“Are you Googling? I can see you on your phone.”

  She could? Oh, right… the peephole in the door. Not fair. She could see me, but I couldn’t see her. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “Sorry.” I spoke loud enough for her to hear me through the door. “So, not fear of spiders then?”

  “No,” she called back.

  “Sounds—not fun.”

  “It isn’t fun.”

  “Does Nick know?”

  “Of course he knows. We live together. Why wouldn’t he know?”

  “Right. So you don’t like leaving the house? Or is it me you’re afraid of? Of strangers? Was a phone call with me less invasive?”

  I stared at Nick’s white front door. He and Lou had a nice rental. It wasn’t beachside, but it was brand new construction, large, and came with a manicured yard. This girl would probably squeal if she ever saw my house. Not the good kind of squealing. Not the kind I like evoking in a woman.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

  “Both.”

  I shrugged. Right. I pulled my phone back out of my pocket, and I quickly dialed her number. Fuck talking through this door. I wanted to have this conversation hearing her clearly.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “So, what gave you the impression I’m in love with Amanda?” I questioned. Because she had mentioned that somewhere in the middle of her dissection of my motivations. I wasn’t in love with Amanda. I knew I wasn’t. I loved her as a friend, as one of my best friends, but I wasn’t in love with her.

  But I also hadn’t corrected Lou either.

  Not yet at least.

  “Your loyalty.”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I? Telling her secrets. That isn’t loyalty.”

  “In a roundabout way you’re still here for her. Seems like loyalty to me. You know Nick’s the biological father. You want Amanda’s baby to have that—a real father. Maybe you didn’t have one growing up.”

  I placed a palm on her door, talking to the peephole and my phone at the same time. “Shit, honey, you need to stop analyzing me.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “No, actually… I don’t mind so much.”

  “Really?”

  “Keep going. Tell me another assumption you have about me?”

  “Am I right about the father thing?”

  “Perhaps. Mine was never around.”

  “Then maybe it’s a deep-seeded wish of yours—to be a father opposite of the one you had. Or maybe you’re fearful you’ll turn into your father. So you’d rather see Amanda with a man you know won’t hurt her. A man who won’t leave her or leave the baby. Rather than fight for her, you’re pushing her toward Nick. Because it’s easier. Safer. Because you leave all your relationships before they get serious enough to turn into something real.”

  Well... fuck me twice on Sunday. There was some truth to that.

  She had the ‘in love with Amanda’ part wrong, but other parts of her—almost psychic reading—were scary precise. Like the ‘me leaving relationships before they got serious’ part. That hit the nail on the head.

  “I thought I was just bored. In relationships, I mean. I thought I was bored and that was why they never worked.”

  “Don’t listen to me. I’m just guessing.”

  “It’s pretty fucking accurate guessing.”

  “You push people away?”

  “Sort of, yes. What about you? Do you push men away because of your agraphobia?”

  “Agoraphobia.”

  “Right. That.”

  “The only guy I really know is Nick. And I don’t push him away.”

  “Is Nick an ex?”

  “No.”

  It was such a definitive ‘no.’ I wished right now that I could do the same thing to her that she was doing to me—read her like an open book. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell if she was an only-child type or a person who came from a giant family. I couldn’t tell if she grew up rich or poor. I couldn’t even tell if her accent—she kind of had one—was the same as Nick’s northern one or more similar to my southern one. I felt clueless. And, honestly, a little dumb being in her presence. Because she was smart. Extremely smart. Definitely smarter than me.

  “It’s hot,” I muttered. “Are you hot?”

  “I have air conditioning on my side of the door. So, no.”

  “You got one part of your analysis wrong.”

  “Which?”

  “I’m not in love with Amanda. I never have been. I never will be. I’ve never slept with her, so there was never any question about the baby being mine. All your other guesses about me, though—pretty damn close to the real me.”

  “You’re not in love with Amanda?”

  “No, honey. I’m not.”

  I bit down on my lips. I had so much more I wanted to discuss with this girl.

  ~ CHAPTER 9 ~

  LOU

  My mouth was dry. I dropped to the tile floor because…holy crap! The way he said, ‘honey,’ had my knees feeling week. “I’m sorry I assumed,” I mumbled.

  “No worries.”

  “I feel like an idiot.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “You shouldn’t. Look, I should go. It’s late.”

  I felt ridiculous. My stomach rolled and my hands were beginning to shake. I never should have answered the door tonight. I should have stayed silent when he called for Nick. I shouldn’t be taking any chances.

  “Can I come over again?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like tomorrow.”

  “I still don’t get what you mean.”

  He groaned, a sexy noise deep in his throat. “I want to come over and spend more time with you. If you’re up for that?”

  “I won’t open the door tomorrow, either.”

  “We can talk the same as this tomorrow.”

  “I don’t see how that’s any fun for you.”

  “The door doesn’t bother me, Lou. You’re in my head. You and your damn hoodie are in my fucking head. Will you let me come over again? If tomorrow is no good, another day?”

  I didn’t know how to feel or what to think. “Tomorrow is okay.”

