I open my own can and take a hesitant sip, trying not to crinkle my nose at the taste. Like always, it tastes like pee. I wish I’d taken Andrew more seriously when he tried to teach me to drink beer. I wish Andrew were here with me now. I’d definitely be freaking out a lot less.

Dean turns to me, leaning forward to speak in a soft voice.

“I have something special for you.” His voice fills me with warmth.

“Really?”

He pulls back from my ear and smiles. “Yeah, come to my room for a sec.” Before I can answer, he turns away from the kitchen and heads down the hall. I follow, throwing a glance back to my friends, who are all grinning stupidly. Ava gives me a thumbs-up. Danielle pulls her phone out of her purse and texts something. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket a moment later and glance at it.

Cool, confident, and experienced, remember? Don’t blow it . . . Or maybe do

Dean walks through his bedroom door and I follow him in, pocketing my phone before he can see it. His room is pretty bare, just a worn dresser and a bed in one corner, sheets unmade and rumpled. There’s a framed poster of The Bicycle Thief on one wall and a Pink Floyd poster on the other, the one with the row of naked women’s backs. A laundry basket sits in the corner, clothes piling out of it and onto the floor. He walks over to a cabinet in his closet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. It has a seal of red wax at the top.

He holds it up for me. “I know you like whiskey.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. I clear my throat. “Yeah, I do.” Danielle’s text is etched into my mind: cool, confident, and experienced.

“This is Maker’s Mark. Each individual bottle is sealed with wax by hand, so they’re all unique.” He moves a finger down the red wax at the top of the bottle. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna break it open?”

He hands me the bottle and I hold it gingerly, afraid I’ll drop it. I have no idea how to break open the wax seal. I reach into the purse hanging from my shoulder and dig around for my house key. Pulling it out, I run the jagged edge down the side of the wax. Dean takes the bottle from me, folding my fingers forward so the key is closed in my palm.

“There’s a tab,” he explains. “You just pull it.” He grabs ahold of the tab and the wax peels away, exposing a normal bottle top underneath. “That was a diligent effort though.” I feel my cheeks warm and stuff the key back into my bag. He brings the bottle up to his lips and takes a sip, then hands it back over to me. “Cheers, work buddy.”