“Did I pass?” he asks me when I back away from him. “You passed,” I confirm. “Great.” He nods up at the clock on the wall. “I wanted to get out of here before dinner. It’s taco night.” I can’t help myself from cracking a smile. “Taco Tuesday?” “You got it.” He adjusts his position in the bed. “I don’t want to miss taco night. I lope tacos.” My breath catches in my throat. I lope tacos. When is the last time Shane and I joked around about loping each other? That used to be our thing. I remember the last time I said the words to him: I lope you. Against my will, I feel a sudden rush of
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