“What if I told you that you were a hundred percent wrong?’‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You are good. Talk about not being the bad guy in your own movie. 'You are a hundred percent wrong,’ she repeated, with a horrendous, over-the-top-Yankee-fied imitation of his barely-there drawl.”

“If you want, I can carry you—” “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Let’s go.”He’d said that wrong. He should have said, “I want to carry you.”

“She smiled at him, the way she always did, even when he woke up at oh-what-the-fuck-hundred.”

“Showtime,’ Jamie said, heavy on the sh. ‘You gonna tell her your real name or make something up? I always liked Ferd McGurgle. It’s not one of those names you forget, where you have to stop and think, Now, who did I say I was again, Tom Smith or Bill Jones . . .?’‘Actually,’ A.J. said, trying his best to ignore Jamie’s help, ‘you do know my name.’ He cleared his throat as she looked puzzled, that little ever-present almost-smile ready to expand across her face. He exhaled and just said it. ‘It’s Gallagher.’‘Nicely done.’ Jamie applauded. ‘Good segue, good choice—honesty. Much better than Ferd. I’m proud of you, kid.’But Allison was still puzzled, still about to smile, until she realized what he’d said. Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it fast. ‘Gallagher?’ she repeated and the smile was definitely gone. ‘As in Gallagher?’‘As in Austin James Gallagher,’ A.J. told her with a nod. ‘I’m A.J. for short. I was named after my great-grandfather.’ He lifted her file. ‘Jamie. He dropped the Austin after he came west. Too many people thought he was from Texas, which kind of pissed him off.’ He tried to make a joke. ‘He’d met a few Texans he didn’t particularly like, so . . .’Silence.Yeah.”

“She was looking at the cab, looking right through me, and I knew that she was curious because she’d seen A.J. talking to me. Which, to her, looked an awful lot like A.J. was talking to himself. “Say, I gotta run, mom, I’ll call you later,” I instructed the kid, and then pretend to hang up your phone.”

“I love quick,” Gina said. “And come on, I’m getting jealous here. Was it zero sex last year for you,too?”“Yes,” he admitted. “I love you, you weren’t there—what was I going to do?”“Are you actually embarrassed, ” she asked, “because you weren’t some kind of man-ho and—”“No,” Max said. “I’m embarrassed that it took me an entire fucking year and a half and the worst scareof my life to figure out that I can’t live without you.”

“I’m not a big drinker and I’ve had enough secondhand smoke for this decade and the next, so . . .”Great. All she had to do was complain about the deafening volume of the music, and she might as well slap a sticker on her forehead saying old next to the one that already said nerd.“Band’s good, though,” she added. “Country’s not my thing, but the players are . . . proficient.” And great, now she sounded like a professor. Proficient. God.But he was nodding. “Country’s not my thing, either.”“But you have a cowboy hat,” she said, and as soon as the words left her lips, she realized how stupid she sounded, no—not that she sounded, but that she was.”