I clutch my phone in my hand as I read and reread the text. I fell asleep next to Easton, but when I woke, the morning sun slanting through the curtains, he was gone. I thought I’d find him downstairs with the rest of the hungover crew, but apparently he had to drive back to Jackson Harbor before anyone was up.

I didn’t expect to hear anything from him until the next time he came home but . . . he texted. I try not to let it mean more than it does.

Me: You’re not crazy. You have a lot on your shoulders. It’s understandable that your anxiety would flare up.

Easton: It’s easier to manage it when you’re there.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Does he have any idea what words like this do to me? The hope they give?

Easton: Do you think your parents would let you finish high school in L.A.? I’d give you room and board in exchange for your chilling effect in my life.

Me: Oh, absolutely. Let me just go tell Dad. He’ll be totally cool with his only daughter moving to L.A. to live with and serve a pro football player.

Easton: Serve? Please don’t say it that way to your dad. I like my face as it is.

Me: Say it like what?

Easton: Like I’m buying sexual favors.

Me: I think we’ve established I’m not the girl for THAT job.

Easton: I’m saying I wouldn’t want to pay you.

Me: If you did, you’d demand a refund. Because, if you recall our conversation, I’m CLUELESS.

Easton: No. I don’t want to pay for your sexual favors for the same reason you don’t want a pity kiss.

My cheeks are on fire. Luckily, I’m alone in my bedroom and no one can see my awkward nerves at having this conversation with Easton. Is this a conversation, or is it . . . flirting? I stare at the screen while trying to decide how to reply. His next text comes through before I can.

Easton: Will you come see my new place when I get settled?

Yes! Yes! Yes! I don’t trust myself to reply. I’m trying to be cool, but my insides have zero chill when Easton is pouring on the attention like this.

Easton: I’m not sure how I’m supposed to start this new life without my rock to ground me when my crazy comes out.

Me: Talking to your doctor about a prescription might be a start. And you know I’m not joking.

Easton: I know. I just don’t want to need it.

Me: There’s no shame in it.

Easton: Thank you. For that. For everything.