The drinks keep flowing, laughter louder with every refill. Holly’s still ranting about Sly, Tabby’s dramatically reenacting her last terrible flirt attempt with an Envy boy, and Cleo keeps correcting both of them through her giggles.
Then, of course, they circle back to me.
“So,” Tabby says, eyes gleaming. “About this little sexy potion of yours…”
“No,” I say, pointing at her. “Don’t even start.”
“Oh, I’m already started,” she sing-songs, sliding off Cleo’s desk and flopping next to me. “You should take it tonight.”
My drink sloshes onto my lap. “Tonight? Are you insane?”
“Yes, she is,” Holly says dryly, kicking her boots off. “But she’s right. You keep stalling, waiting for some perfect moment. There’s no perfect moment. Just do it.”
“Do what?” I sputter.
“Professor Gabriel.” Tabby waggles her brows. “Bond-boy number… what is he, three? Four?”
“Shhh,” Cleo murmurs, “That’s dangerous to say even in here, Tabby. Put a lid on it.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I’m not just going to waltz into his office like—like some Lust Porn-Star floozy!”
“Why not?” Holly smirks. “You’re already half-dosed with alcohol. Your inhibitions are lowered like you wanted. Might as well commit.”
Tabby claps, delighted. “Exactly! Tonight’s perfect. You’ve got courage in a cup, courage in a vial—double courage! What could go wrong?”
“A million things,” Cleo mutters, though even she’s grinning, her careful composure unraveling after her third cup.
My stomach flips. The idea is ridiculous. Stupid. Utterly doomed.
…But the more they tease, the more the warmth in my chest edges out the fear. My pulse kicks with a reckless energy. When am I going to have the guts again? Tomorrow I’ll just overthink myself back into paralysis. And I only have a little over a month left in the term.
I groan, covering my face. “You’re all terrible influences.”
“Thank you,” Tabby says.
“I’m serious,” I warn, peeking through my fingers. “If this goes horribly wrong—”
“Then we’ll drink again tomorrow and make fun of you for eternity,” Holly cuts in, grinning. “Either way, we win.”
“Not helping!”
But I’m laughing, and the laughter softens into a reckless nod. “…Fine. I’ll do it.”
The girls erupt into cheers like I’ve just declared war. Tabby throws her arm around my shoulders, nearly knocking my cup out of my hand. “Attagirl!”
I push them off and fumble in my desk drawer for Maddox’s vial. The glass catches the lamplight, shimmering.
His words echo in my head: There’s no real potion for sexy. You drink this, and your mind does the rest. You feel unshackled. Confident in flirting. Like you could do anything. Confidence is sexy.
I laugh a little too high-pitched. “If I’m the one who ends up pole-dancing in the cafeteria, I’m blaming all of you.”
“You should do that instead,” Tabby blurts.
“Not helping,” Cleo mutters again.
Holly leans forward, eyes sharp, almost proud. “Bottoms up, Davies. Let’s see Wrath’s fire.”
I close my eyes, tip back the vial, and swallow.
