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“What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying comfort in general is bad; I’m saying you’re too comfortable to give her any kind of shock factor. She can’t be…swayed one way or the other when she’s so used to you that practice dating isn’t even an option.”

“That’s not true.”

Walker levels me with a look. “I saw you pee in front of her the other day.”

“Well, it’s not like she was staring directly at it.”

I look back to Ledger or Lawson for support, but they’re busy, still fighting in their chairs.

“Regardless,” Walker pushes on, “if you really want to be something more with her, take it as a good time to get through the friend zone or whatever stage you two are in. Take her on the dates, show her sides she hasn’t seen before. Flirt with her, and not in the way you do when you two argue. Show her there’s a part of you that’s relationship material.”

I hate to admit it, but maybe he’s got a point. I should at the very least not pee in front of her anymore.

Walker continues, “If she wants a month of a trial-run boyfriend, be the best boyfriend she can possibly have, and that way when the time comes for her to be with someone else—” My throat lodges as I suck in a breath. “Sorry, if the time comes for her to be with someone else, she’ll spend the whole time comparing that guy to you.”

“That…actually makes sense.” Lawson readjusts his chair so he’s on the opposite side of Ledger. “You need to woo her.”

“How do you woo someone who’s watched you pee?”

“Well, maybe don’t do that again, for starters.”

Ledger takes a sip as another car honks. “I think trying to shock her makes the most sense. Think about it: She only knows you in this way. She hasn’t seen the side of you that has any urge other than to take her out to eat as a friend.”

Except she has seen that side of me. Just once. And everything changed after I showed it.

But maybe…maybe if we didn’t get interrupted. Maybe if that dog never barked and if I allowed my hands to trail farther up her nape, into her hair. If my lips inched only centimeters closer and bridged the gap between friends and more. Maybe it would’ve made her see me different, as the kind of guy who could give her everything she’s wanting. Take her to movies and dinner and hold her and kiss her and do everything I’ve wanted to for years now.

“Okay.” I nod. “Okay, yeah you’re right.”

The guys keep talking, conversation moving to the football team and local rodeos and things I have zero interest in right now.

I have plans to make. Plans with one particular curly-headed, brown-eyed girl.

Chapter Seven Flick

I have a bottle of whiskey in my car at all times.

It sits under the back passenger seat, tucked behind an old T-shirt. Not for drinking—I have a self-proclaimed promise against ever taking a sip of anything alcoholic. But some nights, when it all gets too much, I like to sit in the backseat and open it. I lift it to my nose, close my eyes, and take a big whiff.

It smells like home. Like the sound of ice in a plastic cup. Like Mom rocking me side to side, saying “We’re going to do great things one day. You just see.” Her warm breath tickling my cold cheeks.

Another sniff.

Tucking me into bed. Falling asleep on the floor beside me. My one and only protector.

My childhood is formed in pieces and chunks of memories—little glimpses of an old mobile home with damp floors and a sink full of dirty dishes. But there’s other glimpses too. My mom whispering how much she loves me. Knox giggling at my bad singing. Sleeping over at Lottie’s house for the first time—how she got mad when I asked if we could sleep in her brother’s room since he had the best view of the sunrise. Petting barn cats and counting the tadpoles in the spring. It’s not a whole picture, but it’s there.

And yes, there are some moments spread in there that I don’t like to think of too often: checking Mom’s breathing to make sure she’s okay. Waiting on the front porch of Riley’s house to see if Mom was going to actually make a visit this time. Leaving voicemail after voicemail. Crying to Knox about how much I missed her. His reassurance that she would be there, she was just running late.

It doesn’t matter, Felicity. You’ve got me. And Lottie. You’ve got us.

But then there’s the times she did show and she’d go above and beyond. The new Mercedes she surprised me with on my sixteenth birthday, keys hiding in a little velvet black box. “Happy birthday, my darling.” The hug she gave me, the promise that we’d go on a road trip in it as soon as she got her next part settled.

I really loved that car because it smelled like her for a while. Mom missed some payments and it got towed three months later. I went into school feeling on top of the world and left thinking someone stole my car. Still, I know she tried her hardest for me. It’s not her fault acting jobs are so hard to find in California. She can’t be expected to act in the smallest of small towns in Alabama.

The screen in my lap lights up with her contact resting there: World’s Best Mom. Knox tried to change it a few times but eventually gave up because I kept changing it back. I take one more sniff of the bottle, the warmth in my nose traveling down my throat and resting low in my belly. Home.