“Babe. Please. I’m not in the mood to cry tonight.”

Laughter bubbles in my throat. His serious expression tells me he’s not even joking. “Which part gets you? Mother reading to her children? Old couple on the bed?”

“All of the above. And don’t get me started on Jack’s senseless death. Goddamn unnecessary.”

I nod wholeheartedly. “There was room for two on the door.”

“Damn right there was. It was even myth-busted. He didn’t have to die.”

When my phone chimes, I tear my gaze off young Leonardo DiCaprio’s beautiful face. Though really, his face is as beautiful now as it was then. He’s an ageless wonder.

I read the incoming text from Hunter, who’d gone out tonight with a few guys from the team. I stayed home because Brenna had been supposed to come over and hang out. I have a feeling that’s the only reason Hollis stayed behind too. But she canceled at the last minute, hence why Hollis and I are alone.

Fitz isn’t home either, but I’m trying very hard not to dwell on why that is.

“Hunter wants to know if you want him to bring you some chicken wings,” I tell Hollis.

“How is this a question?”

“Is that a yes?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s a yes,” I say irritably, “but I’d like to be sure.”

“I won’t even justify his question with an answer.”

I swear one day I’m going to murder this guy. I text Hunter a yes to the wings, then send a message to Brenna.

ME: Due to you ditching me, I’m chilling with your bf tonight and he is mighty annoying.

* * *

BRENNA: Didn’t mean to ditch u, GB. Forgot about study group.

It takes a second to figure out “GB” means Greenwich Barbie. Grinning, I type back, All good. J/k anyway. Well, not about the annoying part. Because he is.

BRENNA: Very much so. And he’s not my bf.

She punctuates that with the middle finger emoji. Just to mess with her, I turn to Hollis and say, “Brenna says hi.”

His blue eyes light up. “Legit? Tell her to give me her number already. I’m tired of begging for it.” He stops, his gaze dropping to the phone in my hand. “Better yet, how about you give it to me and I’ll tell her directly?”

Oh my God. She won’t even let him have her precious phone number? Poor guy. I want so badly to laugh, but I think it might hurt his feelings.

“Sorry, sweetie,” I say lightly. “Can’t do that. It’s against hoe-code.”

Despite his disappointed expression, he leans over and drops a solemn pat on my shoulder. “I respect that. We all need to live by a code.” His attention returns to the film. “Jesus fuck, Kate Winslet looks so hot wielding an axe.”

I snort out a laugh. We watch as Kate wades through knee-deep water to rescue a handcuffed Leo. “See, rich girls can be badasses,” I tell Hollis.

“If that’s your way of offering to break my handcuffs with an axe, I graciously decline. In no way do I trust your aim.”

“No? How’s this for aim?” Lightning fast, I grab a peanut from the can of mixed nuts we’ve been passing back and forth and flick it at him.

It hits him smack in the forehead and bounces off with an actual ping.

I curl over, inconsolable with laughter. “Why…did…it…make…that…sound?” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath. My stomach hurts from the force of my giggles. “Mike! Do you have a metal plate in your forehead?”

Hollis is as perplexed as I am. “Dude. I didn’t think I did. Now I just want to call my mom and ask.”

I’m still howling when the front door creaks open. I expect Hunter to appear with a platter of chicken wings, but it’s Fitz’s broad body that fills the doorway. Almost immediately, my laughter dies.

He went out with Nora Ridgeway tonight. Hollis was teasing him about it earlier when Fitz came downstairs in nice jeans and a light blue button-down.

Oh, and no beard.

That’s right. He shaved for her. And unlike Professor Laurie, whose beard removal made him appear prepubescent, Fitz is all man with or without the facial hair. If anything, the clean-shaven look emphasizes his masculine features more—the hard slash of his jaw, the sexy mouth, dimpled chin. I almost fainted with desire earlier when I realized he’s got a cleft in his chin.

“Hey. What’s so funny?” he asks gruffly, glancing from me to Hollis.

“My skull is made of metal,” Hollis replies. “How’d your date go?”

It’s barely ten thirty. I wonder if his early return is a good sign, but Fitz squashes that notion by saying, “Pretty good.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t ask a single question about his stupid date.

My mouth doesn’t feel like obeying.

“I’m surprised you went out with a fashion major,” I blurt out.

He shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “She’s also a Visual Arts major. Her medium’s abstract painting.”

Of course it is. Nora seems like the kind of girl who’d throw a glob of black and pink paint on a canvas and then stand there pontificating about how the “piece” represents anarchy and/or the inequality of women.

“I see. So you spent the whole time discussing Monet and Dalí, I suppose?” I meant to tease, but the words sound almost like an attack.

Fitz senses it too. His eyes narrow. “We talked art, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Of course not. Why would it be?”

“I don’t know. Why would it?”

“I just said it wasn’t.” My teeth clench as I reach for my water bottle. I have a hard time swallowing on account of my tense jaw, but I manage. “I’m glad you two share similar interests. Imagine how dreadful it would’ve been if she spent the whole night babbling about the Kardashians.” I cap the bottle, hastily adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with the Kardashians.” I adore Kim and the crew. I think they’re all savvy businesswomen, if I’m being honest.

“I love the Kardashians,” Hollis chimes in.

“If you say one word about their butts,” I warn.

“I like the show,” he assures me. “It’s funny.”

“Liar. No way you watch the show.”

“Bible.”

I gasp. “Oh my God. Okay. We’ll discuss the current season later.” To Fitz, I say, “Sounds like a super-fun date. All that art talk. Real deep.”

He props one hand on the door jamb. “Any reason why you’re being a bitch right now?”

What?

“Whoa,” Hollis murmurs.

I gape at Fitz. My hand trembles around the water bottle. Did he seriously call me a bitch? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word exit his mouth before. And for it to be directed at me? Hurt and anger war in my stomach, making it churn.

The anger wins out.

Slamming the bottle on the table, I get up and advance on him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? So you’re allowed to sit there and make snarky comments, but it’s unfathomable for me to call you on it?”