My phone started ringing at an unreasonably early hour for a Friday morning during the summer. What kind of monster would rob me of my precious sleep? I rolled over and stuffed a pillow over my head.

When the ringing ceased, I heard a text notification. I shrieked as I threw off my covers and crossed the room to my desk, where the phone was charging. I made a habit of keeping it across the room for those days when I needed to set an alarm. If it wasn't out of reach, I'd hit snooze at least five times before the alarm finally got to me. This way, I had no choice but to get up.

Tapping it to illuminate the screen, I saw that the call and the text were from Clay. My mind cleared up like I'd just shotgunned an espresso.

R u still up 4 hanging out?

My eyes drifted up to the time, 7:48. As much as I wanted to crawl back into bed and bury myself deep within the covers, I wanted to see Clay more.

👍

B there n 5.

I rushed around to gather an outfit. What does one wear for a day of riding four-wheelers? I knew enough to suspect we'd be getting dirty, so I grabbed the jeans I wore yesterday—still bloodstained—and threw on a plain blue t-shirt that I had no attachment to. I slipped my feet into my old hiking boots, not wanting to risk any of my good shoes with the possibility of mud.

Clay announced his arrival by text. He said he didn't want to wake anyone.

"Except me," I mumbled to myself on the way downstairs.

I smelled coffee, which meant Mom was awake. "I'm going out," I yelled.

Mom hurried from the kitchen, still wearing her pajamas. "Where?"

"Riding ATVs."

She snorted. "No, seriously."

I glared at her. "I am serious. My new friend invited me."

Her head reared back, looking over my outfit. "Have I met this friend?"

"I only just met him."

"You know the rules, Em. You don't get into cars with people I haven't met."

I rolled my eyes, not mentioning the fact that I'd already been in his car without her knowledge. That was not the way to engender trust. "Hold on."

It's not like I didn't understand why she had that rule. She had a very good reason for it, given my history of misplacing trust.

I stepped outside. Clay waved from his car, smiling brightly. I beckoned for him.

Clay's face fell as he got out. He jogged up the front sidewalk. He wore an outfit almost identical to mine, except for the color of his t-shirt (red) and the bleached out jeans. The splotchy stains and random tears didn't look factory-made. He came by that wear-and-tear honestly.

"What's up?" Clay asked, hooking his thumbs in his back pockets. It made his shirt pull tight across his chest.

"My mom won't let me go unless she meets you."

Clay blew out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. "Oh. Okay. That's cool."

"Not really." I waved for him to follow.

"It is to me. I thought you were gonna cancel." His bright voice made me hate this a little less.

Mom waited inside. She'd put on a robe over her pajamas and pulled her black hair into a ponytail. I introduced them.

Clay just stood there excitedly, beaming. He was such a puppy with those wide brown eyes and open smile. A floppy-haired labrador. That's what he was.

"How long have you had your license, Clay?" Mom asked.

"Almost two years. And I had my learner's permit a year before that."

"Any speeding tickets?"

Clay barked out a laugh. His face instantly shifted into a look of contrition, as if he'd done something wrong. He shook his head vigorously. "No, ma'am. My parents said they'd take my car if I got even one ticket."

Mom nodded. She looked over at me. "That's a good rule."

I twisted my lips to the side. I didn't need her getting any more ideas on how to be overprotective. She barely let me drive as it was, and February would mark two years of having that useless hunk of plastic. To be fair, I did nearly back into a UPS truck. And I almost had a head-on collision with a gas pump. Turns out, belting "You Can't Stop the Beat," while pulling into a gas station, not ideal.

"Can we go?" I asked.

Mom turned a stony glare on me, letting me know she wasn't done. She turned kinder eyes to Clay. "Will there be drinking out there?"

Clay's mouth hung open for a second. Judging by his face, I suspected the answer was yes. But Clay had a brilliant response, "I can't promise no one there will drink, but I can promise that I won't."

His eyes went wide for a second, then he added, "We won't."

Mom nodded, sipping her coffee. She didn't show it, but I could tell she appreciated the answer.

After a bit more interrogation, Mom said, "Alright, you can go."

Clay clapped his hands together, ecstatic at this news. "Thank you, ma'am."

I grabbed Clay's wrist and dragged him to the door before my mother could think up any more questions.

Once we got in the car, I looked Clay over. "So, there's going to be other people with us?"

Spending the day with a bunch of dude-bros guzzling beer and bragging about "banging chicks" wasn't my idea of a good time. Not to mention the casual use of gay slurs that straight guys threw out around here to insult each other's masculinity.

Clay nodded, pausing at the stop sign at the end of my street. "Did I not mention that?"

I wondered if it was too late to back out. I could get out now and walk back to my house. "Like who?"

"Just my friends. I doubt you know most of them. But Jackson will be there."

That made me feel marginally better. Jackson knew my sexuality, and he'd never shown issue with it. Of course, I had never spent more than five minutes alone with him without Carrie being in the near vicinity.

Clay must have read my expression, because he said, "If you aren't having fun, or if you feel uncomfortable, just let me know and we can bail."

"You'd do that? Blow off your friends?"

Clay seemed baffled by his question. "I invited you out to have fun. I don't want you to be miserable. That defeats the purpose."

I got stuck on the "invited you out" part of that statement. The wording was too vague to read much into it. It could definitely be taken as platonic. Or the other thing. The thing I wouldn't let myself say. Not even in my own head.

"Oh! We can even have a secret code to let me know you want to leave." Clay said, grinning like this was the best idea ever.

His enthusiasm made me crack a smile. "What'd you have in mind, Double-Oh-Seven?"

That made Clay incredibly happy. "When you're ready to go, just catch my eye and do this." He raised two fingers and brushed them down the side of his nose.

"What if I just have an itch?" I asked.

"Are you going to stare into my eyes when you get an itch?"

"I might. You don't know." I was being needlessly difficult, which was totally on brand for me.

"Fine. Do the nose thing, then cross your eyes for a second. How's that?"

I gave a salute. Doing my best Judi Dench impression, I said, "Mission accepted, Mr. Bond."

"You're so dumb," Clay said. He pressed his lips together to hide his amusement.

I got distracted when the radio switched from Journey's "Any Way You Want It" to Nina Simone's "I Put A Spell On You." And not just because it was such a weird transition. I never would have expected him to be a fan of hers. It surprised me even more when he started singing along. He actually had a pretty decent voice, it was just the lyrics he was singing. Mostly, the part where he looked over at me, sort of half-grinning as he and Nina sang, "I put a spell on you, because you're mine."

He had to be doing that on purpose. Right?

I didn't know how to feel hearing him say that while looking into my eyes.

That was not true. I knew how I felt. I just couldn't let him know how I felt. Which was why I gripped my hands around my phone, holding it over my lap, trying to conjure the most unsexy thoughts to make me go soft again.

How did he keep doing this to me?