I think about Chris. He’s one of the smaller guys in our class with blond hair and blue eyes. A classically handsome face. But I’ve never thought about him that way, and I wouldn’t say he’s my type. “You don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“I mean . . .”

He’s probably about to say something offensive, and I preemptively cover his mouth. “Nope. You don’t get to assume based on anything. About anyone.” I remove my hand, and he seems to think that over.

“Okay, so maybe he is though. But it doesn’t matter if he is or not. Is he like your type?”

“Why do you care so much?” I have to ask because I never saw our conversation coming last week, when he asked about my type and then told me we could discuss dicks.

Like. Ever.

But he seemed totally cool with it. And that’s when I felt like an asshole because I should have known. Kingston is a lot of things, but hateful is not one of them. I should have known he wouldn’t have cared.

But it seems we’ve both very conveniently swept the other part of my confession under the rug. My being in love with him hasn’t come up again, and I’m glad. But it’s another reason why I can’t talk about my type.

Because the truth is, I have one type and one type only—Kingston Wells.

And that’s just not going to happen.

“No. He’s not my type. Now please drop it.”

He’s pouting, and I hate that I find it adorable. With a heavy, deep sigh, he does what I ask and takes a drink of his beer. Kind of. “But you understand you can talk to me about it? Like if you see a hot dude, you can totally nudge me and tell me, you know.”

I can’t help the snort of laughter that leaves my mouth as I turn to look into his earnest eyes. “Yes. I know. And thank you. It means a lot, but I don’t want to have this conversation anymore, okay? Please.”

“Okay.”

“You talk to Kennedy this week?” He hasn’t mentioned her, and I haven’t brought it up. But I’ve wondered if they’re really broken up. It just doesn’t seem possible since they’ve been together for so long.

“Nah. She sent me some death glares, but that’s about it. And I’m fucking glad.”

He seems sincere in his declaration that it’s over. “If you say so.”

He grins at me. “I say so.” He looks out at some of the football guys who are dancing around the fire and making asses of themselves. Kingston looks like he’s about ready to join them. “You think we’ll make state?”