The Shape Of My Heart

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This confession would make him think I was crazy. “Talking to my dead boyfriend.”

Max’s eyes widened and he glanced around his uncle’s backyard as if he expected some Medium scenario to play out. Ruefully I smiled and shook my head, tapping my temple. “In here. We knew each other so well—and for so long—that I hear his commentary on stuff and sometimes I answer. It’s weird, I know. I didn’t realize anyone could tell, though.”

“Trust me, I know when you’re paying attention to me. And that’s not the strangest habit I’ve encountered. When I was in Scranton, I met a guy who had a bird living in his pocket.”

I shuddered. “That sounds horrible for everyone involved.”

“I know, right? Anyway, the question stands. Will you come out with Michael and me?” His hand found the nape of my neck and he returned the favor, massaging until I nearly melted onto his lap.

Truthfully, he was turning me on somewhat, but I’d learned to ignore the little sparks between us. This friendship was too perfect to be complicated with sex, and making out with Max forced me to acknowledge that one night wouldn’t satisfy me. Plus, he went for pretty girls—Lauren, for example—and I’d heard all about his crush from Nadia. I couldn’t afford to become sexually obsessed with someone who thought of me as family.

We’re better as friends.

“Sure. It makes sense to let him show me around. Local knowledge and all.”

“Hey, I grew up here, too. I can line up some attractions that will rock your world.”