“Riley is in her room, and it’s about ten.”

“Ten!” I yelp. “We’ve slept for like five hours.”

“Yup,” he says with a complete lack of concern.

“I’m hungry.” I try to smooth down my hair. Knox’s smile tells me I’m not doing a very good job of it. He rolls out of bed, a lithe mountain lion. His muscles flex and extend as he stalks toward me.

“You look beautiful.” He pulls me against him and nuzzles his face into the side of my neck. Predictably, I want to melt.

I shove away from him. “I need to use the bathroom.” I need some distance.

“Me, too.” There’s a naughty look in his eyes.

“Alone.”

He puts on a fake pout as I push away.

“I’ll order some food. What are you interested in?”

I rub my empty stomach. “Anything,” I say truthfully. “As long as there’s a lot of it.”

On my way to the bathroom, I knock on Riley’s door. The humming stops. I still think it sounds like a big old vibrator. I wonder if she needs one given that she hasn’t hooked up with anyone since we’ve lived together, not even cute Facebook boy, who apparently doesn’t understand that Riley is the best thing he could ever hope to have.

“Knox is ordering food. Do you want any?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“His treat,” I add.

“Um, okay, yeah, I could use something.”

Sometimes I forget that Riley’s a scholarship student, and truth be told, it’s not like I have a lot of extra cash lying around. My mom sends me money monthly, but it’s just enough for food and laundry. I should get a job, but between my course load and Jack’s extra classes, I’m not sure where I’d find the time.

After I’m done taking care of my business in the bathroom, I set out plates and glasses while Knox goes down to the front of the apartment to pay the delivery guy.

“Food’s here.” He sets two large plastic bags on the table and unpacks about ten boxes. At my raised eyebrows, he shrugs. “I was hungry. You’re hungry. You can’t ever have too much Chinese.”

“God, late night egg rolls. You are the bomb dot com.” Riley comes streaking out of the bedroom. Her hair is tied up on the top of her head like a kewpie doll, but I don’t look much better with my five-hour bedhead, my comfy pajama bottoms, and Jack’s old T-shirt from high school.

“You need a new shirt.” Knox hooks his finger into my collar and pulls me to him.

“A Warriors shirt?” I press my lips together to suppress a smile.

“A specific Warriors shirt.”

“Why don’t you take yours off right now and give it to her,” Riley suggests and waggles her eyebrows.

“Good idea.” He whips it off and hands it to me. Riley gives a wolf whistle. Knox sits at the table and starts shoveling food onto his plate.

It takes me a while to stop drooling, and I have to kick Riley under the table to get her to tear her eyes away from Knox’s perfectly sculpted chest.

Sorry she mouths at me, but I can’t really be mad. His body is a work of art.

“You’re right about never having too much Chinese,” Riley says between bites of Kung Pao chicken. “Once, my mom made this huge dish of Singapore noodles, and my dad teased her that we had enough to feed the entire city of Singapore. But she had the last laugh when the next day we had a terrible storm and it knocked out our power. We still had enough Singapore noodles to last us the entire day.”

“There’s no such thing as too much food,” Knox agrees. “My brother and I ate enough that my mom had to go to the grocery store twice a week to buy milk. We’d drink a gallon every couple of days.”

“You have a brother?” Riley asks.

“Twin,” I interject. “Knox says they’re identical.”

“Everyone says we’re identical because we are.” Knox pulls out his phone and flips open his photo album. “See.”

Riley’s mouth drops open a little. “God, there are two of you? How is that at all fair? And which one is you?”

“He’s the one in the red board shorts.” I point to Knox in the picture. “His brother is the one with the soft chin.”

“Soft chin? They have the same chin. They’re i-den-ti-cal,” Riley scoffs.

Knox shakes his head and turns to me. “It’s freaky how you can tell.”

I don’t get how it’s so weird. They’re clearly two different people. Riley scrolls through more photos. There are dozens of shots with Knox and his brother—smiling, goofing around, play fighting. Several with their parents. It’s clear their family is a loving one. At Knox’s urging, Riley pulls out her phone and shows us pictures of her two younger brothers and her parents, who look almost young enough to be her siblings.

“They were teenagers when they had me,” Riley explains. “They’re only thirty-eight now. Mom says it’s weird because most of her peers just now have kids, and they’re almost empty nesters.”

“You have a gorgeous family, Riles.” I don’t even bother to hide my envy.

“Thanks. We don’t have a lot, but we’ve got each other.” She shrugs, a little embarrassed. “Trite but true.”

They both look at me as if I’m going to whip out my phone and show off my little family album, but there wouldn’t be any pictures of me and my parents in them. The only ones I keep are those of Jack and me.

I wipe my mouth. “I’m done for the night. Thanks for the food, Knox.”

“No problem,” he says easily. Rising, he helps me clear the plates. Riley tidies up what few leftovers we have and then disappears into her bedroom. Knox dries while I wash.

“Didn’t want to share any pictures of your own?” Knox asks quietly.

I hesitate because my family isn’t like Riley or Knox’s. My first inclination is to shut him down, but I know he doesn’t deserve that. “My dad is the type that if Jack won the Heisman, he'd wonder why Jack didn't get more votes.”

Knox keeps drying. “And you? What would he think of you?”

“He doesn’t.” I brace my hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, not enjoying the feelings that Knox’s questions dredge up. “My dad was this great college player. He had these dreams of going pro, but he literally could never make the cut. With Jack, he gets to live out his dream again. With me?”

I push away from the sink and turn to face Knox. He gazes at me with steady compassion, but no pity. I’m grateful for that because I think I would have kicked him out if he felt sorry for me. “When he had Jack, he thought he’d get to mold him into this awesome player, but Jack didn’t grow until like the tenth grade. He looked short and skinny. I wanted my dad to be proud of me so I played, too.”

“Did that win his approval?”

I make a face. “Of course not. I was still a girl. We both knew I’d never play on a real football team. But I played flag football with the boys until eighth grade.” My scar itches as I remember the hit. “A guy rammed into me and shattered my knee cap. It was an accident, but that was it for me and sports.” Until I started playing softball which is why Jack worries.

Knox makes a sound in the back of his throat. “What’d your parents do?”

I swallow to get rid of the bitterness so I don’t sound like shrew. “They weren’t there. Another parent called the ambulance. Jack held my hand on the way to the hospital and helped take care of me after.” I stop abruptly because the pain of the remembered rejection feels raw. I don’t want to cry. Not over my parents and definitely not in front of Knox.

Without any more questions, he empties the water, and drapes the towel over the side of the sink. He picks up the shirt he took off and then wraps his hand around mine. Silently, he leads me into the bedroom.

In the dark of the room, he pulls off the T-shirt I’m wearing and tugs his own over my head. The shirt smells of Knox—like fresh dirt, energy, and warmth. He kicks off his shorts and climbs into the bed, scooting all the way to the wall.

“Come in here. I’m cold,” he says.

I move like a robot. When he’s done tucking himself around me, he kisses the side of my throat, my ear, and then my temple—a trail of sweet affection that begins to thaw the cold that had settled in when I think of my parents.