“What would you say if I told you the excitement isn’t over yet?”

My eyebrows went up. “I’d be curious, I think. Unless you’re planning to take me to the soccer field for another rematch. In which case, I’m much too tired and you win.”

He chuckled. “No more rematches. I promise. Just”—he switched on his stereo and slid in a CD—“this.”

BOYBAND 2.0 started blasting from his speakers. I started to laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I’m jamming down to some awesome music,” he said, his face a mask of mock seriousness.

“You are making fun of me, and I am not amused.”

“You’re right. I totally am. Maybe you’ll forgive me when I give you these.” He handed me an envelope.

I opened it. And then I screamed like a teenage fangirl.

Two tickets. Third row, center at Philips Arena in Atlanta. To the BOYBAND 2.0 Reunion Tour. I leaned over the center console and wrapped my arms around Jamie’s neck. “Seriously. This is the most ridiculously stupid but still incredible thing ever. I am so embarrassed that I am so excited to go, but gah!” It was hard to keep from squealing. “I am so excited to go!”

“I thought you would be.”

“Have I even told you about my BOYBAND obsession?”

“You mentioned it in passing. When you were talking about things you and Randi had in common.”

“That’s right. I did. Ohh!” My eyes opened wide. “The concert’s in Atlanta. I could take Randi!” I looked back at Jamie. “Wait. That’s crazy. You have to come with me.”

“I . . . have to be in California that weekend. You can take Randi.”

I looked back at the tickets. “October 31. Halloween. That’s the Thursday before Dave and Katie’s wedding. You have to be in California two days before your brother gets married?”

He looked trapped, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open.

My jaw dropped. “You just lied to me so you wouldn’t have to go to the concert.”

He grimaced. “Yes? I did?”

I swatted at him. “You are a terrible human being.”

“Come on! I bought the tickets. I support your obsession. I just don’t want to be a part of it. I love you, Lane, but I’m only willing to go so far.”

I froze. I love you, Lane. He must have sensed my sudden discomfort because he reached for me, his hand cupping my cheek. “Sorry,” he said softly. “That’s not how I’d imagined saying it for the first time.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, leaning into his touch. I closed the distance between us and kissed him, then brushed my lips across his cheek, hovering next to his ear. “I don’t want you to go to my concert anyway,” I said. “But . . . I love you too.”

* * *