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“Fucking would imply more than once.”

Her mouth drops open.

Then she shoots upright on the sofa.

“Oh my God. I’m right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You absolutely did.” She points at me, practically vibrating. “You slept with Callum Fox.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Oh my God,” she repeats, quieter but somehow more intense. “I genuinely didn’t think you had.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Not because you’re not hot enough for him,” she rushes to add. “You’re obviously hot enough for him. Frankly, he should be grateful. I just mean you have your rules. Your whole no-campus-men, no-drama, no-complications thing.”

“It wasn’t complicated.”

Sydney stares at me.

She takes a breath. “Right, let me get my order in. This is the sort of discussion that requires fast food. Want a pack of nugs and fries?”

I don’t usually eat too much fried food—learning about the body and heart disease will do that to you—but I am sort of feeling like some comfort food.

“And a Sprite, please.” Then I add, “Don’t tell Ash.”

She taps her lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

After our food arrives, I decide to confide everything in Sydney. I know she won’t rest until she knows the full story anyway.

“So…are you going to do it again?”

“I don’t know… It was good, Sydney, like, really good.” I bite my lip. “But…it scares me. For one, I’m his tutor, like assigned from the school. I don’t even know if there are rules around that. And for two, we’re…weird together. It’s not like it is with Jake back home. It’s more…fun?”

“Eeek!” Sydney squeals. “Fun is good.” She shoves a fry into her mouth. “Fun is what sex is supposed to be, you know, like enjoyable.”

I frown. “But he’s not going to be here for long. I don’t know the full situation, but I know he’s going back to the band. So what does that make me? A groupie?”

The word makes me cringe as soon as it leaves my mouth.

Sydney shrugs. “Or his girlfriend.”

“No.” The answer comes too quickly. “I don’t want that. It wouldn’t work. I can’t be starting medical school with some famous musician boyfriend halfway across the country.”

I could tell her the actual reason.

That I grew up watching Dad’s music come first. That Mom was always packing for the next show, the next town, the next plan that changed at the last minute. That I decided years ago I’d never build my life around someone else’s career.

But Sydney is hungover, eating fries in yesterday’s mascara, and this feels like a lot to unpack over nuggets.

So I give her the easier version.

“And I’m not sure we can keep it casual,” I admit. “It feels different with him.”

“Why are you thinking five years ahead?” she asks. “Why can’t you just enjoy whatever this is now and panic about the future when it actually arrives?”