  “Perfect. I’m going to go then. Bye, for now.”

  I stood to my feet. With the phone still pressed to my ear, I moved to the peephole so that I could watch him leave. I saw his large body take the stairs down to the ground level. I heard his car start as I imagined him climbing inside. One problem though, he hadn’t hung up.

  “I’m in your head?” I dared to whisper. My skin was crawling as I asked.

  “Yes. Which is kind of an unusual thing for me,” he muttered. “I have a short attention span. I don’t linger over anyone for long.”

  “So, I have your attention for the moment, but I shouldn’t count on it lasting.”

  “Basically.”

  That sounded about right. For the first time in my life, I had an actual boy interested in me. Not one made up in my head. Not a book boyfriend. But a physical, flesh and blood, boy. Hardly a boy. A man. A man showing a smidgen of interest. But, as he said, interest that wouldn’t last. Which sounded exactly right for me. “How long do you typically stay interested when a woman gets in your head?”

  “A week. Two, tops.”

  “So I get you for a week?”

  “Or two.”

  “Then I better make the most of it.”

  He chuckled. “Really now?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Alright, Lou. Let’s see how things go for a week. Maybe two.”

  “I like that.”

  “Then, deal. You have me for two weeks.”

  ~ CHAPTER 10 ~

  FINN

  Back at my house, it was quiet and empty. I usually stayed the night over at the house or apartment of whichever girl I was currently seeing, the fuck-girl of the week. Since at the moment I had only Lou in my thoughts, and she didn’t seem like the type to start letting me sleep over anytime soon, tonight I would be home. Alone.

  My place was a mess. Well, the clutter was organized in my mind, but I knew another person wouldn’t see it the same way. I loved art, in lots of different mediums, which wasn’t exactly normal for a guy. My place reflected that.

  Supplies. Remnants from past projects. Things I’d collected over the years or saved to use in future projects. All of it cluttered my one-bedroom home. Tattoos were only my day job. When I had time alone, it was spent here, in my little hole, creating.

  Lately, I’d moved away from canvas and toward what I think was becoming a graphic novel. Lou mentioned she was a writer, and I wondered how’d she view what I’d been working on. I hardly knew her, but I had this weird feeling she’d be into it. Which wasn’t an impression I’d ever gotten out of a woman I’d dated.

  I sat at my desk in the middle of the living room, topped with an array of markers, chocks, and colored pencils, and I studied the page I’d worked on the night before. The girl in the drawing, the story I was creating—she had Lou’s face and Lou’s eyes. Or at least, what I remembered of Lou’s face from my one small glimpse I’d been given of her. Was she as beautiful as I remembered, as the girl in my drawings?

  I hoped. But then again, it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to hope. Learning about Lou’s passion for writing, and her agoraphobia, kind of frightened me. Because it actually meant we were pretty similar.

  Similar. And also dissimilar.

  I had my life managed. Separated into two categories. The artist me, who right now I let live in this little space here. And then the version of myself that everyone else saw. The ‘out-going, fun-loving, social’ me. And even though I’d been feeling boredom in that second version of my life lately, I knew I wasn’t like Lou. I went out. I did things. Sure, it would be easy for me to stay home and never leave, creating constantly, shutting out all else. But I kept the two versions of myself compartmentalized, giving each their due time, because I knew it was healthy for me to do that.

  My mom had been an artist too. She’d made her living that way. She was amazing. She sold her paintings and sometimes I still run into one here and there around Kill Devil Hills. On the wall in a restaurant. On the wall in a friend’s home. Or a stranger’s home. When she died, I was eighteen. I shut myself in the last three months of high school, completing my schoolwork at home, never leaving the house, making art, trying my best to stay connected to Mom. But I eventually had to force myself out. Doing so had been the best decision for my mental health. I left town the day after graduation. And I ran for a long time.

  Now, thinking about Lou keeping herself ‘in,’ I wondered if dating someone like that, who I suspected wasn’t in control of her issues in any capacity, was healthy for me.

  Probably not healthy at all.

  I took a breath.

  I decided not to stay home tonight.

  I left my art, my desk, and my graphic novel. I dialed Patrick on my way out the door. He answered immediately. He always did. “Hey, man. I’m bored. You want to go for a drink at The Oyster tonight?”

  “Yes! I’m dying to go over there.”

  “Okay. I’ll meet you there in twenty. Let’s go talk to your chipmunk girl.”

  ~ CHAPTER 11 ~

  LOU

  “I’m the father.”

  It was eight in the morning when Nick knocked on my door. I wasn’t particularly a morning person. I tended to stay up late into the night reading or writing more often than not. And last night had been no different. So, I rubbed at my eyes as I opened the door to Nick’s pained face.

  “I’m the father of Amanda’s baby,” he clarified.

  Yeah, I already knew that.

  “Yay,” I said. I gave a little wave of my arms. “Isn’t this good news for you? You’re in love with her. Why do you look like you’ve been kicked in the gut over this? Do you not want the baby as yours?”

  “I’m happy about the baby, but she lied to me.”

