“Anyway,” Brianna says with a sigh, “I still wish it had been Troy.”
“You guys are acting like he’s some kind of celebrity.”
“Delilah, he is,” Chloe says, deadly serious. “He’s literally UMS royalty. I’ve told you this. He’s notorious for being amazing in bed. Jacklyn from Psych claims he made her come twelve times.”
I stare at her. “That’s physiologically impossible.”
“Not for him,” Chloe deadpans.
“Look, he’s popular. He’s hot. He’s nice—which is almost annoying.” Lacey shrugs. “He’s kind of the full package.”
Brianna hums, looking way too contemplative.
“You know, Delilah…” she says, drumming her fingers against her cup. “Maybe you should sleep with him.”
I immediately choke on my apple.
“I—what?!”
“Oh, come on,” Brianna grins with all her teeth. “You never go for guys like him. It’d be fun.”
“It would be insane,” I correct, dabbing at my shirt with a napkin.
“Troy is, like, the ultimate college experience,” Chloe adds nodding, as if she’s listing off must-do bucket list items. “The girls who’ve hooked up with himliterallybrag about it.”
“I’m not looking for bragging rights,” I say, voice dry.
But there’s a twitch in my chest, sharp and surprising.
Because he walks around like he’s untouchable—cocky smile, perfect timing, charm turned up to eleven. And for a while, I bought it. Everyone does.
But I’ve seen flashes.
He puts on a good show. So good, I almost didn’t see past it. But I think he cares more than he wants anyone to know.
And for some reason, that makes my heartache.
Which is exactly why I shove the thought aside.
“No,” Lacey smirks, eyes gleaming. “But youareenjoying this. Him asking about you, just a little.”
I open my mouth to argue and my cheeks flush. Because—okay. Maybe a tiny part of me is enjoying this.
The way they’re all hanging onto my every word like I’m starring in some romcom instead of just getting a ride to class from some stupidly hot obnoxious guy.
I’ve dated before, obviously. But never guys like Troy—guys who look like they belong in cologne ads and get nods of approval from every frat guy on campus. The effortlessly popular, universally liked guys. I usually go for somebody just passing through town, people working at the ski resorts who are here for a season with tattoos and a lip piercing. Who tell me I’m their muse for a week and then disappear. Perfect.
Usually, when I mention a guy, the girls nod politely, say “nice,” and move on.
But now they’re fully invested. Eyes wide. Leaning in. Laughing. Asking questions.
And I don’t know what that says about me, but…
It’s kind of nice to actually feel like one of the girls.
Later that dayI'm in the architecture studio which is almost empty at this hour, just how I like it. No distractions, no small talk—just me, my drafting table, and the model I've been slaving over.
I adjust the tiny solar panel on the roof, trying to get the angle perfect, when the door bangs open. I flinch, nearly snapping the delicate piece in half.
