“You don’t have to…share? If you don’t feel up to it, or if it’s personal or…whatever,” I say, my hand back in place between my lips. I won’t have any fingernails left in the morning.

“Well, you already know I play basketball. And it’s stupid, but that’s one of those important things. I’m good at it. You know how you said you’re gifted? Well, I guess it’s my gift, if gifts work like that. I lose myself in it, and I like that I get to be aggressive,” he says. I think back to when I watched Owen play in the driveway, how masculine every movement he made was. Aggressive seemed to be in his nature even then.

“Well, clearly, I wouldn’t know much about basketball,” I say, inciting a raspy laugh from Owen. “But, I would believe that you’re good…or gifted. You’re fun to watch.”

I pull my blanket up over my chin after this, knowing how gushing and flirtatious every word from my mouth sounds. I don’t regret them, though. I don’t regret a single second of my night so far.

“Thanks,” Owen says, and my smile kicks in, my cover now hiding more of my blushing face.

“Does your older brother help out with bills too?” I ask. When Owen’s answer doesn’t come right away, I close my eyes, wishing I could take my question back, my gut sinking, knowing I asked one question too many.

“James,” Owen starts, but then his long pause continues.

“It’s…it’s okay, I’m getting too personal,” I say, grasping at hope that Owen won’t hang up, that he’ll call me again.

“James is a junkie,” he says. There are a million reactions I could have had, but what I didn’t expect is how much I want to hug Owen right now. Nothing about his small description of his brother sounded sad or affected or heartbroken, but somehow through it all, I know Owen is. I can just sense it.

“I’m sorry, Owen,” I say, careful to say his name—to take care of it and respect it. If he doesn’t share with people often, then I’m guessing very few people really know about James.

“Thanks. But it’s okay. It is what it is. My mom kicked him out a year ago. He started using meth, and getting into some really hard shit. She didn’t want Andrew exposed to that. I didn’t either. But he still calls me. You know…when he needs something,” he says, a certain amount of disappointment in his tone.

“Like…money? Or drugs?” I say, now sitting up in bed.

“Not really money. But I’ve bailed him out once or twice. And I got him off the hook with a dealer he owed some serious money to. It’s usually a problem when James calls,” he sighs.

“But you answer,” I say, my words practically filling in the blank space left at the end of his.

“Every. Time,” he says.

“When was the last time you saw him?” I ask, hoping, for selfish reasons, that it’s been a while. Willow said James was the one to stay away from, and now I’m not sure I want him a house away from me.

“The other night. He didn’t come here. But he was fucked up out of his head, and he was in a bad place, with some bad people. I had to leave in the middle of a basketball game to go haul his ass back to his apartment,” he says, and I close my eyes, remembering that night I watched him get a call in the middle of playing basketball. I remember how angry he was, how fast he drove away, and how vicious his eyes were when he got back.

“That isn’t fair to you,” I say, my arms pulling my pillow in close to my chest, my mind imagining Owen’s heart beating through it, wishing it were him I was holding.

“Nope,” he says.

I hold my pillow for several long seconds, letting my face slide against the coolness of the pillowcase. Ryan is so right about Owen; people don’t have him pegged right at all. And as much as I want to tell everyone that, I also want to keep it to myself—keep Owen to myself.

“So, you were thinking about practicing tonight…when I walked in?” Owen finally says, cutting through the silence. I think I may have been drifting off to sleep with him in my fantasy.

“Oh, yeah. I was…sort of, ” I say, squeezing my eyes tightly, trying to force a little more awake time from them. “I can’t seem to figure out what to play. It probably doesn’t make sense to you. But, it’s just that I was sort of on this directive, had all of these goals, and they all centered around the things my father wanted me to play. And now that he’s out of the picture…”

“Those aren’t your goals anymore,” Owen finishes for me.