“There’s a fan in the back room, but personally I think you look pretty good all flushed.” At his words, my face gets even hotter and I know it must look bright red. But I forget to feel self-conscious when he grabs my butt and pulls me forward into his heavy embrace. He kisses me, leaving his hand there and squeezing. I can’t believe his hand on my butt feels normal now. I feel like I’ve come a million years from the girl who was nervous when his knee touched mine.

I let all of my worries fade away, let my mind melt into a puddle from the heat, from his kiss, my chest fluttering with practiced excitement. This is what I need more than anything. Why did I let myself get so anxious about Andrew?

“Did you have fun on Saturday?” I ask, pulling away.

“It was fine,” he says.

Oh. Of course. Cue anxiety.

“Fine?”

“I mean, your friends are . . . just . . .” He trails off, not finishing his thought. Instead, he turns back to the counter and begins fiddling with some wires attached to the speakers. “I’m gonna find us an awesome soundtrack for today.”

“My friends are just what?” I ask, my voice sounding sharper than I intended. He plugs his phone into the speakers and shuffles through it.

“I mean, they’re just so . . . high school.” He clicks a button, and blaring trumpets and violins fill the room, triumphant. “John Williams.” He closes his eyes, letting the trumpets wash over him. “This guy has written, like, every single famous movie theme of all time. The man’s a genius. He takes good movies and makes them great; makes them fucking memorable. This one’s—”

“Jurassic Park,” I say. “I know. And what’s that supposed to mean? We are in high school.” I don’t like reminding him, but something about his tone is making me defensive.

“Rad,” he says. “Here I am trying to teach you what you already know.” Picking up his phone, he switches to another song, this one low and menacing. Ba dum. Ba dum.

“Jaws,” I say automatically. He lets it play behind us, building and building.

“I mean, when I’m with you, I just want to be with you. But your friends are just so involved. They want to know things. They want to feel like they’re a part of everything, when really it’s none of their business. I mean, the first time you came over you brought a whole squad. That’s what’s high school about it.” He taps on his phone and the music turns back into blaring horns. “If you don’t know this one, it’s just criminal. As store manager, I honestly don’t think I could let you work here, if you can’t name this—”

“It’s obviously Star Wars,” I say, shaking my head. “Okay, but your friends are involved. What about Cody?”