“Um,” I say back, brilliantly. I don’t know enough about wine to have a preference. I’ve had a few sips here and there, on holidays, but I’ve never had to order it. Dean seems so experienced, confident about so many things that are new and scary to me. It’s confusing to feel so intimidated by him and so attracted to him at the same time.

I tell him to order red wine, because for some reason it feels more grown up.

“Great.” He turns back to the waitress. “Your cheapest red.”

I guess I can’t fault him—we don’t make very much at the video store and I have no idea how much wine actually costs.

“You got it,” she says. “I’ll be back with some menus.”

“That was impressive,” I say, once she’s gone. “How did you come up with that? Do you have a fake ID?”

“My brother’s old one,” he says. “He’s twenty-three. He reported it missing so I could have it.”

He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal. I look enough like my cousin Beth I could probably get away with using her ID, but the idea is terrifying.

The waitress comes back over with the bottle and two wineglasses, pouring a bit into one of the glasses and handing it to Dean.

“You like it?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” he says, not bothering to try a sip. She keeps pouring, filling up both of our glasses halfway, and then leaves the bottle on the table. He picks up his glass and I pick up my own. We clink them together.

“Cheers, Prom Date,” he says, and I smile. I take a sip of the wine. It’s bitter, but sweet, like juice that’s gone bad. I don’t hate it, but I don’t particularly like it either. Still, it’s way better than the whiskey.

Dean puts down his glass and leans back in the booth, folding his hands casually on the table. “So, I don’t think your friend Andrew likes me very much.”

I blush, taking another sip of wine. “He’s just protective of me. We’ve known each other our whole lives. I think he doesn’t like seeing me with a guy because he thinks I’m still a little kid.” I feel my cheeks heat the second I’ve said it and take a sip to cover my embarrassment. I cannot believe I just referred to myself as a little kid.

“I think he has a crush on you,” Dean says, and I choke on my wine.

“It’s not like that at all. We’re just friends. He’s like my brother.” Those words have always come naturally to me, but now they don’t sit right. I think back to what happened between us last night. Brother isn’t the right word at all.