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by May, McKinley

  "Actually, it takes a fair amount of skill to be this bad at singing. Fun Fact: I was kicked out of my middle school choir. They were supposed to let all students participate no matter their vocal ability, but apparently I was an exception to that rule."

  "Ouch." I laugh. "They didn't need to do you dirty like that. Couldn't you just have lip-synched or something?"

  "I tried. They said even that was out of tune. Do you know the kind of savvy you need to lip-sync off-pitch? It requires some serious talent."

  "Okay, I stand corrected," I say with a grin. "You are the best worst-singer ever."

  "Thank you very much." The music slowly fades as she walks into another room. "I still can't believe you've never seen Moana. I'd force you to come over and watch it, but Rayne and I are having a girls' night. No boys allowed."

  "Hoes before bros?"

  "Yes, sir. Chicks before dicks. Sorry you can't join in on the fun."

  "I'm real disappointed I'm missing out on that."

  "You should be." Her words are strained, a cork popping just moments later. "We have four tubs of ice cream, three bottles of the most fabulous $10 wine from H-E-B, and comfy-cozy footie pajamas. It's party central over here."

  "Sure sounds like it. Watching Disney movies while wearing oversized baby PJs? You two are wild animals."

  I hear the cadenced glub glub glub of wine being poured in a glass. "And what exactly are you doing, Mr. Too Cool for School? It's Saturday night and you've been chatting with me for the last half hour, so I'm not sure you have any room to talk. You're probably just lazing around on your bed in your underwear, tossing a tennis ball against the wall."

  Fuck me—she's right.

  Me, chillin' shirtless on my messy bed, talking on the phone with Lexie for hours upon end; it's a position I've found myself in a lot lately.

  Almost every freaking day, to be honest.

  Despite these lengthy chats and our meet-ups for lab, we've yet to have a third date.

  Haven't even mentioned it once.

  Another thing we haven't discussed?

  That titillating, steamy-as-hell kiss we shared at the park.

  The one that occurred two and a half weeks ago.

  There's still that extreme sexual tension crackling between us—even stronger than before—but Lexie's obviously doing all she can to elude it. Sitting farther away during class, avoiding any sort of physical contact...

  But if she wanted to cut the cord on this thing, she can just say the word. And she hasn't.

  Oddly enough, I'm also not stirring the pot.

  Do I want to kiss her again? Touch her body, tangle my hands in her silky hair, fuck her senseless?

  Uh, yeah.

  Fuckin' dying to do all of the above.

  But I'm hesitant to do anything that might scare her off, alter this dynamic we've got going on right now. This teasing-flirty-friends-but-sorta-more? relationship.

  I'm not ready for it to come to an end yet.

  Which is weird for me.

  Really weird.

  I snap out of it and press the video chat button. An image of Lexie with a wine glass raised to her lips pops up, and she waves in greeting.

  I hold up the blue rubber sphere in my hand. "It's a racquetball, not a tennis ball, by the way. But other than that, you're spot on."

  She nods knowingly. "You're so predictable."

  "Am I predictable, or are you spying on me?" I jokingly hike a brow. "What color are my boxers?"

  "Black." Her correct answer comes suspiciously quick.

  "Okay, creep." My eyes flit around my bedroom. "Where's the hidden camera?"

  "You wear so much black," she argues with a grin. "It's called making an educated gue—Hey!"

  An unfocused blur of Lexie's kitchen flashes by as the phone is snatched from her hand. A couple of seconds later, I'm practically staring up Rayne's nose.

  "Hi," she says as she glances down at her reflection and grimaces. "Oh man. Double-chin alert!"

  She lifts the cell to a much more flattering angle and starts giggling like a crazy person.

  "Somebody's in a good mood," I remark.

  "That's because somebody's wine-drunk. It's great." A lazy smile replaces her laughter. "Question for you: If Vaughn could eat one dessert for the rest of his life, what would it be?"

  "No idea." I frown. "Crazy thought—you should ask him."

  "He's visiting his sister this weekend, and I want to surprise him when he gets back." She scratches her head and sighs. "He literally eats anything and everything, so I'm not sure what his very fave is. Help?!"