  I breathed out. “Nick.”

  “She lied. She’s been lying for a couple weeks now. Why didn’t she just tell me? Why hide it? Why pit me against Finn? And what if I had never returned to North Carolina? Would I have gone my entire life in Maine with a child out in the world and never know? It nearly destroyed my father when he first learned about Mick’s existence. When he learned he had a twelve-year-old son he never knew about. Can you imagine if Amanda did the same to me?”

  I made a face. He looked so distraught. But it was too early for this. And for the first time in my life, I had my own life to worry over. It occurred to me then how much time I always gave to Nick and Nick’s problems. When I rarely gave my own issues any attention.

  “I’m sure Amanda had her reasons,” I said, trying to comfort him. “I’m sure she was scared. Scared you might not want her to keep the baby or scared you might walk away.”

  He nodded. His shoulders relaxed as he breathed in. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m always right.”

  He laughed. “Ha. Ha. I need to get to work before I’m late.”

  “Have a good day.”

  “Yeah, same.”

  Nick went back to his room. And as he got ready to leave for work, I thought about Finn. I’d already known Amanda was lying. But I thought about Finn and how he’d lied for her. He said he pushed relationships away. But it seemed like he kept his friends very close.

  I found my phone and dialed him earlier than the time we’d agreed. Way earlier. I stood in the middle of my room, waiting as it rang and rang.

  He finally answered. “Hi, Lou.” His voice sounded like sandpaper. “You’re calling me.”

  “I am. Do you work today?”

  He moaned. “Um, no, actually.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just early and I drank last night.”

  “Oh. Sorry I called.”

  “No worries. You can call whenever. Why did you call?”

  “Well… it’s just… I know I only get you for the two week thing. Like you said. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot. All night, actually. I had this idea. An idea for myself really. My idea was, what if this could be practice?”

  “I don’t follow. Practice how?”

  “Practice for me.” This idea that I’d formulated in my mind was perfect. I could practice-date Finn. That way, when it ended with him, like I knew it would—like he said it would, we could part as friends. Also, if it were practice, it didn’t have to be awkward. “So, confession time. I’ve never dated anyone before. Or had a ‘boyfriend’ before. Or kissed a guy before. Or held a guy’s hand before. Or anything before.” I laughed, although it was more sad than funny. “I mean, crazy right? I’m twenty-three, and I’ve never experienced anything. I am crazy though. So, I thought this could be practice. You could be my practice. And then at the end of the two week thing, we end as friends. Cool?”

  He made one of his noises. The grunt/moan thing he liked to do. It made me feel nervous all over. What if he didn’t want to real-date or practice-date or anything-date? But then he finally spoke. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  “Really?”

  “It certainly takes some of the pressure off for me. Let’s set some rules.”

  “Rules are good.”

  “Two weeks. We can make it a solid two weeks.”

  “Two weeks will be perfect.”

  “But, at some point in that time, you’ve got to come out of the house. I mean, or let me in the house. We can’t date, practice or otherwise, and never see each other in person. I don’t think that would be beneficial for you.”

  “I agree,” I said slowly.

  “And what about the physical stuff?”

  “Like sex?”

  “No,” he quickly corrected. “No, like kissing.”

  “Well, obviously I want to kiss you. It won’t be practice without kissing. That has to be a part of it. You could teach me?”

  “I can teach you.”

  I smiled so wide it was ridiculous. I jumped into my bed and curled up under the covers. “Will you teach me other stuff too? More than kissing stuff.”

  “Holy shit, Lou. What else were you thinking?”

  My face started tingling as I curled up with my phone. “Like, almost everything. Is it weird for you to do more stuff than kissing if it isn’t for real?”

  “Full disclosure,” he muttered. “I do stuff all the fucking time and it’s never for real. I’m never in love when I’m doing it, if that’s what you mean. But why don’t we start with the kissing, and then revisit this conversation.”

  “You should come over in the middle of the day today,” I whispered. “That’s when Nick is at work.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

  “Perfect.”

  I hung up the phone without saying goodbye. I didn’t want him to change his mind. Or decide I was crazy. Because this was the best thing to happen to me. Like, ever.

  ~ CHAPTER 12 ~

  FINN

  What was I getting myself into? I wasn’t entirely sure my agreement with Lou was a good idea. But then again, I wasn’t entirely sure it was a bad idea.

  Either way, I showed up at her house at noon on the dot. I’d stayed out too late last night with Patrick, drank a little too much, but I don’t think wild horses could have stopped me from showing up for ‘kissing practice’ (or whatever the hell it was going to be) at Lou’s house. I rang the doorbell, skin burning, excited out of my mind just to see her face.

  But her face wasn’t what I got to see.

  “I can’t open the door,” she yelled at me through the wood. “I’m so sorry, Finn. I still can’t. I know I’m insane. I want to, but I can’t.”

  Her voice quivered.

  I could tell she was upset, maybe even crying, on the other side.

  I didn’t want to be the one to upset her.

  “No worries. Let’s start with the door.”

  “I’m such a mess.”