“I didn’t do anything. She didn’t want you to see her here.”

JB pauses, wheels spinning. “Why? Have I already put my giant purple eggplant inside her?”

Jesus he’s drunk. “No.”

“Then why did she leave? Who the fuck cares if I see the two of you in bed—this is college, not a fucking convent.”

“I tried to convince her to stay,” I lie. “But she bolted.”

Shit. Now I’m throwing Skylar under the bus, and if she heard me she’d be totally disgusted.

“So she’s a psycho.”

“Would you please leave so I can go back to sleep? It’s one o’clock in the morning.” I stand next to my bedroom door, holding it open with my hand on the doorknob.

Jack doesn’t budge. “Not until you tell me who it is.”

“Why do you even care?”

“I’m curious—humor me.”

I’m silent.

“So it’s someone I know.”

Silence.

“Is it Tasha?”

“What? What the hell—no, it’s not your ex-girlfriend.”

He’s quiet, thinking. “Is it someone I’ve dated?”

More silence.

“Shit. You just boned a chick I’ve dated? The fuck—who was it? That Miranda girl?”

He’s never dated a girl named Miranda. He’s never dated a Mindy, Michelle, or Mary, and it would be great if he could fucking remember their names without me having to remind him half the goddamn time.

“There is no Miranda.”

“Dude, you’re pissing me off. Just say it.”

I stalk out of my bedroom and head to the bathroom, directly across the hall. “Oh—I’m pissing you off? Ask me if I give a shit.”

He follows, unable to let the subject die. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I run the water in the sink, stab toothpaste onto my toothbrush, and start scrubbing. Watch him behind me in the mirror, leaning against the doorjamb.

Suddenly, I want to smack his arrogant face.

I scrub my teeth harder.

“What’s her damn name?”

“Go to hell,” I mumble around my toothbrush, foam dripping from my mouth, frothy like a rabid dog.

“You want me to find out myself?” he booms, stepping into the room.

I roll my eyes. “Please. You can’t do jack shit without me.”

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean?”

I face him in the mirror, raising a brow at his reflection. “If I didn’t hold your fucking hand, you wouldn’t even be able to jerk off at night.”

“Fuck you, Abe.”

I spit in the sink, rinsing my toothbrush with water.

“No—fuck you, Jack. Find a new errand boy. I’m done.”

“You’re so full of yourself, Davis, do you know that? You think you’re so much smarter than everybody else. Well I’ve got news for you—you’re not.”

“Boohoo, big deal.” I laugh, practically in his face. “Like I give a shit what you think of me.”

“What is your damn problem?”

“You’re my problem.” My voice rises a few octaves and I finally turn to face him. “You’re my fucking problem. You are.”

“Oh, I’m the fucking problem? How about this? You’re the fucking problem.” He stabs a finger in my chest.

We sling the words fucking and problem and fucking problem around a few more times—sounding like absolute idiots—so many times I’m actually starting to get confused by the lack of control I have over the situation, and the argument.

“I’m fucking Skylar, okay? Are you happy now? We’re dating and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

There.

Let the drunk, high asshole choke on that bit of information.

I wait for it to sink in, really let it marinate to achieve the full effect before dropping another bomb.

“We’ve been dating since the two of you went out.”

Damn the truth feels good.

Not as good as her mouth felt around my cock, but it’s a close second.

“What?”

“Skylar is my girlfriend. She’s the one who went out the window.”

“Dude.” Pause. “What?”

“Are you deaf? Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

It’s a dig and he knows it.

“Screw you, Davis.”

“Hard pass—your dick is too small. I’d rather be screwing Skylar.”

“Right. Your ‘girlfriend’.” He uses air quotes. “What are you, in kindergarten? You haven’t even been going out a month. How is she your girlfriend?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“What if I make it my business?”

“Oh, okay, Jack. What are you going to do about it, tell your mommy? Have your dad fix it?”

Spoiled, pampered Jack Bartlett, unable to fight his own battles.

“Screw you.”

“I take out the garbage. I clean your shit up. I’ve changed your tires, written papers, made excuses for you with the coaching staff.” Once I start listing off his offenses, I cannot seem to quit. “Lied to girls. Pretended to be you. Paid your half of the rent. Bought groceries. Lent you money. Cleaned up your puke.”

“That’s what friends do, asshole,” he shoots back.

“Oh yeah? And what have you done for me, JB? Huh? Name one thing.” I lean against the counter, waiting. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“You’re a dick.”

“That’s it? I’m a dick? Whoa, way to hit below the belt.”

Fucker can’t even come up with one decent thing he’s ever done to help me out or make my life easier when I have a life full of chaos myself.

Selfish prick.

“I know one thing I don’t do—steal girls from you.”

“Give me a damn break.” I roll my eyes at him for the second time tonight. “Don’t act like you care—you didn’t even like her.”

“So? That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then, huh? Get to it.”

“I want to beat your ass so hard right now,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

“Go right ahead, big shot.” I spread my arms wide, inviting him over. “Take a swing at me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“For real, Jack—what are you waiting for? If I’m such a jerk for stealing your girlfriend, go ahead and punch me.” I poke at my jawline with the tip of my finger. “Right here. Go ahead. Hit me.”

I’m egging him on, the idea of being walloped in the face a welcome feeling in comparison to the one churning inside my gut.

Guilt.

Guilt.

Guilt.

“You don’t have the guts to do it, you puss—”

JB fucking hits me.

Draws back and, with a closed fist, decks me right in the fucking face before I have a chance to react, or duck, or move out of the goddamn way.

I rear back, shocked.

I know I was provoking him, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t think he’d actually have the balls to do it.

Stunned, it takes me a few seconds to move. Then I lunge forward, hands gripping him by the shirt collar. He’s unsteady on his feet, so I shove him against the wall with all the force of a man who has finally hit his breaking point. One who’s had enough bullshit to last a lifetime.