  "Damn, Rayne Drop. I don't know."

  What the fuck does she think we do—sit around the fire pit every night, singing our own personalized versions of "These are a few of my favorite things"?

  Guys don't talk about shit like that.

  Hell, I'm not even sure what Vaughn's middle name is.

  But Rayne's waiting for me to throw her a bone, so I rack my brain for an answer.

  "He likes cheesecake," I offer with a shrug. "Ate three slices last time we were at Cheesecake Factory. There you go."

  "Three?! God, I'm jealous. Most of those are more calories than I should have in an entire day," she whines before looking behind her. "Lex? Do we have stuff to make a cheesecake?"

  "We should! Let me check."

  I watch Lexie open the refrigerator in the background, admiring her peach-shaped ass as she bends over to rummage through the drawers. Rayne notices me staring and her forehead crinkles.

  "You two have been talking on the phone a lot lately. Like, a lot-a lot." Suspicion coats her slightly-slurred words.

  "Bio Lab is a bitch," I respond casually.

  Rayne gives me a calculated look, about to challenge my flimsy excuse when Lexie appears behind her.

  "Alright, alright. Is this your phone call or mine?" She plucks the cell back from Rayne and points at the cabinets. "Get out the measuring cups and plastic mixing bowls. I'm gonna find a recipe."

  The screen bobs up and down as Lexie walks into her bedroom. After propping the phone up on her desk, she flips open her laptop.

  "World's. Easiest. Cheesecake. Recipe." She mumbles the words as she types them out. After hitting Enter, she gives me a flabbergasted look. "Whenever Rayne gets alcohol in her system, she starts coming up with all these surprises and gifts for Vaughn. Once after a bottomless mimosa brunch, she signed up for a pottery class and made him the ugliest, most misshapen vase I've ever seen."

  "Vaughn's the same way without liquor. Dude went to six different grocery stores the other week to find her the perfect chocolate bar. What qualifies as a 'perfect' bar of chocolate? A freakin' golden ticket inside?" My eyes roll dramatically. "They're cheesy as hell."

  "They're hopelessly in love." She grins and shakes her head. "Have you ever met a couple so goo-goo ga-ga over one another?"

  "I've been living with one for almost three years," I say with a grunt. "Ellie and Liam are like a two-for-one deal."

  "It's so foreign to me. Someone always around? Someone you think about 24/7? Someone you're in constant communication with..."

  Her words trail off, a perplexed glaze in her eyes.

  My brow creases. "Kinda sounds like us."

  "Me and you?" She tilts her head in contemplation. "No, I mean—not really."

  "Uh, yes really," I contest. "We see each other multiple times a week, we're either talking or texting all waking hours of the day, and—"

  "And you think about me 24/7?" Her voice is tender, a vulnerable expression casting her features.

  "I think about you all the fucking time, Lexie," I say softly.

  Before she can respond to that truth bomb I just dropped, a massive crash from the kitchen totally kills the moment.

  "Shit!" Rayne yells out.

  "R! I said plastic bowls. You're too drunk for glass!" Lexie groans. Her hands squish her cheeks together, an apologetic smile appearing between them. "I gotta go. Apparently, I need to supervis
e every step of this baking process. Tell Vaughn to inspect the cheesecake for shards of glass before he takes a bite. Seriously."

  "Will do." I toss the racquetball in the air. "You gonna call me back?"

  "Hmm." She lifts a finger to her chin coyly. "I'll consider it."

  "You do that." I laugh because I know she will. She always does. "Now go help the drunk girl before she destroys your damn apartment."

  For the next hour, I watch TV and scroll through my phone. A steady influx of party invites from teammates and girls alike pour in, each one garnering the same canned response from me:

  Sry. Busy 2nite.

  I'm not busy.

  Unless being a fucking couch potato makes me eligible for the label.

  I just don't feel like doing shit tonight.

  I'm mindlessly flipping through TV channels when the doorbell rings. I wait a few moments to see if Liam's gonna handle it, but I don't hear his heavy footsteps. With a sigh, I reluctantly lift myself off the bed and throw on some sweatpants.

