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“And when it ends?”

“It will hurt, probably. But you’ll still have your girls. You’ll still apply to medical school. You’ll still meticulously fold your laundry and terrify everyone who puts a mug in the wrong cabinet.”

“Mugs have a designated place. I like the green. It’s racy, but also very you.”

Gianna smiles. “Me too.”

She turns back to the mirror to fiddle with the zipper, and I reach for my coffee before remembering it went cold.

I drink it anyway. It’s terrible.

And sitting there, I do some final intense thinking for the day.

Fact: I have a solid life plan, and said plan does not have a sexy rockstar in it.

Fact: Kissing said sexy rockstar felt really, really good.

Just sparks.

And sparks aren’t a problem. Sparks are small and bright and gone in a second, and I am a grown woman who is perfectly capable of enjoying one small bright thing without burning anything down.

And maybe I want to feel them again.

It can’t hurt anyone.

Right?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cal

Walking across campus, I get a text from an unknown number.

Unknown

Hey Cal, It’s Violet. good to meet you. sorry about the collab—I don’t get a say, my label handles all of that and they’re allergic to anything fun

shame you don’t want to date me though ;)

kidding. mostly

Cal

good to meet you too. if the allergy ever clears up we’re around

Violet

noted

So that’s that. She was nice. Turned up on time, ordered like a person, talked about her band’s rhythm section for twenty minutes with her elbows on the table. No collab, because she doesn’t get to decide, and no fake relationship, because I’m not doing one.

Which makes the whole thing a dinner. A perfectly good dinner in a quiet restaurant in a city where nobody looked at us twice.

I put the phone in my pocket.

Sydney intercepts me outside the Hartley building with an iced coffee in one hand and an expression that promises unwanted involvement in my personal life.

“Heading to see Bea?”