“They invited me to their kid’s birthday party two weeks from now.”
“Of course.”
“What’s that mean?” He launches a tater tot into his mouth and chews through a smirk.
“Classic you. Friends with everyone. I’m surprised they didn’t invite you into their bed.”
“Oh, they did.”
I almost do a spit take. “Seriously?”
“I’m joking. Sort of. They implied the offer more than anything.”
The confession pulls an unexpected laugh out of me, and for a millisecond, I am transported back to our high school days. “You always were everyone’s favorite.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There wasn’t a single person when we were growing up who didn’t like you.”
“The dorky kid scribbling on notepads who everyone ridiculed?”
“Aw.” I soften at the memory of adorable little Max drawing at a picnic table. “When you were older, you were Mr. Popular.”
“No, I was Mr. I’m Going to Be Goofy and Outgoing So It Seems Like I Belong. You were the popular one. People either wanted to be you or date you.”
“What?” My mouth hangs open at our vastly different memories of our teen years.
“Guys would sprint down the hallways to find you when they heard about your latest breakup. You dated nonstop.”
“I dated an average amount for a teenage girl and—”
“There was Everett, Billy, Marquez, Jack—”
“Ugh,Jack.” I grimace, which elicits a chuckle from Max. He’s teasing me, and the satisfaction of it fizzles in my belly. “I’ve forgotten all of those guys. If there wereso many boyfriends, how do you even remember their names?”
“Dunno.” He pauses, then looks right at me, expressionless. “I just do.”
Relationships don’t come up in our voicemails—and for good reason, based on how tense the air has become. It’s thick enough to chew.
“Another round?” Sal asks at the end of the booth.
Max hunches over his beer, staring at the bottom of the empty glass, and something about it breaks my heart. He’s so out of place in a spot that used to be ours.
“No, thanks,” he says to Sal with a toothless smile. “Just the check.”
Chapter Five
Daisy, 11 Years Old
The black-and-white animal butted its warm head against my chin as we sat on the casita’s front porch swing.
“She’s cute.” Max reached out with a cautious hand to pet the tiny creature, and it mewed. “Hi, kitty.”
“How old do you think she is?” I asked to distract myself from the conversation inside the house.
“I don’t know. Still a kitten.” He inspected the feline’s rear end. “Also,shemight behe.”
The cat climbed me like its personal jungle gym, with one of its claws needling into the threads of my shirt. Its fur radiated heat from the cloudless day. I knew people sometimes dumped animals on the side of the street. The bumpy back road by thehouse didn’t get much traffic, so thank goodness Max heard the meows on his way over to ask if I wanted to play.
