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But none of them have a sleeve of tattoos and bright blue eyes. My stomach gives one small irritating dip.

Fuck. I must be tired.

Absolutely not.

Callum Fox has appeared in my thoughts far too often since he hid in my lab in September. Usually when I’m tired. Or bored. Or apparently, looking at attractive men.

It means nothing.

I’ve spent enough time around musicians to know exactly what they’re like. Unreliable. Self-important. Permanently surrounded by chaos they claim simply happens to them.

Unfortunately, they also tend to be offensively attractive.

I hand the phone back.

“See? They were in this house. All of them. I wish I could still smell them.”

“You’re gross.”

“I am not. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t smell them given the opportunity.”

I shrug. “I guess I would smell them, yes.”

“Ha. You’re just as bad as me.”

“If you insist. Do you want a hot lemon water?”

“No. But I would looove a hot cocoa if you’re making drinks.”

She bats her eyelashes.

“Of course.” I relent. As a scientist, I tend not to believe in the superstitious. But Sydney has a superpower. She’s five-foot-four of pure energy with a blonde bob she cuts herself, and when she wants something, she gets it. Saying no to her is technically possible, but physically very hard.

I once watched her talk a TA into extending a deadline he had already extended. Twice. He thanked her. I’m 90% sure she has also slept through more eight a.m. labs than she’s attended and talked her way out of every single one.

So, yes. I’m making the hot cocoa.

She follows me into the kitchen and perches on the counter while I put the kettle on.

“So. Spring break. Plans?”

I pause.

“Nope.”

“Going home? To see your sex-slave lover?”

“I’ll probably stay here. Easier to study. I start my new tutoring sessions next week.”

“You’re still doing the Learning Assistant thing? In addition to dying over the MCAT?”

“It looks good on my med school apps. And it’ll matter with my committee letter.”

“It looks insane is what it looks. You’re a maniac.” She frowns. “You can always come to Cabo. With me and my high school friends.”

Three months in, and Sydney is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best friend.

“Thanks. But I would seriously die. You’ve seen me after a few drinks. A week of partying? Not a chance.”