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He shook his head, not buying that excuse. “Why?”

“Because he’s in my house, with my grandma to make me sad or something, and it’s working. I don’t want to be sad! I’m angry! I was with him for an entire year. I listened when he complained; I helped him with homework and sat through all his comic book explanations. I brought him breakfast burritos to school once a week! I woke up early to make those. And all he did was take my future from me. I’m mad at myself for feeling even an ounce of sadness.”

It wasn’t until Theo pulled me into a hug that I realized I was crying. I thought about pushing away to get myself under control and wipe my face, but he held me tight. It felt good in his arms, so I melted against him.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, just rubbed my backand breathed in when I breathed out, his heartbeat steady against mine. His mouth rested ever so lightly against my forehead.

After what felt like an eternity and my tears had dried and the only feeling left was exhaustion, Theo said against my head, “You’re allowed to be sad over the loss, Finley.”

“I’m not anymore. I’m over it.” I mean, really, I was. Not over what he’d done but definitely over him. That’s why the feeling surprised me so much. Maybe Theo was right, I had been holding on to so much anger that I hadn’t quite processed the loss yet. I had now. This was all I was giving myself.

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise vibrating through my chest. “You made that jerk weekly breakfast burritos?”

I let out a breathy laugh. “I know, right? I was more pathetic than I realized.”

He held on to my upper arms and created some space between us, studying my face. For what, I wasn’t sure. “He didn’t take your future.” He met my eyes with the statement, making it even more sincere.

I shrugged. Between the hosting spot and the internship that went with it, he pretty much had.

“You have more talent than he’ll ever have. He didn’t deserveyou.”

My heart raced with his words but also with the intensity in his eyes as he stared at me. “You don’t know that,” I said.

“I do.”

I pushed his chest, finally breaking our connection. “Thanks…friend.” The word tasted wrong in my mouth, and I hated that. Iwantedto be his friend and forget that my body was suddenly tryingto tell me it wanted more. I couldn’t have more. Not with him. Not when I didn’t fully trust him. I didn’t even fully trust myself.

And yet, I didn’t stop him when he pulled me back into his arms again. In fact, I leaned in. And when he whispered, “You’re not wasting my time,” I let myself believe it.

Chapter

twenty

MEET ME HERE AT 9.

The text was followed by an address in Atascadero, a town about twenty minutes east of us. It was eight now.

When I’d left his house the day before after being comforted through my breakdown (something a good night’s rest hadn’t erased the embarrassment of), he’d said to be at his house at eight-thirty. This was a change of plans.

I thought we were training today,I responded. I needed to kick. Watching more than half the footballs I’d kicked the day before land far from the net, I knew I needed every second of practice I could get.

We are. See you at 9.

“Bossy,” I said to my room. An image of yesterday, our chests pressed together, my forehead against his lips, flashed through my mind, and I had to brace myself on the edge of my bed.

My phone buzzed again and I thought Theo was adding somesort of instruction to the morning, but the text was from Lee in our group chat.

Congrats on the views, Fin. Your last episode was fire.

What are you talking about?

Your podcast.

My brows shot down, and I went to my laptop at my desk, where I pulled up my stats bar. It told me forty-five people had listened to the installment I had published three days ago. “The Almost Kiss” was what I had labeled the episode. I was confused. Sure, forty-five wasn’t that many, but it was more listeners than all the previous episodes combined.

That’s weird,I texted back.

Why is that weird?