“Which is completely fictional, but that’s not the point. The point is my mom thinks you’re adorable and she hasn’t even met you yet.”
I slumped back and let my head fall against the window. “This is like a nightmare.”
“This is like a dream come true,” Skyler corrected. “I’m taking the person I’m crazy about to meet my parents, and they’re already half in love with you based on a few photos and my biased descriptions of how amazing you are.”
“You’re driving fifteen miles over the speed limit. You’re a law-breaker,” I pointed out.
“I’m eager to get there. There’s a difference.”
“There’s really not.”
It had been a month sincethatgame, since I’d worn Skyler’s jersey and watched him play and ended up in that ridiculous post-game meeting about Erik’s Viking falcon mythology.
It had also been a month of practically living at each other’s places whenever he was in town, of toothbrushes migrating between bathrooms and clothes ending up in each other’s dressers, of talking about “our” plans like we’d been together for years instead of barely a few months.
We’d gone from awkward near-kisses and sloppy tacos to discussing a future together almost overnight; and while it thrilled me, the pace was also head-spinning. Some rational part of my brain kept wondering if we were building something real or just getting caught up in the rush of very aggressive puppy love.
“Okay, new topic,” Skyler announced. “What’syour favorite embarrassing childhood story? Because Dean’s going to ask, and you need to be prepared with something good.”
“Why would your brother ask about my embarrassing childhood stories?”
“Because that’s what Dean does. He’s like a heat-seeking missile for embarrassing information about people I care about.” Skyler’s voice was getting more animated, the way it always did when he talked about hockey or his teammates . . . or his family. “He’ll charm it out of you before you even realize what’s happening, then use it against you when you’re most vulnerable. The guy could get state secrets out of a CIA agent by being friendly and asking the right questions.”
“What kind of embarrassing stories?”
“Oh, you know, like the time I got so nervous before prom that I threw up on my date’s shoes, or the phase where I thought I could become a professional wrestler and practiced moves on our couch until I broke it. Then there’s the fact that I used to practice kissing on the back of my hand.”
I snorted. “You practiced kissing on your hand?”
“I was twelve, and it was research! My mom told me that’s how everyone got better at it,” Skyler protested. “Of course, Dean caught me doing it. To this day, he’s never let me forget it because he hasthe memory of a sadistic, vindictive elephant and the social skills of a daytime talk show host.”
“I still can’t believe you practiced kissing. That’ssoyou.” Despite my anxiety, I found myself laughing. “What other ammunition does he have?”
“Oh, God, everything. He knows I cried duringThe Notebook. He knows I used to sing Justin Timberlake songs in the shower—and yes, I was good, no matter what he says.” Skyler’s voice was fond despite his complaints. “But here’s the thing about Dean—he’ll roast me mercilessly, but the second anyone else tries it, he’ll turn into this fierce, protective little brother who will talk them into questioning their own life choices before threatening said life with bodily harm.”
“He sounds intimidating.”
“He’s not intimidating, he’s . . . Dean. Imagine me but shorter, funnier, with better hair, and zero filter.” Skyler paused. “Actually, that’s not fair. He has a filter. He chooses not to use it most of the time because he thinks life’s more entertaining that way.”
“Better hair?” I asked, because Skyler’s hair was perfect.
“I know, right? It’s deeply unfair. We have the same hair, same stupid dimples, same smile that makes people want to trust us with their deepest secrets. The key here is that he uses those powers forgood instead of charming people into doing things for him.”
“You don’t charm people?”
“I absolutely, accidentally charm people, and most of the time, it’s for evil purposes.” His grin turned devious before smoothing. “Dean does it on purpose, and for the good of everyone involved. There’s a difference.”
“He sounds like a good guy.”
Skyler let out a chuckle that somehow sounded distant even though we sat only inches apart. “He’s the best. You’re gonna love him.”
We passed a sprawling field with cows of various sizes and colors. One had a mottled black-and-white pattern that reminded me of a domino.
“So I was thinking,” Skyler continued, seamlessly changing topics the way he did when he was nervous. “I think we should all hang out more with the guys. You and me and Tyler and Erik. Maybe we could grab dinner or something when they’re not being assholes.”
Something warm bloomed in my chest. The casual way he said it—like including me in his friend group was a given, as though I belonged in his world in ways that extended beyond the two of us.
“Yeah?” I said, trying to keep my voice casual.
