“I’ll believe that,” I mumbled, imagining Will’s even-deeper voice, his expertly wicked fingers, his broad, solid chest.

“I’m not just talking about the developing male body, you know.” She paused, adding, “Though that, too. And now that I think of it, you should totally send me a picture of Will Sumner at thirty-one.”

“Liv!”

“I’m kidding!” she laugh-yelled through the phone and then paused. “No, I’m serious, actually. Send me a picture. But I really would hate for you to pass up a chance to spend time with him just because you expect him to always act like a nineteen-year-old man-whore. The truth is, don’t you feel like you’ve changed a lot since you were nineteen?”

I didn’t say anything, just chewed on my lip and continued to trace the carving on my mother’s antique hutch.

“And that was only five years ago for you. So think how he feels. He’s thirty-one. There’s a lot of wisdom to be gained in twelve years, Ziggs.”

“Blerg,” I said. “I hate when you’re right.”

She laughed. “I assume your logical brain has been using all this as some sort of a force field against the Sumner charm?”

“Not very well, apparently.” I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall.

“Oh God, this is amazing. I’m so f**king happy you called today. I’m giant and pregnant and nothing about me is interesting right now. This is awesome.”

“Isn’t this weird to you at all?”

She hummed, considering. “I guess it could be, but honestly? Will and I . . . he was the first boy I fell in lust with, but that’s pretty much it. I got over that two seconds after Brandon Henley got his tongue pierced.”

I pressed my hand over my eyes. “Oh gross.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell you about that one because I didn’t want to ruin you, and I didn’t want you to ruin it for me by researching how the piercing affected the contractility of the muscle or whatever.”

“Well, this has been a scarring conversation,” I said. “Can I go now?”

“Oh stop.”

“I really made a mess of things,” I groaned, rubbing my face. “Liv, I was a total dick to him.”

“Looks like you have some ass to kiss. Is he into that sort of thing now?”

“Oh my God!” I said. “Hanging up!”

“Okay, okay. Look, Zig. Don’t see the world from the eyes of a twelve-year-old. Hear him out. Try and remember that Will has a penis and this makes him an idiot. But a sweet idiot. Even you can’t deny that.”

“Stop making sense.”

“Impossible. Now go put on your big-girl panties and fix things.”I spent the entire walk to Will’s apartment trying to dissect every memory I had of that Christmas, trying to reconcile them with what Liv had told me.

I’d been twelve and fascinated by him, fascinated by the idea of him and my sister together. But now that I’d heard Liv’s version of events of that week and what had come after, I wondered how much of it had been real, and how much my overdramatic brain had manufactured. And she had a point. Those memories had made it so much easier to shove Will into a man-whore-shaped box, and almost impossible to imagine him out of it. Did he want more? Was he capable of it? Did I?

I groaned. I had a lot of apologizing to do.

He didn’t answer the door when I knocked; he didn’t answer any of the messages I sent standing there.

So I did the only thing I could think, and resorted to texting him bad dirty jokes.

What’s the difference between a penis and a paycheck? I’d typed. When there was no reply, I continued. A woman will always blow your paycheck.

Nothing.

What did one boob say to the other? And when no answer came: You’re my breast friend. Jesus these were bad.

I decided to try one more. What comes after sixty-nine?

I’d used his favorite number, and hoped this might be enough to lure him out.

I almost dropped my phone when the word What popped up on my screen.

Mouthwash.

Oh for f**ks sake, Hanna. That was terrible. Get up here before you embarrass us both.I practically sprinted to the elevator.

His door was unlocked, and when I walked in, I saw he’d been in the middle of cooking dinner, pots boiling on the stove, the counter colored in produce. He was wearing an old Primus T-shirt and faded, ripped jeans—looking good enough to eat. He didn’t glance up when I entered, but kept his head down, his eyes on the knife and the cutting board in front of him.