The day after we received our verdicts, Clay and I cuddled on the couch in my living room, watching the gloriousness of Jamie Lee Curtis and Toni Collette in Knives Out. Normally on a Sunday, Clay would have Bro Time with his friends, but he wasn't allowed to see them. Which worked out well for me.

An hour into the movie, Clay told me he thought he might have a crush on Chris Evans. "Something about the way he wears that sweater is really doing things to me."

"The line to get sweet, sweet love from the best Chris forms behind me," I replied.

"He's The One Chris to Rule Them All," Clay said, in a not-too-terrible impression of Cate Blanchett.

"I know you're quoting from the movie, but for future use, literary references are totally like dirty talk for me."

"Good to know." Clay grinned, nuzzling my neck. Suddenly, he gasped and turned back to the TV. "He's back."

I giggled at his excitement, laying my cast on my leg next to the spot where his hand gripped my thigh. My fingers caressed his, stroking the back of his hand up to his wrist where the thin layer of his arm hair started.

He leaned in very close, practically pressing his lips to my ears, because my mother was sitting in the dining area ten feet away, and whispered, "You know, since we're boyfriends, we could always just have a threesome and share him."

I burst out laughing. Mostly out of shock. I wasn't used to him talking like this. Four days ago, he was my friend with whom I specifically never talked about sex. Now he was my boyfriend and suggesting a threesome with me and Chris Evans. What a time to be alive!

My mom appeared at the end of the couch, hands on her hips, staring at the screen. Apparently, having fun was no longer allowed. She looked over at us and Clay pulled away, putting a few inches between us. "I have to go upstairs to get my laptop."

"Okay." I rolled my head to the side to glare at her petulantly. "Thanks for the update."

She gave her patented "You're pushing your luck" glare. That was always her first warning. And she only ever gave one. She went up the stairs, leaving us alone for the first time since the hospital.

Once she left, I rolled halfway on top of Clay, putting my leg between his to keep myself propped up enough to avoid putting pressure on his injured side. I pressed my lips to his. The action stunned him rigid at first, before he quickly relaxed into it, even reaching down to grab my ass as I grinded against him. I went from a limp noodle to the Washington Monument in seconds. He got there just as fast.

When I heard footsteps thudding down the stairs, I rolled away, back to my former spot, gasping for breath, my heart racing. Clay was also panting, giving me a look of desperation. I leaned in quick to plant a peck on his lips. Then I grabbed a throw pillow and shoved it into his lap, pulling the throw blanket across me. We didn't need my mother seeing that. He rested his arms on top of the pillow and stared at the TV.

It suddenly occurred to me that more than half the time we spent watching movies in my bed, Clay had a pillow in his lap. How did I not put that together before now?

After Mom went back to her seat at the table, opening her laptop and putting in earbuds, I leaned close to him, still keeping my voice low in case she was using transparency mode or Live Listen. "Were you horny all those times in my bed?"

Clay's eyes went wide. He threw a glance over the back of the couch to the dining area. "Did you really not know? 'Cause I was always terrified you might."

I shook my head. My God, I was so fucking stupid.

As if we shared a brain, Clay said, "For such a smart guy, you're incredibly dense." He pressed a kiss to the corner of my lips, smiling, before focusing on the movie as the final act played out.

As the credits rolled, Clay shook his head, his mouth hanging open. "That was amazing."

"I'm glad you liked it. I love it. But I'm a big murder-mystery fan. Rear Window, Murder on the Orient Express, Death on the Nile, Clue, Murder by Death, Rebecca—the original 1940 version, of course."

"Yeah, see, Clue is the only one of those I recognized. And only because my dad loved that movie. I watched it so many times with him. I probably could recite Mrs. White's flames speech by heart."

Without prompting, Clay proceeded to quote the line with the same deranged brilliance as Madeline Kahn. "'Flames... flames... on the side of my face... breathing... breathless... heaving breaths.'" He even did the claw hands at the side of his face. He laughed. "She's the best part of that movie. And the way she arrives 'looking pale and tragic,' dressed in black with her little widow's veil, but they open the coat with that gorgeous white satin lining. Perfection." He did a chef's kiss.

"See, if you had just said that sentence a long time ago, I totally would've known you aren't straight."

