“Great, I’m glad.” She took her hand away, which left my cheek somehow colder. She flipped her long, wet hair over her shoulder, filling the room with the scent of her cinnamon shampoo. “By the way, you owe me.”

“For the date? Can’t say I’m not flattered—”

“No. I found the present you left under my bed. You really haven’t changed at all.”

“Which one?”

“Funny.” She leaned against the door. “Need anything else for tonight?”

“Hey,” I said, before she could leave. “Want to tell me why Daley’s car deserved to be attacked?”

“Maybe when you’re wearing a shirt. Maybe.”

As the clock in the hallway rang eleven, Eliza slipped away, leaving me standing in her guest room with a wide, stupid grin on my face.

RULE NUMBER 4

The Dating Clause: If a girl matches any of the following criteria, she shalt be off-limits forever until the end of time: A) Was a bro’s ex-girlfriend; B) Your bro, or your bro’s bro*, specifically told you he wanted her; C) Is your bro’s sister.

*Does not apply to your bro’s bro’s bro, etc.

A couple hours later, even though I was lying on the most comfortable mattress in the world and my head rested against a pillow like a grass skirt in a tropical paradise, I still couldn’t fall asleep. My phone said it was 1:22 a.m. I had two unread texts from Madison. One minute later than when I last checked it. Two texts that would remain unread.

For the last year or so, I’d had trouble sleeping. It usually wasn’t as much of a problem when I was at the O’Connors’ as it is when I’m in my own house, but tonight it seemed like the sleeplessness wasn’t going to go away. It wasn’t like there were a million things on my mind either. Okay, I guess there was my mom freaking out at me, and Mr. Hoover, and Josh, and soccer-slash-my-dad . . . whatever.

I rolled out from under the sweat-covered sheets and rubbed my hand against the back of my neck, trying to get some of the knots out.

Except for my moans and groans, the house slept quietly—too quietly, like it was holding its breath for an adventure. Stop imagining things. Not every moment of your life has to be a goddamn action movie.

I did what I always do whenever this happens: I pulled on a wrinkled hoodie and dug around for yesterday’s socks, then I tiptoed across the creaky flooring to hit up the basement.

Second to Carter’s room, the seriously legit, totally soundproof basement was my favorite spot in their house. It had everything a guy could ever ask for: an IMAX projector, surround sound, a pinball machine, a pool table, and it even had these little chocolate pudding cups lying around. No lie.

Being the absolute man that he is, Carter lets me come down in the middle of the night to play with his toys. Toys, in this case, being defined as his movie projector. One of the benefits of being friends with Carter, besides that his refrigerator holds an endless supply of ginger ale, is his movie selection. It was as if every streaming service in the universe teamed up with the Library of Congress and decided to camp out in some random town in Massachusetts.