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“Hey,” he says, running a hand over his dark ponytail. “I hope I’m on time.”

Mike smiles, clearly recognizing the man who’s been spending most days with him but then seems to fumble for his name or any context. With his long hair, hemp necklaces, and patchy goatee, Jordan has the crunchy hippie thing going on. It threw me off the first time I met him, but his warmth, confidence, and his way of handling Mike with ease earned my confidence quickly.

“Good to see you … again,” Mike says, still searching through a mental database and coming up short.

I step in. “Naomi, this is Jordan. He’s my personal assistant and acts as Mike’s personal chauffeur.”

This is the story Jordan suggested to explain his presence to Mike. “A hockey player could use an assistant,” he’d said with a shrug. “Easy.”

It’s worked so far, though every so often when Mike thinks I’m back in high school, he assumes Jordan is an unlikely looking teammate.

“Nice to meet you.” Jordan holds out a hand to Naomi, who shakes it, offering him a friendly smile. “I’m here to grab Mike.”

Naomi glances at me, eyes narrowing a little. I give her a little nod that I hope communicates,Hang on and I’ll explain everything.

“Icandrive, you know,” Mike tells her. “My car just … isn’t here.”

And it’s true; hecandrive. Technically. Up until he moved here, he was driving, and the thought terrifies me. His car actually is here, but I’m currently paying for long-term storage.

Mike’s driving is actually how his family found out he needed help. Mike left home, then forgot where he was going and where he lived. Eventually, he ran out of gas and the police found him on the side of the road, overheated, a little dehydrated, and totally beside himself. They found his daughter’s contact info in his phone, and Lisa called because she thought I’d want to know. I’m sure she didn’t expect my offer to take him in.

Anyway, the whole incident started the process that led to him being here. Without a license. Or access to his car.

I keep my car keys hidden at Jordan’s recommendation.

“But Jordan loves your company,” I tell Mike.

“I do,” Jordan says easily. “Are you ready to head out? I thought you and I might stop for a malt on the way home.”

Chocolate malts have always been one of Mike’s favorite things. I didn’t even know what they were before living with him, and I don’t particularly like the taste. But for him, they make an easy bribe.

He pats his belly. “I’d love a malt. But how will you get home?” he asks me with a frown.

Naomi takes a sip of water, watching me carefully over the rim of her glass.

“We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Will you give him a ride home?” He glances earnestly at Naomi. “He’s not supposed to drive our cars. Insurance purposes—you know how those companies are.”

“Um,” Naomi says, still looking at me.

Jordan jumps in to save us. “They’ll be fine,” he tells Mike. “And I bet they’ll enjoy their privacy.” He gives me a roguish look then elbows Mike, who chuckles. “If you know what I mean.”

I’m not a man who blushes, but I can feel the heat traveling up the back of my neck. This was not part of the plan Jordan and I discussed earlier. But then, when we’re both playing roles, playing along is part of the game.

I heave a good-natured sigh and roll my eyes.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Mike says with a smirk, and I have a brief and terrible flashback of him saying those exact words the one and only time I had a girl over to their house back in the day. “And remember your curfew, young man.”

I give him the only correct response in this case, which is a polite “Yes, sir.”

To her credit, Naomi sits quietly through the exchange, not looking embarrassed or even confused—just like she has a million questions she’ll lob at me as soon as Jordan and Mike are out of earshot.

“Hope to see you again soon, sweetheart.” Mike winks at Naomi. “And I’ll dig up that photo of Camden for you. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s a video of the whole thing somewhere.”

“No,” I groan dramatically, though if such a thing does exist, I’m sure he won’t be able to find it.

“Yes! Please. It was great to meet you.”