I'm like the dentist randomly showing up with a drill to remind her she has a mouthful of cavities.
"And then his phone rang."
"No!" And just like a sugar-deprived kiddo, I wonder if she's going to tantrum over this devastating development. "Was it 'House of the Rising Sun'? Did he leave? Are you seeing him again?"
Her questions pummel my tired brain.
"Yes," I sigh. "And yes. And yes."
I try to make the last one sound as reluctant as the first two, but there's no sneaking anything past my best friend when it comes to feelings and romance. She's the Sherlock Holmes and Watson of love.
"What are the rules? You can't just let him show up after he leaves and waltz right back out with him." She gives me time to answer.
"I...I just want to be with him, Bren."
"Evan!" she wails, only she takes the two syllables of my name and pulls them into twenty-two. "You can't do this to yourself again. You got so wrapped around Rabin and his games, and look where that wound up, sweetie."
I prop the phone on my vanity and plop down, beginning my long, involved makeup routine.
"Winch is nothing like Rabin. Nothing. Seriously, there are no games. It's just who he is, what he has to do. And I have to compromise a little because of that. But he's definitely not another Rabin."
I want to list all the differences between the two of them, but that smacks of desperation. Instead I focus on blending my foundation.
I can hear Brenna deep-breathing to de-stress before she pours her warning out.
"Listen to me, because I'm going to tell you what you need to hear, alright? Here we go. Rabin and Winch. Similarities? Both rich. Both in trouble with the law. Both have a shady past with girls. Both come in and out of your life without explaining why they keep disappearing. Both have you sad, waiting in your room for them to show up. Both lack commitment, work ethic--"
"He's nothing like that," I interrupt in a blaze of fury that shocks me into gulped silence.
This is Brenna, my best friend, the person who I trust to be purely honest with me. If she won't tell me the bald truth, who will? So why am I on the defensive? I wait a few beats, but the line is so quiet, I'm nervous she hung up on my stupid ass.
"Bren?"
"I'm here." Her words are clipped and strained with hurt.
"Didn't mean to snap." I keep my voice tiny in an attempt to control the emotion welling up in the back of my throat.
I can practically feel her sigh move my curtains through the phone.
"I love you. So much. And I want you to be careful with yourself because, sweetie, can we face it? You're not. You're so not! You let guys in before you should. And I don't know anything about this guy, but what I do know, I really don't like. I could be wrong."
Her last four words come out with so little conviction, I know she's not even trying to trick me into believing she means them.
"I know." I pick up my mascara wand and begin my neat, precise eighteen-coat application for luck. "I know you love me, and I love you right back. But loosen the strings, mama. I promise, this guy is different. I know what he seems like, but it's just that he's--"
I bite the word back.
"Evan? I think the connection dropped." Brenna's voice trembles over the phone line with anxious worry.
"No, I'm here. I was just saying that Winch is a little...complicated. But I promise you, I'll keep my eyes open this time."
I suck my cheeks in and sweep blush over my apples and tell myself to keep calm.
Keep calm.
Brenna's little snort is fueled by the sting of my earlier jab, and I see my cheeks go pink under my blush in the mirror.
"There's nothing like thinking you're in love to glue your eyes shut." She clears her throat. "Well, have fun, but be careful." Her strict mom-voice wavers. "Seriously, take care of yourself. I...it was super hard to watch you go through all that pain with Rabin. You're doing so much better. Just look out for yourself, okay?"
It's like the lump in her throat has a direct switch to the lump in mine.
"Okay," I croak, batting back tears. "Love you!"
"Love you more," she warbles before she clicks off.
I know Bren loves me. I know she said what she did because it matters to her if I'm happy, safe, and sane. And no guy has ever made me snap at her before. But there's something about Winch. Something that makes me feel specifically protective. And protected. And open. And ready. And sure.
So I keep her warning in my head, but I decide to dress like I don't have a doubt in the world when it comes to love and Winch.
I pull out a gorgeous white poplin strapless sundress and gold sandals that lace up my calves. The outfit makes me feel very Greek goddess, and when I hear Winch's car pull up, I have to force my knees to lock under me and wait. It feels like hours before the doorbell chimes.
I put both feet on each stair as I descend, convince myself to check my reflection in the hallway mirror, and leave my hand on the cool glass doorknob for a few extra beats, but it's all just stupid games. My heart is driving me to whip the door open quickly so I can see him again.
It's exactly like the feeling I get every single time I see the ocean; no matter how many times I take that sprint over the dunes, the first sight of the crashing waves always knocks my heart back in my chest. No one ever made me feel that way before I met Winch.
He's holding an armful of pink tulips and wearing a hungry, focused expression. His blue eyes travel up
