“He likes to draw.”

“Who does?”

“Jack.”

“I like to color—does that count?”

Abe laughs. “Like those adult coloring books for relaxation and shit?”

It really does sound nerdy.

Embarrassed, I giggle. “Hey pal, don’t knock it. I’ve invested a lot of time and money in markers.”

“No judging.” He pauses. “Know what I do to relax that’s weird? I have one of those slime containers and I sit and play with it at my desk when no one is looking.”

“Stop it, you do not. What color is it?”

“Do you watch those ‘oddly satisfying’ videos online, too?”

Another laugh. “Sometimes. Do you?”

“Duh—doesn’t everyone?”

“No!” He cackles. “No they do not. Because it’s lame!”

“We are the furthest thing from lame, Abraham.”

He goes still for the second time since we’ve been alone. “Good guess.”

“Not really. I stalked you online before I agreed to this double date.”

He’s quiet again, tearing at a tiny, pink sugar packet. “Find out anything interesting about me?”

“Not really.” I laugh. “Tons of wrestling stuff. Some pictures from high school.”

“And you decided I wasn’t a murderer.”

“Statistically, I’m more likely to get murdered on a date than by a stranger in my own home.” I’m stating facts, but it makes us both laugh. “So technically, you still have time to kill me. Or Hannah, I mean. Her. Not me.”

Abe’s white smile is blinding against his darker skin and my eyes linger on his mouth; mine curves too, mimicking his expression. Dopey, kind of.

Smitten.

God, he is so cute, his eyes the perfect shade of brown, and if he was my date, I’d reach out and run my palm along the clean cut of his hair. I wonder if it’s as coarse as it looks, wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingertips.

Oh god, this is bad.

He breaks the spell. “Right. Hannah.”

“Hannah.”

He raises a brow. “Jack.”

Hannah and Jack: the reason we’re sitting here now.

And speak of the devil…

“We’re back!” Hannah sing-songs, carrying two glasses, setting one in front of me as she plops down, filling the empty chair across from me.

JB has a drink, too; it looks like a cocktail, amber colored and full of ice. He takes a swig, and I try to admire the column of his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. It’s a nice throat, clean shaven and thick. Athletic.

Meaty, one might say, if one were into that sort of thing.

Lord, listen to me, describing him like I’ve just popped out of a historical novel.

His lips are wet when he’s done, and I do my best to imagine kissing his mouth. Full bottom lip, a bit pouty. Strong jawline. Masculine chin I imagine gets dark from beard stubble shortly after it’s been shaved.

JB’s hair is still wet and badly in need of a trim, but it works for him. He’s an athlete and looks like one—a bit rough around the edges, scarred and bruised. Disheveled and unkempt.

Scruffy in a way most girls love these days, just not…me.

I don’t love it. He is not my type.

When JB raises his glass for another chug of whatever he’s drinking, I can’t help notice Abe elbowing him in the gut.

JB sets the glass down.

Hmm. That’s weird, right?

My head tilts to the side, thoughtful.

Vigilant.

“JB here used to be the captain of the wrestling team,” Abe informs the table, like he’s suddenly become the factotum of all things JB.

“Used to be?” Hannah snickers, and I want to smack her.

“When was that?” I ask, kicking her under the table to shut her up, hoping it’s her shin my toe made contact with.

“Sophomore year for about five minutes,” JB answers without expanding on the thought.

“And you’re a junior?”

“Yeah.”

Riveting.

“What about you, Abe?” Hannah gives her attention to him, batting her eyelashes. “What year are you?”

“Junior.”

“Have you ever been the captain of the wrestling team?”

“No. I’ve never had the honor.”

“What else do you do besides wrestle? Are you a party boy? Do you go out a lot?” Hannah asks the questions rapid-fire, sucking through the straw of her soda.

“I study a lot—I don’t make time to go out. I haven’t been to a party in months.” He shoots a gaze in my direction. “I, uh, like to cook.”

This interests my roommate, and she leans in. “Oh? What’s your favorite?”

“Italian food.”

“The nerd makes his own pasta.” JB laughs, seizing the opportunity to chug down his liquor.

Hannah gives him her murder face. “It’s not nerdy to make your own noodles.” She’s biting her tongue; I know she wants to tack on an insult to the end of her sentence, but for once, she doesn’t. “It’s nice. More guys should have a life skill instead of just being pretty.”

Jack’s nostrils flare. “Did you just call me pretty?”

Hannah snorts. Then shrugs. “Get over yourself.”

Oh Jesus.

“Are you always a salty bi—”

“Okay! Who wants to order an appetizer?” Abe practically shouts, craning his head for the waitress, who hasn’t reappeared since taking our drink orders. We need drinks. And food. And a referee.

The restaurant is busy, but not crazy enough that she should be ignoring us.

Hannah glares across the table at my date, lip curled. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

At this point, I notice a theme unfolding. Abe not only does most of the talking, he’s the voice box for both of them; JB doesn’t seem to have an original thought of his own. He’s a yes man, agreeing with every word coming from his roommate’s gorgeous mouth.

“Skylar babe.” My roommate slides out of the booth and stands next to the table. “Care to join me in the ladies’ room for a second?”

Did she just call me babe?

Still hungry, I look down at my plate, the warm, half-eaten food I’ve been too nervous to actually eat. “Not really?”

She rolls her eyes, giving me a tight-lipped smile. Grabs a handful of my shirt and tugs. “I need your help.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, With what? but I manage to zip my lips.

This is the fourth time Hannah has gotten up from the table since we’ve gotten here, once when she went to the bar and twice with JB to find music on the jukebox.

“Want to tell me why you’re being such a troll?” I hiss as she goes in one stall, me into another. “Can you not behave for five seconds?”

Unzip my jeans. Squat above the toilet seat and start peeing.

“That guy is a douche. Why are we wasting our time here?” She huffs a loud, dramatic sigh. “Let’s leave.”

“We can’t just walk out!”

I can hear her pants unzipping. “Why?”