“It wasn’t specifically that concussion that made me retire. It was all the ones I’d had before. All the ones I’d have in the future if I kept competing.” He paused here, throat working. “All the injuries I’d be inflicting on other boxers. It wasn’t like Bobby’s uppercuts were any different from the punches I’d landed on him.”

The passing streetlamps and headlights flickered across Dean’s face like the shadows of a campfire.

“I’m not saying I’m turning down the job,” he said. “I did ask Harry to look into how the channel was talking about this stuff. If they were advocating for any changes or reporting on it differently.”

“What did he say?”

His lips twisted into a grimace. “Hasn’t gotten back to me yet.” He flicked on his turn signal. I dug my nails into the tops of my thighs to keep from hugging him. Which was both inconvenient and unsafe.

“You’re good to ask,” I said. “You’re good to care about your own body. And other bodies. You’re a thoughtful person, Dean. I know that whatever decision you make about the job will be the right one.”

He didn’t answer, but I noticed the color in his cheeks.

“Besides me dropping that Vegas bombshell,” he said, “Alice kept trying to get me to spill secrets about you. Since we’re flirting nonstop and all. That’s a direct quote.”

I turned to face him in my seat. “And?”

“Told her everything I knew.” His smile was almost lazy, limbs relaxing again with the subject change. “She had lemon bars.”

“You think there’d be some neighborly loyalty,” I said, shaking my head. I twisted around to peek into the back seat. It was similarly clean and roomier than I would have guessed.

“I graduated two years before you, right?” I asked.

“Yep.”

I fell back against my seat. “So, I wouldn’t have known if Rowan…or you…took this baby out to the hookup spot that everyone went to? The whole entire setup in this truck says steamy windows and heavy petting.”

“Did you just say the words heavy petting to me?”

“I don’t think that’s what the kids call it anymore, but…” I nudged his arm. “The question still stands.”

“Rowan did, of course,” he said. “I was already training six days a week and competing in amateur bouts. That meant strict diet, strict bedtime. No parties. No…” He paused here. “No girls.”

“Is that what you wanted?” I asked.

We curved around the statues on Kelly Drive, the museum rearing up ahead of us, bathed in golden light. There was a solitary parking spot left, and Dean took it with the grit of a lifelong resident, parking like his life depended on it. He killed the engine. It took him a few seconds to look at me.