He laughed again. "Well, that would've saved us some heartache." He stealthily glanced back at the dining room, then ducked down below the back of the couch and kissed me, even slipping his tongue through my lips.

It didn't last long, because we didn't want to chance being caught and told we couldn't see each other, since technically we were supposed to be on punishment. If not for Clay's heartfelt pleading at breakfast yesterday, I doubted we would even have this.

As if on cue, Clay's phone screen lit up on the coffee table. He stretched his arm out to grab it and pulled it back to look at it. His face fell. He showed me the text.

"Gotta go," Clay said, sighing in disappointment.

"Maybe next time we can watch Clue. I have a feeling Mrs. White's scene isn't the only scene you have memorized."

"And you would be correct, sir," he said. He grunted as he got up, holding his arm across his torso to support his bruised ribs. He waved at my mother. "Bye, Mrs. Noble."

She took out one of her earbuds. "Bye, Clay."

Looking at her, I pointed to the front door. "I'm going to walk him to his bike."

"Alright. Then right back inside."

"Yes, mein furor."

"I'm not Hitler, Emmett." She sounded tired. She looked a bit frazzled. The skin under her eyes had gone dark. I needed to remember the last two days had been hard on her, too. "I'm your mother, who loves you, and is trying to teach you that you can't just do whatever you want, whenever you want. Sometimes, actions have consequences."

I raised my cast, waving at it like a showcase model. "I'm fully aware of that."

"Well, go on." She raised her chin toward the door.

I knew I was being a brat to her. She didn't deserve it. She was, after all, allowing me to hang out with my boyfriend while grounded. That was totally not something Hitler would do. For many reasons. Not the least of which was his hatred for gay people.

I followed Clay outside, over to his bike, carelessly laying on the grass beside the driveway. The sun had nearly set. The sky was mostly a deep shade of purple, with a hint of pink and orange in the clouds on the horizon. A few stars dotted the sky in the distance.

"I guess now we're both car-less losers," I joked.

"Well, at least it's good for the environment," he said, picking up his bike. It looked much more impressive than mine. An actual mountain bike for actual adventuring into nature. I just used mine to get around town when I couldn't find a ride.

"Where's your helmet?" I looked around at the empty ground.

"I didn't wear one. We're not even a mile away from my house."

I put my hands on my hips, shaking my head in anger and incredulity. "Clayton Lennox-Miller!"

He threw his head back. "Ugh! Not you calling me Clayton now too."

"It's deserved when you're being a dumbass."

Clay reared back, stunned. "Excuse me?"

"Wait right there," I demanded, jabbing a finger at his feet.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Shush!"

I stalked over to my mother's car and opened the door—she always forgot to lock it when she got home from work—and pressed the garage door opener. I pressed the lock button and closed her door, heading into the garage to retrieve one of my helmets. I stomped out and shoved it at him, his hands wrapping around it. "I will not lose you to brain trauma because you want to be stupid."

Clay rolled his eyes, but he put it on. Then he smiled. "You know, that was kinda hot. I've seen you be bitchy before, but I never seen you be bossy like that."

My anger immediately faded. "You liked that, huh?"

"I kinda did." Without hesitation, Clay stretched over and kissed me. As he climbed onto his bike, he said, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He flashed a teasing smile. "Even when I'm a dumbass?"

I nodded. "I know who I fell in love with."

"Agh!" He leaned over his handlebars and poked his index finger into my chest. "See. Bitchy."

I laughed. Because it totally was.

"Goodnight, bitch," he said, circling his bike around the driveway to point the right way.

"Goodnight, dumbass," I said, walking to the curb.

I watched as he rode away; the streetlight catching him for a moment, bringing him into brilliant clarity before he fell into shadow again. At the end of the road, when he made the turn, he looked my way and held a hand up. I did the same, waiting until he disappeared to drop my arm.

As I headed up the driveway to go through the garage, since I'd left it open, I heard Carrie shout, "Emmie," in the distance. I turned around to see her standing on her front porch, waving a scarf like a war-bride, sending her soldier off to the front-lines. I returned the wave, wishing I could go over and tell her all about my afternoon with Clay. It would have to wait until school tomorrow.

I laid my cast over my heart, reaching out my good hand toward her as I backed into the garage.