder to act normal around him, to act like it doesn’t bother me that things changed between us.

That’s why I lie to myself on Friday nights.

CHAPTER TWO

HOLDEN

Finn beelines for my truck as soon as I pull into my usual spot in the lot. He’s outside my window before I’ve even turned the ignition off, knocking on the glass obnoxiously.

It’s a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear. I climb out of the cab, listening to leaves as they crunch between my sneakers and the hard asphalt of the high school’s parking lot.

“Where were you last night?” he asks as I sling my backpack on one shoulder.

“Sleeping,” I tell him. “Did you forget what time Friday’s match ended?”

“You slept all weekend?”

“I had some other shit to take care of too.”

Finn scoffs, but he doesn’t push me to elaborate. He’s used to my vague answers, showing up an hour late at parties and forgetting when we made plans. I’m selfish, unmotivated, and I hate restriction.

I like doing what I want, when I feel like doing it. Honestly, it’s a minor miracle I play a team sport. Commitment is a constriction that makes my skin itch, which is exactly what my mom used to say. At least I know my selfish tendencies won’t result in abandoning two small children, the way hers did.

The only casualty of my choices this weekend is Finn pouting about me missing a fight. “You could’ve taken this guy down in minutes, Adams!” he exclaims as we walk across the parking lot.

I roll my eyes and tug the brim of my baseball hat down so it better shades my eyes from the sun. The bruise on my cheek twinges. “It wasn’t supposed to be a regular thing, man. Just some easy cash now and then.”

“Well, Declan needs you there next weekend. He said he’ll sweeten the pot.”

“How much?” I ask, fishing around my backpack for the granola bar I tucked inside before leaving the house this morning.

“Double.”

“For real?”