"So, what's the plan for the best malt?" I asked as we stepped out into the simmering June heat.

"Plan? That's not how this works." Tim shook his head. "The art of the chocolate malt hunt is this: we stop at every ice cream shop, greasy spoon, and mom-and-pop fast-food joint to ask if they have a malt. Billy grows increasingly agitated and terrible to be around with every passing establishment. And just before we end our friendship entirely over the ill-fated tour, we stumble across a place with a malt."

"But why don't you look up a spot that has a malt before you leave? It seems like it'd be a much more enjoyable adventure." I asked, looking between Billy and Tim as we began down the sidewalk.

"Billy, care to answer that?" A playfulness entered Tim's voice.

Billy gave him a sideways look before he spoke. "I ask at restaurants, so they pause when I ask. A malt is a dying delicacy. If I ask and a couple of others ask, maybe they'll put them back on the menu," he shrugged.

"That's adorable." I smiled up at him.

His face flushed as he dipped his head, but his dimples peeked through his curtain of hair.

"Adorable isn't the word I'd use; bat shit crazy is my preference," Tim continued as we walked towards Fenway Park.

"It's not as horrible as he makes it seem." Billy's face remained dipped, so he didn't have to speak above a low tone for his words to carry to my ear. It brought his face close to mine.

"It doesn't sound awful at all," I smiled as I turned my face to his.

In a split second, I pushed forward and gave him a soft kiss. It was a blink-and-you-missed-it peck, but it still sent electricity coursing from my lips to my toes. When I pulled away, the edges of Billy's lips tipped to a smile as he grasped my hand tighter and lifted it, giving the back of my hand a demure kiss before letting the knot of our fingers drop between us.

"So, are we ready for embarrassing story numero uno?" Tim teased.

"Do your worst, man; I was an endearing child." Billy tugged my hand slightly, pulling me closer to his side.

"Endearing?" Tim raised an eyebrow. "Really, Muffin Man?"

"Oh, come on," Billy gave him a shove.

"When we were kids, we used to watch wrestling..." Tim stopped when he saw a giggle on my face. "It was the 80s," he scolded. "So, your adorable Billy decided he had a wrestling alter-ego, but the dude couldn't say Muscle Man to save his life. So we spent a solid five years calling him Muffin Man."

"Aw, that's so cute." I looked up at Billy to see his dimples again.

"See, cute. You've got nothing. Oh, and I already told her the soapbox story," Billy added.

"If you want me to go straight to the big guns, I'll go straight to the big guns," Tim threatened. "Lily, do you mind if I call you Lily?" Tim continued as he slung an arm around my shoulders.

"Well, it's my name," I shrugged.

"Excellent, Lily. Did you know that as a child, Billy hated socks?" Tim heavily landed on the 'hated,' which caused Billy to groan.

"Come on, man," Billy argued.

"Who's adorable now?" Tim teased.

"Wait, what's the big deal with hating socks?" I asked.

"Well, his mom always got mad at him because his feet and shoes stunk. So, he solved the problem." Tim lifted his gaze from me to Billy.

"It worked." Billy shook his head.

"What did you do?"

"I was in the bathroom one morning, dreading socks, and I found this box of what looked like sock stickers my mom was hiding from me. So, I stuck them to my feet, put on my Sunday shoes, and headed off to church."

"Sticky socks?" I asked.

"Yeah, at least that's what I thought they were. So, we always had lunch at my nonna's after church, and she made us take our shoes off; that's when my parents and all our friends and family saw my sticker socks."

"I don't know what they were," I admitted.

"Panty liners; six-year-old Billy was walking around with panty liners stuck to his feet." Tim laughed.

"Oh, no!" I let out a laugh.

"Yeah, my mom wasn't happy with me, and now she brings it up all the time," Billy blushed again.

"And his feet still stink," Tim added.

"Your feet don't smell," I quietly soothed.

Billy gave me a soft smile of appreciation.

"Okay, it's only fair. What are some Tim stories?" I gave Billy a nudge.

"Oh, man," Billy began. "Where to even start?"

"Well, you gotta tell her why everyone called me Billy and you Collins for a couple of years," Tim laughed.

"Oh geez, I didn't think I was ever going to get my name back," Billy laughed.

"I can be stubborn," Tim started. "And one Thanksgiving, my mom got pissed that I was only eating stuffing and cranberry sauce."

"Understandable," I agree, eliciting and nod of approval from Tim.