  When I open the door, I see Kylie and her best friend, Vanessa—a girl who's about as notorious as me for sleeping around. It's low-50's out tonight, but these two are dressed in crop tops and tiny jean shorts summer-music-festival style.

  "Kylie. Vanessa." I tip my chin in greeting. "What's up?"

  "We haven't heard from you in a while, so we came to check in." Kylie's using her baby-talk voice, the one that grates on my nerves endlessly.

  "Yeah, I've been busy." There's my favorite excuse again. "School, soccer, shit like that."

  "It sounds like you could use a break from everything," Vanessa purrs as she sidles up closer to the house. "We could help you blow off some steam."

  Kylie nods eagerly. "Can we come in?"

  And this is more along the lines of a usual Saturday night for me. Two attractive women, ready and eager to do whatever the fuck I want. A month ago, I would've been all over this.

  But today?

  Not even remotely interested in the offer.

  And even if I was, it wouldn't matter because—

  "Actually, I'm kinda dating somebody," I say with a shrug.

  Obviously it's a lot more complicated than that, but they don't need a damn play-by-play.

  Vanessa's lordosis is miraculously cured as she stops pushing her ass and tits out. "Is anybody else around?" She heaves an annoyed sigh. "I didn't get a Brazilian for nothing."

  "You cool with sophomores?" I lift my brows at the Greenhouse. "Try your luck over there."

  Vanessa saunters off in the direction of a willing participant, but Kylie doesn't follow suit. Instead, she stares at me in disbelief.

  "You're seeing someone?"

  "It's recent."

  I hold in a breath, bracing myself for an earful after my response. With how non-committal I was with her, I'm freaking positive she's about to throw a fit.

  But she shocks the hell outta me when she nods calmly. "You must really like her."

  "Yeah," I answer without hesitation. "I do."

  She squints at me for a good three seconds before producing one final nod. "I understand. Have a good night."

  "You too." I wave and shut the door.

  That went well.

  Surprisingly well.

  I guess Kylie's not so bad after all.

  I mean, if you ignore the whole klepto shit.

  After twisting the lock, I head to our small fridge.

  As I'm pawing through the random leftovers and countless wine coolers, Liam's door squeaks open. I hear the click of high-heels and catch a whiff of Ellie's signature perfume.

  "Try one of those new spiked seltzers," she suggests. "They're so dang good."

  "K." I eye the can skeptically, but take her word for it.

  When I turn, I see Ellie in a floor-length black gown, clipping on a pair of dangly gold earrings.

  "Shit, El." I pop the tab and point the drink at her attire. "What are you all dressed up for?"

  "It's Mrs. Wright's birthday, so we're going out to a spiffy seafood dinner and then the symphony. I feel like a socialite." She flips her hair and pretends to pose for the paparazzi before her eyes stray to the front door. "Did somebody come by?"

  "Yup. Kylie. And Vanessa."

  Her ice-blue eyes roll. "Oh, so it's gonna be one of those nights. Thank the Lord Liam and I will be out late." She cranes her neck, looking towards my bedroom. "Where are they? Do they want some snacks or anything? I could put together a cheese platter real quick if y'all want."

  I release a chortle deep in my chest.

  Leave it to Ellie to play 'Hostess with the Mostess' for the fucking threesome she thinks I'm having.

  "You're such a damn Stepford Wife," I tease as I shake my head.

  "I'm just trying to be polite!" She scowls. "Where I'm from, you offer food and drink to everyone who rings the doorbell. The UPS delivery guy, door-to-door salesmen...My mama made sweet tea and a bundt cake for this kid who came by trying to sell my brother weed once."

  "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I take a sip of the carbonated liquid and cringe. "This tastes terrible, Ellie."

  "Really? You need new taste buds. I'll take it," she says as I hand her my rejected drink. She grabs a napkin and wipes the top before taking a gulp. "So where are the girls?"

  "They're not here. I told them to leave."

  Her eyes bug out of her head. "You did what now?"

  "I told them to leave," I repeat, slower and louder than before.

  "Are you sick? Fever? Flu?" She frantically looks me up and down for signs of infection.

  "I'm fine."

