He takes my hand and swipes his thumb across the back of it. Heat shoots straight to the center of me. I pull my hand back so I can avoid melting into a big puddle on the floor.

What are you doing here? I ask.

He shrugs. I thought you might want a ride home.

Really?

He nods.

I smile. That’s so sweet.

Completely self-serving, he corrects.

I narrow my eyes at him. How so?

Maybe I just wanted your legs spread around me on my bike. He waggles his eyebrows at me.

I lean forward as if I need to tell him a secret. Maybe I want my legs spread around you, too.

He groans and grabs my hand. He tosses my book bag over his shoulder and pulls me toward the door. This time, he has two helmets, and he helps me fasten mine. I love that he tries to take such care of me.

My apartment or yours? I ask.

He brushes the hair back that’s hanging around my face, pushing it under the helmet. I don’t want you going back to your apartment while Trip’s there. He looks closely watching my face. That okay with you?

Fine, I say. I kind of like it when you go all Neanderthal. I grin, and he straddles the bike. I climb on behind him and wrap my hands around his waist. He hisses playfully when I lift his shirt and lay my hands against the tender skin of his belly. We zoom through the streets and into the parking deck beneath his building. He bends at the waist and tosses me over his shoulder.

“You haven’t seen Neanderthal yet,” he warns as he carries me up the steps.

Logan

I’m more nervous than I should be. My brothers have been cleaning all day, and Sam has been cooking like a Top Chef. He’s wearing an apron spattered with tomato sauce, and Emily cleans up behind him as he moves from task to task. Sam loves to cook. He’s never happier than he is when he’s making something for someone to eat.

I should have done a better job planning this dinner. None of our dishes match, but we set the table with them anyway. Hell, our chairs don’t even match at our tiny, scratched-up table. It was our mom and dad’s, and I love it. It has years of abuse and love etched into its rough surface. There are tracks from Matchbox cars and scuffs from science-project disasters.

Stop worrying, Emily says. It’s just dinner.

It’s not just dinner. It’s so much more.

I’m not worried. Your mom will love the food. And your dad won’t be able to complain about anything Sam has made. Of that, I am one hundred percent certain. He might not like the company or the accommodations or the jelly jars that we use as glasses, but he will love the food.

Emily rushes to the door and opens it when the bell rings. Her parents come in, and her dad looks around our apartment, his nose in the air. Her mom exclaims over the smell of the food.

“Mom, Dad,” she says. “This is Paul, and Sam, and you’ve heard all about Matt.”

Matt steps forward and shakes hands. “I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he says.

“You don’t owe us a thing,” her mom gushes. She pulls Matt to the side so she can fuss over him.

Sam takes his apron off and declares, “The chef is done. It’s time for the serving committee to take over.”

“You’re not staying?” I ask. What the f**k?

I have to go and find Pete, he says. He should have been home hours ago.

Is something wrong?

He shrugs. I don’t like it—he won’t look me in the face.

I’ll be back as soon as I find him. Save me some lasagna. He nods toward Mr. Madison. That one looks like he can put away some food. He grins and sneaks out the door before Paul can catch him.

“Mr. Madison,” I say, extending my hand. He takes it and shakes, his grip tight.

“Logan,” he says. “Thanks for having us.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Shall we eat?” Paul asks.

###

Conversation is stilted, our plates are now empty, desert has been consumed, and I’m just about convinced that Mr. Madison doesn’t have a soul at all when Sam runs in the door. He’s filthy, his shirt is torn, and he smells like he’s been in a Dumpster.

I’m so sorry, he signs to Emily. He shoots an apologetic glance at her. But we have a problem. Pete has been arrested.

For what? Paul asks, but he’s already crossing the room to get his coat. I’m right behind him.

We were with Bone, Sam admits. He avoids Paul’s gaze. And the cops showed up.

Where is he now?

At the police station.

They put him in cuffs? Paul asks.

Sam nods.

Emily saw the entire conversation. I’m going with you, she says.

I nod. What about your parents?

Emily asks her parents if they can give us a ride to the station. I think we’re done with them, but their driver parks the car and they get out with us.

“I’ll know what my daughter is involved in,” Mr. Madison says when I tell them that they don’t have to go in with us. I nod. If she was my daughter, I would go too.

Paul rings the bell on the desk and waits for the officer to help us. I can’t follow what they say, but I know Paul will tell me when they’re done.

Paul hangs his head in his hands and turns back to us. “They’re not going to let him go home. He needs an attorney.”

Emily goes to her dad and tugs on his jacket. “Dad, can you call someone?”

He shakes his head. “It’s time to go home, Emily.” He takes her elbow, but she jerks out of his grip.

“I’m not going anywhere.”