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I shrug. “So ...” I glance out toward the dock. “Should we take the boat out?”

“I don’t think so.” He sighs, sounding exhausted. “I don’t want to get in trouble with your dad.”

“You dork. If anyone gets in trouble, it’ll be me.”

There were exactly three weeks back when I was seventeen that I was permitted to use the boat without parents on board.No more than two passengers, no alcohol, and absolutely no citationswere my dad’s rules. I broke the first rule week one and the second on week two, but he didn’t find out about those until I broke the third on week three.

Lorenzo shakes his head. “Still. Let’s just take it easy.”

“You are so uptight, Lorenzo! You’ve been complaining all week about how you’re sick of taking it easy. If I wanted to watch someone lie around all day, I didn’t need to invite you.” I gesture toward the cats basking in the sunlight on the windowsill.

“I’m not uptight.” That word always gets him because he knows it’s exactly what he is. And exactly the opposite of what he was the first seventeen years of his life.

“See, that’s what I thought, but then you told me you were scared of my five-foot-nine-and-shrinking father and, well, that sealed your fate.”

He almost smiles. “I’m not uptight,” he says again, gathering the ice-cream containers to put them in the freezer.

I stop him. “Don’t.” I like my ice cream a little melty.

“You’re eating it now? I thought this was for tonight.”

“Ice cream before six p.m.?” I gasp and put a hand to my chest. “Scandal!”

He watches me grab a spoon and dig into the container of chocolate marshmallow. “I can’t wait until your eating habits catch up with you.”

I shovel a few more bites into my mouth just to be obnoxious and then hand him the spoon, knowing he’ll only put it in the dishwasher. “All right, let’s give these creeps their medicine, and then maybe we can catch a thrilling episode of late-morning local news on TV.” I open my parents’ “cat cabinet” and look for the blue prescription bottle.

“Ruby,” Lorenzo says behind me. “Check this out.”

I turn around just in time to see Lorenzo grinning behind a spoon loaded with chocolate marshmallow ice cream. I don’teven have time to speak before he’s launched the dripping ammunition across the room, and it splatters against my cheek. Lorenzo laughs as I yelp. My mouth falls open as I watch the mess roll down my T-shirt and plop onto the white-tile floor. Then I stare up at him. “Lorenzo!” I don’t know if I’m annoyed or impressed.

He merely cackles and rolls up his imaginary sleeves, then digs the spoon into the ice cream again.

“Don’t you fucking dare waste my ice cream!” I shriek, but he proceeds to do exactly that, launching another scoop at me. This time I duck, and I think I’ve dodged the mess, but as I straighten back up, Lorenzo hoots and points at my head. I reach up and find the cold, dripping mess in my hair.

The wicked grin on Lorenzo’s face sends a ripple of thrill running through me. I know that look. I’ve missed that look. I reach for the can of whipped cream on the counter and shake it like mad.

The cats flee, their ears pinned in alarm, as we break out yelling and screaming, and dairy in various stages of chill flies across the room. I quickly learn how to use the kitchen island that separates us as a barrier, but Lorenzo’s throwing speed and precision get me every time I pop up to toss another ice-cream grenade at him. Sneak attack time.

I wipe ice cream off my brow and crawl around the island, a bottle of chocolate syrup in hand. But the floor is a slippery mess, and my knee goes out from under me, the thump giving me away. Before I can recover, Lorenzo is above me. I shriek, trying to roll away, but he gets down on one knee and grabs me from behind.

“Lorenzo, your shoulder!”

“My shoulder’s fine. Don’t try to weasel your way out of this, sweetheart.” At that, an entire jar of rainbow sprinkles rainsdown on me, sticking to every speck of melted dairy on my skin and clothes. “Take that!” he yells victoriously.

I push him off and spring to my feet, wondering why he’s not tackling me from behind. But one glance at the counter and I get it: We’re out of munitions. The ice-cream containers are depleted, a whipped-cream can lies sadly on its side, and whatever sprinkles aren’t clinging to me are crunching under my feet. I spin around and Lorenzo is watching me, his eyes dancing. That’s when I see he’s managed to get his hands on the chocolate syrup I’d planned to use on him.

I’m no match for his size and strength, but I go for it anyway, launching myself at his uninjured side and trying to wrestle the chocolate syrup from his strong hand.

“Sneaky little brat,” he says with a laugh. “You underestimate me.” In one move he has both my wrists pinned helplessly behind my back.

“You asshole,” I squeal. I watch him open the bottle of syrup with his teeth and tilt it to get a good flow going. Only then, thinking of the new lacy white bra I’m wearing, do I give up. “Okay, okay. Truce!”

“Oh, now you want a truce. After all your shit-talking?” He smiles as he inches the bottle closer. His chest rises and falls with the exertion of the last few minutes.

I thrash, trying to free myself, but he’s too strong. “Okay, you’re not uptight,” I yelp. His hands loosen just slightly around my wrists, and I can’t resist saying, “It’s not your fault you have a stick up your ass.”

“And finally your big mouth catches up with you.” Lorenzo squeezes the bottle and sticky brown syrup begins streaming out as he slowly brings it closer to my head.