“You forget I’m good at this stuff. The guy could barely take his eyes off you.”

“That’s insane; you can’t possibly know he gave me the hickey simply because he was looking at me.”

“True. I can, however, make an educated guess and watch you get all defensive and confirm my initial suspicion.”

“Unbelievable.”

“So,” he said, smiling. “Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill. We just hung out.”

“Tommy.”

“For a few hours.”

“Is it serious? Are you two dating or something?”

“Are you high? No, we’re not dating. We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Yet?”

“We’re going out tonight.”

“Holy shit, this is so awesome!” he said excitedly, just as the waiter came over with our coffee. “I want to meet him.”

“You just met him,” I reminded him, turning to the waiter. “Thanks.”

“Anything else?” the waiter asked.

“We’re good, thank you.”

“I met a friend of yours who happens to be a swimmer. I want to meet the guy who got Thomas Hart to go on a date after—what—two years?”

“They’re the same dude, man.”

And yes, it felt weird as fuck to refer to Ethan as dude.

“Is he picking you up? Are you picking him up?”

“He is. It’s just a date.”

“Oh, please. You may think you’re this different guy, but I know you, Tommy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t go out unless you really like someone.”

“Isn’t that usually how it goes?”

Just as I spoke, Jonas’s phone started vibrating on the table.

“Marcy,” he said, quickly dismissing the call.

“How is she?”

“Good. We broke up a while back, which you knew we would.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t.”

“It’s cool though. We’re still friends.”

“Then why didn’t you pick up?”

“I see Marcy all day, every day,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

I wonder how long it’ll take for comments such as those to stop sounding like a dig.

“How was it? At the hospital?” Jonas asked, suddenly solemn. “I tried to visit, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“Yeah, there’s no contact during the treatment. I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Don’t.” He raised his hand.

“But—”

“No. You handled it fine.”

The thing about Jonas? He’d always been a bit of a mind reader. We met when we were four, and it was noticeable from very early on that he was impossible to lie to. It was one of his biggest talents. That, and being a good friend.

“‘Fine’ isn’t really the best word—” I said.

“It’s a good word. I’m not here to judge, man. Even though I ambushed you earlier.”

“It’s good that you did.”

“It is?”

“You’re my best friend, Jonas. I just hate that—”