True to his word, Maverick introduces me to everyone. He has a shirt on now, but the tattoos that cover both arms, all the way down to his fingers, are still visible. And I can spot a hint of his chest ink peeking out of the top of his T-shirt.

He leads me to where Liam and Jordan are standing. Liam and Maverick look like polar opposites. Where Johnny Maverick is dark-haired and covered in tattoos, Liam is blond and clean cut. He’s even wearing a polo shirt. Even though I met him earlier, this time when Maverick introduces me, Liam extends a hand for me to shake. “Ginny, really nice to meet you.”

“Same.” His politeness catches me by surprise, but I slip my hand into his giant palm and squeeze.

“Roadrunner?” Jordan asks, holding a blue shot glass out to me.

I take it and sniff. “What’s a Roadrunner?”

“It’s like a Blue Kamikaze,” he says and continues passing out shots.

I don’t bother asking what a Blue Kamikaze is. My experience with alcohol is pretty limited. My high school bestie always grabbed a bottle of white wine from her parents’ wine refrigerator and we’d drink that when we went to parties or had sleepovers. I never paid much attention to the label—none of it was great, but it was better than beer.

Jordan lifts his and the rest of us mimic the movement. I watch the others drink first. No one grimaces, so I take a sip. It’s good, sweet. I smile and then drain the rest of the glass.

“We’re off to meet more people,” Mav tells them, pulling me away. He stops every couple of steps to make introductions and share the bottle of Mad Dog he’s carrying. He’s funny and kind of ridiculous, saying whatever pops into his head. Or maybe not, but if he’s holding back at all—I don’t want to think about the thoughts left unsaid.

“Total douche,” he says after we’re done talking to one guy that I think he said was a neighbor.

I laugh. “Then why did you introduce me to him?”

“Gotta know which ones to stay away from.”

The next time he stops, it’s in front of a girl standing by herself, her face hidden behind her phone. “Dakota, baby, I missed you all summer.”

“You missed having someone to bum laundry detergent and junk food from.” She looks up and over the device at Maverick. She’s pretty. Big, ice-blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair that hangs in loose waves around her shoulders. She looks sweet, but the playful glare she gives Maverick makes me believe she could cut a bitch with words alone. That gaze slides to me and softens. “Hey.”

“Dakota lives in the apartment next door. I’m her favorite neighbor.” He tips his head to me. “This is Scott’s little sister, Ginny.”