“Amen!” Colette says.

“Gonna get that tattooed on my ass!” Lila calls out. “Tattoo parlor! Let’s go!”

“Next time, Lila,” I say absently, not really paying attention, not with Fake River in front of me.

His chest rises as he leans closer and our eyes cling. “You hate me, baby girl, but it’s hard to tell you no when you’re like this,” he murmurs. “I could get used to high Anastasia.”

“I hate you?”

“Mhmm. I’m a tool. And cramps. And an unsalted pretzel. That one made me laugh about ten times today. I went to the snack spot in the student center and bought one in honor of you.”

My hands land on his broad shoulders, kneading into the muscles there. “He’s solid and hard.”

“So many jokes there,” Fake River murmurs.

“Can I touch the vision?” Lila asks.

“No. He’s mine,” I reply.

She snorts. “You’ve got a thing for him. Your eyes linger on him a little too long, Ana!”

“No, I don’t! I’m merely checking out the awesomeness of my mind’s abilities. Some scientists believe we only use about ten percent of our brain, so it’s possible we’re accessing the creative side that isn’t used much.”

His eyes lower as I brush my fingers over the strong column of his throat then go back up. I trace the outline of his patrician nose, the straight bridge, the slight bump at the top where he might have broken it, the shape of his dark brows, then I’m back to his lips.

“Well played, God,” I whisper.

I inch closer, wondering—

His teeth nip at me, and I scream and jump back, nearly tripping as I grasp the edge of the counter. He gives me his lethal smile and his eyes roam over me, lingering on my exposed stomach before coming back to my face. “You’re skating on thin ice, Anastasia. If you were in your right mind, you’d never get that close to me.”

Three seconds pass, then…

“He’s real, Ana,” Lila says breathlessly, wonder in her tone. “You don’t have a photographic memory, and he is the exact replica. But…why is he here? Oh my God, I can see the headlines now: Three girls murdered by football player. It’s Ted Bundy all over again! I changed my mind about the cops! Someone call 911!”

He laughs. “Lila, right? Ted Bundy was not a football player. He was a psychopath. Mom calls me deranged sometimes, but she’s only teasing because I can’t sit still.”

My gaze narrows, a tendril of sobriety brushing through my mind. “We know his middle name and now he’s talking about his mom,” I say, frowning as I cross my arms. “Okay, Vision River, who were you really calling baby girl in the elevator?”

“Callie, my niece, although I’ll admit I can never call her that again. That’s all yours now. And, the last phone conversation was entirely fake, just to rile you up. I didn’t realize you were already on the verge of a breakdown.” He moves farther inside, picks up a cupcake, and devours it in two bites. He leans against the counter. “You left your copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover in class today. I brought it back, plus the pan from the house.”

I gasp. “I lost my book. And I took a pan to the Kappa house.”

“The book fell out of your backpack. Remember? You sat next to me.”

“Not on purpose!”

He has my book!

Don’t be high, don’t be high.

I sputter, my hand clutching my throat. “Oh my god. Is this happening? For real? Kill me now.”

“No killing!” Lila yells as she edges around him and darts for the den. “I need more pot.”

“Wait for me, sis,” Colette says. “Roll a fat one.”

River and I stare at each other.

HE IS HERE.

“No,” I gasp.

“I see you’ve caught up,” he murmurs with amusement as he puts coffee grounds in the machine, fills it with water, then pushes the button to let it brew.

“You mind if I get a drink?” He pulls a water out of the fridge.

“No.”

He guzzles it, the strong lines of his throat moving. He wipes his mouth with his wrist, an action that’s masculine and confident and downright sexy—

“How did you know where I live?”

He opens the cabinet, grabs a plate, and puts nachos on it. He dips the chip in the sour cream sitting on the counter and takes a huge bite. “I know things. Sometimes they don’t always stick, but I filed you away in the private safe in my head. Only I have the combination.”

I scrunch my nose. “Stop talking in riddles. Why am I in a safe?”

“No reason.”

“You think I’m weird,” I mutter.

“I never said that.”

“You think I’m boring.”

“You haven’t been boring a day in your life.”

“You think I’m not good enough.”

“Let that go,” he says. “You’re perfect the way you are. You are loyal though. Like me, I guess. It’s a real bitch, isn’t it?”

“You’re not nice to me. Ever. Maybe once.”

“Ever wonder why?” he drawls.

“I don’t like you!” I say.

“Liar.”

I sputter.

He takes down a cup and pours coffee in, then sends me a glance. “Lots of cream? About half?”

When has he noticed I like my coffee with fifty percent creamer?

I nod. “Pumpkin spice creamer. It’s in the fridge, on the side, near the middle.”

He turns and opens it. He’s wearing the same lavender Chucks but a different shirt, short-sleeved with his Greek letters on the back. His forearms are tightly roped and muscled as he grasps the door of the fridge, and his backside is tight and, well, magnificent. He’s got one of those bubble asses you want to put your hands on and—

“Don’t touch!” I yell, and he flips around.

“What? No creamer?”

I rub my face, pleading with myself to be straight. “No, no, creamer is fine. Just… What do you want?” I look around. “Where did Lila and Colette go?”

He smirks. “Den. From the noise, it sounds like they’re playing Fortnite.”

“Oh.” I take a seat at the table. “Hey, don’t tell Donovan I was high. He’s not a fan of Lila. Or Colette, really.” I pause. “I keep asking you to not tell him stuff. Is that against your bro code?”

“Yeah.” He brings me the coffee and sits across from me. He doesn’t get too close or touch me, his movements made intentionally to avoid contact. I might be stoned, but I haven’t stopped analyzing him. He leans back in his seat and studies me. “Why doesn’t he like them?”

“They’re misfits and rebels, I guess. Lila’s going to Hollywood to be a screenwriter when she graduates. Colette’s a sculptor. Donovan doesn’t understand being different, but it’s how I grew up. I moved all over. My parents left me with friends sometimes, mostly scholars who taught me. I mean, I learned physics from a real physicist in Switzerland and literature from a professor in London. I don’t have any siblings or grandparents. It was hard, always bouncing around, and we never had much money. Is that revealing? Yeah. Shut up, Ana. Anyway, my parents adored me. They’re just different, you know? Free spirits who care for others—like Lila and Colette. They don’t judge. Why does he have an issue with pot? It’s legal in some places. I trust my gut, and those girls are awesome. Also, there’s a homeless woman I kind of want to be my grandma. Am I talking too much?”