"So, she demanded that I eat something green before I left the table." Both Billy and Tim let laughed. "Well, jokes on her because the paper napkins were green, so as she looked on in horror, I ate an entire green napkin, washed it down with my milk, and went to watch football. Everyone called me Billy Goat for years."

"Ew," I winced.

"Wait, panty liners are adorable, and my ingenious way of getting out of eating limp green beans is 'ew'?" Tim shook his head at me. "Yeah, you're not playing favorites." He griped as he huffed into a nearby burger joint.

"I am playing favorites," I winked as Billy held the door for me.

"Unbelievable," Tim grumbled as he gazed up at the menu, which boldly displayed malts on the menu, "the first fucking place, and they have a malt."

"You just finished saying how terrible the endless search was, and now you're mad the first place we go has one?" I asked.

"I complain because I love," Tim shook his head.

"Ignore him. What do you want?" Billy asked.

His gaze was looking more heated than I had seen since I had arrived. I wanted to return to the hotel, but that wasn't what he asked.

"I'll have a malt and French fries," I added.

"Chocolate?" Billy confirmed.

"Of course," I smiled.

"You guys go grab a table; I'll get the food." Billy's eyes were back on the menu as his words dismissed us.

"So," Tim began as we slid into the shiny vinyl of a 50s-style booth, "you and Billy." He suspiciously eyed me. "What's the deal with you two?"

"Just cutting right to the chase, Timmy?" I noted.

"It's Tim," he corrected before continuing. "Billy hasn't been forthcoming with what's up, so I figure you might be the easier nut to crack." Tim sat back but never lifted his eyes from me.

"I'm a nut now, Timmy?" I raised an eyebrow at him and deliberately accented 'Timmy.'

He let out a slight smile, but his gaze didn't waver.

"I don't know what we are. I guess we're friends," I spoke as much to myself as Tim.

"Friends?" Tim let out a snort. "I'm friends with Billy; you're not friends with Billy."

"Ok, well, friends probably isn't exactly right, but we aren't much more. He's quite the gentleman. It's super annoying." I had almost forgotten Tim was there as my internal thoughts spilled out. "Sometimes, it seems like he wants more, but he always stops himself."

"That sounds like Billy. He's so shy. His mom worries he'll die alone... or worse, with me."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. I'm sure he gets a lot of interest on the road," I offered.

"I'll dutifully refer to the aforementioned shyness," Tim nodded. "I have a ton of footage from the road; you can have a look if you like. He's truly a terrible rock star, always hiding in corners and out of the limelight."

"Sounds smart to me," I shrugged. 

Tim gave a tight nod as his eyes flickered up to Billy coming our way. Billy slid the tray of food onto the table as I popped off the top of my malt.

"What are you doing?" Tim condemned as I dipped a fry in my drink.

"What? It's good, the salty and the sweet," I defended myself.

"That's disgusting," he shot back.

"Don't knock it until you try it, dear Timmy," I shrugged.

I dipped a fry and offered it to Billy. He opened his mouth, and I popped it in.

"She's not wrong," he assessed as he chewed.

I smiled and leaned further into his side.

"Yeah, that's an honest assessment," Tim grumbled before taking a long pull of his malt.

"Don't get jealous, Tim," Billy teased. "I still love you, man." As he spoke, he let his arm fall around my shoulders.

"Sure, sure, sure," Tim said as he pulled himself up. "I'm going to hit the head; then we should head back. We only have a couple of hours until soundcheck."

In Tim's absence, I looked up to Billy and whispered, "hi."

"Hi," he echoed, meeting my gaze.

I stared up at him, looking at the golden flecks in his eyes before adding, "hi" again.

He let out a little laugh that blew a warm breath across my face.

"Tim seems nice," I managed, still unable to rip my eyes from his.

"Mmhmm, he does seem that way," Billy agreed as he slightly dipped his head closer to me.

I toyed with asking him to kiss me, but that left the door open for a no. Instead, I pushed forward and let my lips meet his, sending fire coursing through my body and curling my toes.

I pulled away to add another, "hi," tempting Billy.

"Oh, stop," he whispered as he pushed forward and met my lips again.

The intake of our breath echoed in my ears as Billy curled his arm further around me, pulling me deep into his chest. The world swirled away, only to be brought back by Tim clearing his throat. Billy reluctantly pulled away, but let his forehead linger on mine.

"Hello, Tim." His words blew over my face before he added a peck to my nose and sat up straight, severing our connection.

"I'm assuming we're all ready to head back," Tim added.

"Ready?" Billy's tongue added a curl to the word.

"Yes," I smiled. "I'm very ready."