I find my voice, croak out his name and glance up at him. He looks from the note to me, his eyes searching. Then he leans against the wall, his shoulders slumped. “I get that you might feel pressured—with what’s going on between us—and I know you’re still at that stage where you probably have a ton of mixed feelings, but I don’t, Lane. I want to be with you. More than anything. And I’m willing to wait until you’re ready. But if there’s any chance that you’re still in love with him, or that you’re going to get back together with him without even giving me a chance, then I’d rather know now. Save myself the disappointment.”

“You’re right,” I say, and his gaze drops. “I do have a ton of mixed feelings, but none of them have to do with Cooper. They don’t even have to do with you. It’s all about me and whether or not I’m strong enough to go through it all again. As far as getting back with Cooper, that’s never going to happen. Ever.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

A customer approaches then, asks Luke for two tickets to the latest Marvel movie even though I’m the one sitting behind the desk. “Sure.” Luke steps forward and presses random buttons on the register. I cringe, and Luke says, “That’ll be fifteen dollars, sir.”

The man looks at the admission sign, looks at Luke. “It should be twelve.”

“Sorry. My math is bad.”

The customer points to the register. “Isn’t that what that’s for?”

Luke glares at him, presses more random buttons until the cash drawer flies open, hits Luke in the junk. I giggle. I can’t help it. The man gives him fifteen dollars, tells him to keep the change. He earned it. Then I offer Luke my chair, and he sits, rests his head on my stomach. I stroke his hair, his ego. “Better?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not for another twenty-nine days.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

LUCAS

Over the next week, I spend more time with Laney than I did the entire time she was dating Cooper. I drive us to and from school, and when I’m available, I drive her to work. But I always pick her up, and I always show up an hour early. I don’t make excuses as to why I’m there, and she doesn’t ask, simply opens the side door for me. I now know how to work the register. When I drop her home, I walk her to the door. She doesn’t invite me in, and I don’t ask. But the question is there, hanging in the air, another one of our little games, and one day (soon) I’ll win. I always win. And so it’s been a week of conversation, a week of building back what we once had, a week of touching and teasing and mentally counting down the days. Today, it’s twenty-two.

Laney returns to the booth with a bucket of popcorn and hands it to me. “You’ve got that look,” she says.

I take the popcorn, sniff it. “What look?”

“No butter, no salt,” she says, “and that hungry I’m-going-to-eat-your-face look.”

“Your face isn’t what I’d be eating should it come down to that,” I tell her.

“Lucas!” she gasps.

I sell two tickets to the couple who own the comic book/sex toy shop. The husband winks. The wife says, “We have body paint in all flavors.”

They leave, and Laney’s still staring at me with wide eyes and an even wider mouth and I look away. The things I plan to do with that mouth.

She sits in a chair in the corner of the booth, and I stand behind the register, our regular routine. She says, “That meet in Charlotte this weekend—you really think Cooper’s going to be there?”

I throw a handful of popcorn at her.

“Luke!” she squeals, already getting the brush and dustpan. Not working here is fun.

“Why do you care if he’s going? Do you want to see him?”

“It depends.”

I turn to her. “On what exactly?”

She scoops up the popcorn, empties the dustpan in the trash. “On whether or not you can lend me $800…”

I switch the ticket booth sign to closed and shut the curtains. “You owe Cooper money or something?”

“No,” she says, sitting back down, her hands empty. “I want to pay his share of the car, and I don’t have enough. I tried to get a credit card, but it won’t be here in time. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get it.”

“The car was a gift, Lane.”

“And if it came from my dad alone, I’d appreciate it, but you don’t know Coop. There’s an ulterior motive for everything. I just don’t know what it is yet,” she says.

“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll front you the cash, but don’t pay me back with a fucking credit card. The interest rates on those things are ridiculously high. Just pay me back whenever. If you need more, it’s no problem.” I hate talking about Cooper, and I hate the sudden awkwardness it brings, especially in such a tight space. I look at the time. 9:15. I should leave, drive, clear my head, come back when it’s time. “I’ll be back at ten,” I tell her.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot a thing… for my dad.”

“Okay.”

I leave, come back at 10:02, and the first thing she says is, “What got into you?”

I sigh, hands on the wheel. “I just don’t like talking about Cooper, okay? And you can’t be pissed that I get mad when you bring him up.”

She doesn’t respond, and we spend the drive to her house in silence. I get out, walk her to the basement door. “I’m sorry,” she says, unlocking the door and turning to me. “I just thought…” She trails off, looks away.

“Thought what?”

Her eyes meet mine. “I thought I could talk to you about this, that you, out of everyone, would understand how important it is for me to cut ties with him once and for all so I can move on… especially considering you’re the one I plan on moving on with.”

I’m such a fucking dick. I step forward, one hand on her waist, the other in her hair, pulling her to me. Then I lean against the doorframe, one foot in her room. “You want me to stay?” I ask.

She says, “Yes,” and my heart skips a beat. But then she adds, “But you shouldn’t.” She kisses my cheek, guides me back outside. “Twenty-two days,” she tells me.

Twenty-two days turns to twenty-one turns to twenty, which is also the day of the track meet in Charlotte. I have to leave by 5 am to get there by 6 for registration. At 4:45, while I’m packing my gear, my regular alarm goes off at the same time there’s a knock on my door. Laney’s on the other side, her hair a mess, her eyes half closed, and I don’t even bother hiding my surprise. She’d already given me her share of the cash she wanted me to hand over to Cooper, as well as specific instructions: “Tell him it’s for the car. That’s all you have to say. Nothing more. Nothing less. I mean it, Luke. Nothing more!”

I open the door wider. “4:45 looks good on you, Sanders.”

“Fuck you and coffee,” she mumbles.

“Counter.”