I laugh for a second because that last is his weakness, not mine. “I thought you were cutting back on that?”

He makes a scout’s honor sign. “I’m on the wagon.” He grips my shoulder. “Anyway, the point is . . . she’s Josie,” he says, with an intensity that matches how I feel for her. “You’ve had a thing for her for about . . . forever. Everyone knew it but you.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Dude, it’s patently obvious. You flirt with her constantly. Your face lights up when she comes in the room. You smile like an idiot when you talk about her.”

I sneer. “Shut up. I do not.”

“You do, too.”

I scowl, proving just how much I’m not a love-struck fool.

“That’s why I don’t see how even you can pull this off,” he says. “If anyone can manage balancing acts and feats of strength, it’s my little brother. But this isn’t just pushing your body to finish a race, or to handle a thirty-six-hour shift without a yawn. This isn’t even skipping two grades in school, smarty-pants. This is a fuck-ton harder.”

I draw a deep breath, letting it fill me, letting it fuel me. “So I just shut it down?”

He sighs heavily. “I can’t tell you to do that. All I can say is be prepared for a hurricane-size storm if you open it up.”

I sink back on the bench, certain that Max’s advice is spot on. Because it aligns with the woman’s wishes—Josie made it perfectly clear from the start that we are temporary, and she laid down the law again last night. “What do I do next? How do I just return to being roommates and friends?”

He drapes an arm around me. “You don’t.”

I shoot him a look as if he’s speaking Swahili. “What?”

“You don’t go back. Come stay with me. Take a break before being so close to her drives you crazy. You can move in with her again if you want, but stay with me for a few days, a few weeks, a few months—as long as you want. Whatever you need while you get this shit sorted out.”

At first, I want to blow him off. To say “nah, I hardly need that.” But something about his idea gives me a sense of calm I haven’t felt in a while. The longer I stay with Josie, the harder it’ll be when it ends. And it will end. The clock is winding down.

“Maybe I should,” I say.

He nods. “I don’t pretend to have any answers, but I love you, man. I don’t want to see you hurt, and right now, I can tell you are.”

I am, and I can’t stand feeling this way. I go for my best attempt at humor production. “So, you love me?”

He drops his knuckles to my head and grinds them against my skull. “I do.”

“Like a brother?”

He laughs. “Just like a brother.”

Right now, maybe that’s what I need most.

30

From the pages of Josie’s Recipe Book

* * *

Everything But Raisins Cookies

* * *

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 cup butter, softened

1 1/2 cups packed brown sugar

1 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 cup dried cherries

2 cups rolled oats

1/2 cup flaked coconut

2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

1 cup chopped pecans

* * *

Directions

* * *

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease cookie sheet. Sift together flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon.

* * *

2. In a large bowl, mix together butter, brown sugar, and white sugar until smooth. Add in the eggs one at a time, beating gently, because if you don’t you’ll ruin the eggs, and destroy the recipe, and you’ll be left with a gigantic bowl of everything cookie dough disappointment that you can’t bake and you can’t eat either.

* * *

3. Stir in vanilla. Mix in the sifted ingredients until well blended. Carefully. Do it carefully. If you screw this up and stir too long, I swear you’ll kill it. Do as I say.

* * *

4. Using a wooden spoon, mix in the cherries, oats, coconut, chocolate chips, and pecans. This won’t be easy, so put a little muscle into it. It’s hard, what you’re doing. But it’ll be even harder if you don’t do this properly.

* * *

5. Drop cookie batter onto sheets, placing them two inches apart. Now, don’t go crazy and get them too close. If you do, you’ll have to ditch the whole batch. You don’t want that, do you?

* * *

6. Bake for eight to ten minutes in preheated oven.

* * *

7. While you wait, wipe that stupid tear from your cheek. It’s better this way. You know that.

31

I have a mind vise, and I’m not afraid to use it.

Even though I’ve been bitten by the love bug, I can still depend on my special skill—separating emotions from actions as if they’re whites and darks in the laundry.

Back at the apartment, I zone in on Josie’s hair and only on her hair.

Admittedly, the sharp, chemical odor of hair dye helps matters. Hell, maybe I’ve found the one thing about her that doesn’t turn me on. This shit stinks.

Josie is parked on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom, decked out in leggings and a bra, with a towel draped over her shoulders. I stand behind her, painting pink onto the ends of her hair.