Margot came out when she first started high school, so it’s not like I’m ashamed of these feelings. It’s more complicated than that. I’m one part convinced it’s all in my head and doesn’t count if I’ve never been with a man, and the other part doesn’t want to … like … encroach on Margot’s space. I take so much from her that if I’m queer too, it’s another thing she has to share with her ridiculous little brother. She had a hard time being herself in high school, but she did it anyway, whereas I was too focused on keeping my position on the football team to let myself think of anything else.

Margot had to do the hard yards.

I got to hide.

Suddenly deciding that I want to kiss a guy and then just doing it feels like a slap to the face of all of that.

Or maybe I’m confused.

It’s not a stretch for me. I’m confused about ninety percent of my life that being confused about this, too, checks out. If I’m still making this many excuses to ignore my attraction, then I’m probably not ready for it, am I?

Before I can get answers to any of my questions, the front door clicks open and Lars walks in, those melon-smuggling arms full of bags.

That are probably full of food.

I perk up. “What did you end up getting? You left too fast for me to put an order in.”

“I’ll add that to my list of life regrets.”

“I appreciate it.”

Lars almost smiles as he dumps the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Got this for you.”

I watch as he reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a T-shirt that he throws at my chest. I catch it and then hold it out to see the front. It’s a puppy with floppy ears, big eyes, and a goofy expression. Underneath the image are the words “Friends fur-ever!”

It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. “You do love me!”

“Don’t get excited. It was that or a Seattle tourist shirt, and that was the only one with an animal on it.”

“Friends fur-ever …” I drag the word out and give Lars my puppy dog eyes. “You’re a big softie under all that Johnny Bravo swagger, aren’t you?”

“I don’t swagger.”

“But you are a softie.”

He still doesn’t acknowledge me.

“So what’s St. Clare’s deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like … why would someone want to kill him anyway? Is Saint Clare’s a front for something?”

“It’s a nightclub.”

“Yeah, but you know most nightclubs are a front for drugs … or, umm …”

“Umm?”

“Well, nefarious deeds.”

“Nefarious deeds, huh? You watch too many movies.”

“It wouldn’t be so common in movies if it wasn’t true.”