"This week has been . . . intense with Caleb." I press my hands to my burning cheeks. "There's always been something there, but now it's like neither of us can pretend anymore. The way his eyes linger when he thinks I'm not looking . . ."
"I've seen it," Sarah says, her words slightly slurred. "That dance lesson this morning? He was two seconds away from taking you right there on the floor."
"It's more than that though." The words rush out, my filter dissolving with each second. "Sometimes when we're alone, it feels like maybe he wants more too. But we never talk about it. We just keep pretending everything's normal and I . . ." I drop my face into the carpet. "I've never said any of this out loud before."
"Listen to me." Sarah's voice takes on a drunken certainty. "Men don't look at theirfriendsthe way Caleb looks at you. And they definitely don't get murder-eyes every time another guy talks to them."
"But what if—"
"No. No what-ifs. You're doing that thing where you create problems that don't exist yet. He wants you. You want him. Stop making it complicated."
"But he's my best friend," I whine into the carpet.
"You're literally sharing a bed. You think that's normal best friend behavior?"
"The couch is—"
"There is nothing wrong with it!" She pokes my shoulder. "Honestly, Caleb could have pushed the whole room situation more and Matt would have figured something out, but he didn't."
"I don't know how to want him without losing him."
"There it is." Sarah's voice softens. "You're not holding out for him to be ready, Ivy. You're chasing a guarantee that doesn't exist."
"Oh my god," I breathe, sitting up so fast the room tilts. "I've been treating him as some cosmic test. Thinking if I'm patient, good enough, the universe will eventually—"
"Say you've earned him?" Sarah finishes.
"I keep pulling cards about taking chances, about stepping into my power, and I just . . ." I laugh, but it catches in my throat. "I've been reading everyone's love life but never mine."
"Because you're scared."
"Of course I'm scared! Terrified, actually. But," I drop my hands. "I don't want to live like that anymore."
Sarah struggles to sit up, nearly taking out a lamp in the process. "This calls for celebration. Mary!" She yells toward the bar. "We need shots!"
"All of them?" I echo, but Sarah's already dragging me off the floor.
Three shots later, I'm being pulled onto the antique coffee table that isn't meant for impromptu dance performances.
"This is a terrible idea," I say, but I'm already laughing as Sarah shoves a makeshift microphone into my hand.
"Shut up and sing!" Dixie cranks up the volume while Virginia and Delilah collapse into giggles on the couch.
Two songs in, the room's spinning but I don't care. My hair's a mess, my feet are bare, and every inhibition I've ever had about Caleb Miller has dissolved into crystal clear clarity that only comes after too many shots and not enough common sense.
"One more!" Sarah declares, and Mary's already pouring.
"If I die, tell Caleb it's his fault for having stupid dimples."
Sarah snorts tequila through her nose. "Tell him yourself."
"I might throw up on him instead."
"That's one way to show him how you feel."
Sharing a room withIvy tonight is going to kill me.
Not like, metaphorically. I mean literally. They'll find my body, and the coroner's report will read,Cause of death: blue balls and bad decisions.