  "I don't believe you." Her pupils dart to the beverage in her hand and she instantly tosses it on the counter in disgust. "Oh crap, Weston. I cannot catch what you have—I've got three tests this week!"

  As she wipes at her lips (as if that would freakin' help anyway), I roll my eyes. "Ellie. Can you chill? I'm O.K. Which one of those two letters do you not understand?"

  Apparently neither of them judging by the concern still clouding her expression.

  "You really do seem different lately. You're less...active." Her nose scrunches. "Are you sure you're alright? You're kinda freaking me out."

  "And you're kinda annoying the shit out of me," I counter.

  "What are you two bickering about now?" Liam asks as he enters the kitchen.

  "Yo, dude. Tell your girl to stop bothering me. She's going all Mom-mode again," I say as she sticks her tongue out.

  "Ellie, love. Do me a favor and please bother Weston as much as your heart desires."

  I shake my head and grin. "You fucker."

  "But first..." Liam tugs at the tie hanging loosely around his neck and gives his girlfriend a pitiful look. "Help me with this shit. I've about bloody choked myself a dozen times."

  As Ellie gets to work on Liam's tie, he cocks his head at me. "What're you up to tonight?"

  "Nothing."

  "He's suffering from an undisclosed illness," Ellie says as she loops the black fabric. "Which reminds me..." She twists her head towards Liam's room. "Alexa? Put disinfectant on my shopping list."

  "Do you want to join us?" Liam asks. "Please take my symphony ticket. I can't sit through hours of that noise. I will literally pay you to take my spot."

  "Nah, man," I decline with a laugh. "You guys have fun. Tell your mom Happy Birthday."

  As I walk out of the room, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, my mouth stretching into a huge-ass smile as an image of Lexie crossing her eyes and giving herself forty chins envelops my screen.

  The picture doesn't do her any justice, but that's another thing that's so damn cool about Barbie. I hand her my phone, tell her to take a pic that'll show up when she calls, and this is what she decides on. Other girls go with the pouty duck lips or a snap that's more cleavage than face, but not Lexie.

  It's fucking rare to meet a beautiful girl so unassuming, so unafraid to look stupid or make an ugly face.

  And honestly?


  It just makes her even more attractive in my eyes.

  Jesus.

  Am I seriously waxing poetic about her gag contact picture in my phone?

  I dunno what's going on with me.

  I've been sitting here for the past hour and a half waiting for her call, and the second it comes through I'm all smiley and shit. I'm giddy as a freaking middle-school girl when her crush passes her a note in class.

  Fuck.

  Maybe I am part of Moana's target demographic.

  And maybe Ellie's onto something here.

  I've got to be sick.

  Otherwise...

  What the hell is happening to me?

  22

  Alice De Luca-Montgomery.

  No-nonsense, chin-length bob of dark hair.

  Stern, pinched facial expression that radiates both beauty and discipline.

  A few years past fifty with the plump, youthful skin you'd expect from a renowned dermatologist.

  My mother is in town.

  Despite her incessant hovering over the first 18 years of my life, my mom doesn't visit Windhaven often.

  And for that, I am extremely grateful.

  The handful of times she's been in the area, I've managed to avoid the unwanted family reunion. All I had to do was utter the word "study" and I'd be off the hook.

  Once when she showed up at my apartment with no word of warning, Rayne did me a solid and sent me a text to GTFO ASAP! I hurled myself off my balcony (Relax—we live on the 2nd floor) and made my great escape as my best friend covered for me.

  But when mommy dearest sent me a very formal email a few days ago stating she'd be attending a work conference nearby, I didn't create any fabricated excuses.

  In fact, I jumped at the opportunity to meet for dinner.

  Because I have a few things to discuss with her.

  I reach into my purse, my fingers grasping the pamphlet I tucked safely inside on my way out the door. A wave of jitters hits me, my nerves on edge as I come to the intersection of Dublin Drive and Stockholm Street.

  Whereas Dublin is nothing but rowdy bars and wasted undergrads, Stockholm is oozing with fancy restaurants and patrons who prefer Dom Pérignon to $3 wells.

  Obviously, I'm meeting my mom at the latter.