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Knox scoots over in the doorframe to fit me. “Good lord, it’s like two octopuses trying to suck each other’s faces off.”

A giggle escapes me. “You just think that because it’s your sister.”

“I don’t really need to see anyone’s tongues mixing, Felicity.”

“I think it’s sweet.” There is a pop sound, and I really don’t want to know what that was. “I think it’s sweet from afar, I should say.”

“It’s something,” he sneers, and not for the first time, I wonder how Knox feels about this stuff. Not about his sister and her boyfriend particularly, but about romance…intimacy in general. Non-platonic touching. Whatever you want to call it.

The closest Knox and I have ever gotten to that kind of talk was when Stacy Hadley said she had a crush on him in ninth grade. I ran to tell him in the hallway, and he shrugged. “Well, I don’t have one on her.” Stacy heard the whole thing and was brokenhearted for all of two days until Ashford James said he wanted to kiss her behind the bleachers and said heart healed miraculously fast.

Between that and the general science behind baby-making he explained when I first saw two goats “fighting,” that’s as far as either of us have ever gotten into relationship talks.

Lottie giggles at something Walker whispers to her, and my heart makes this heavy sigh.

I wonder if Knox is capable of even feeling this longing that sits deep in my chest. The never-ending question of “will it happen for me one day too?” The reading of all my stacks of books late at night and wondering how impossible it would be to have something like that on my own.

Knox saves me from delving into the question more as he pounds on the door after a particularly loud and indistinguishable noise comes from the other side. “All right, all right. Cut that out, I need your boyfriend back.”

A few seconds pass before the door flings open—Walker’s hair is far more disheveled and Lottie looks up to her brother with a scowl. “I need my emotional support Walker.”

“You’ll get him intact in about…” He checks the time on his phone, and a picture of us at this last spring’s festival flashes just out of view. “An hour.”

“I’ll be right back, baby.” Walker stands and plants a sweet kiss to Lottie’s forehead before grabbing his new cowboy hat and setting it on her head. “You’re still very hot to me.”

She gives him a watery smile. “Okay.”

Knox all but pushes Walker out the door before flashing a wink my way and mouthing, “Good luck.” I smile as I watch him go across the hall and down the stairs.

Lottie walks back in her room and lies down on her bed, arms spread out wide. “What was I even upset about before?”

I snort. “You’re love drunk.”

“If that’s what this is, then I hope I’m never sober.”

My palms itch at the topic. “I wonder if I’ll ever be there.”

“Be where?”

“In the place where I could get swept off my feet.” Maybe not even full sweeping; I mean, the bar is pretty low. It would take a gentle breeze to knock me over at this point.

Lottie snorts. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m serious. That”—I point to her ruffled comforter from the over-the-top kissing—“is all I want.”

Maybe not all, but it’s high up there on the list.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there’s only one Walker Lane, and I think if I asked him to brand my name on his chest, he would do it.”

“Let’s be real here: He would probably beg you to let him do it.”

Lottie thinks for a moment before nodding in agreement.

I sigh. “Anyway, I didn’t mean I wanted Walker, obviously. I just want what you two have. Actually, I’m not even that picky. I just don’t want to go through this senior year and still have yet to even”—I lower my voice like someone might hear—“kiss someone.”

It’s my own fault, I know that. I’ve spent my whole life running around with Knox and caring for the shelter’s animals and waiting on my mom that I’ve never even allowed myself to seem available. Boys would flock around Lottie from day one, and even when she and Walker were first dating, people would ask for her number left and right. Meanwhile, I would be standing right next to her single as a…well, something single, and not even a glance in my direction.

“I think I’m invisible.” I frown. “It’s like boys look right through me.”