I want someone who is going to tell me good morning. And be the last person to say good night. I want someone to laugh with on a date and who wants to have sex with me afterwards. Who is nice to my friends and treats them good, too.

I want what Skylar and Abe have.

I’m only going to get it if I let this guy help me.

Me: So you’re just hanging out at home?

Rex: Don’t know if you’d call cleaning “hanging out,” but yeah, I’m home.

Me: Right. I forgot about that.

Rex: **loud sigh**

Me: What.

Rex: Just say it, stop beating around the bush. I literally just told you BLACK AND WHITE AND NOT GRAY.

Me: I…I’m TRYING

Rex: Try harder.

Me: You’re going to make me say it? You’re not going to take pity on me?

Rex: You’re already taking enough pity on yourself.

Me: Ouch!

Rex: **taps foot** Get on with it, I’m not getting any younger and not a student. Aka: Practically ancient.

Me: Um. Get on with it? Are you British now?

Rex: You’re diverting. Why is this so hard for you?

Me: HARD. Haha, that’s what she said.

Rex: Wow. Okay. Alright, Hannah. Have a good night.

Crap—he’s right. I am diverting. Instead of asking the guy to meet me tonight so we can talk about how…something as simple as asking a guy to meet me out—is proving extremely difficult when it shouldn’t.

I don’t know this guy. It shouldn’t matter to me what he thinks—I know he’s not judging me. And based on what I’ve read abut him online, he would have no room to do such a thing.

Not when the campus blogs slam him for being something of a douchebag. A guy that rides the coattails of athletes. A guy who left school with his tail between his legs after a small scandal. A guy who is so brutally honest, no one could stand to be around him his senior year.

Me: Ok, ok, you’re right. I’ll stop fucking around.

Me: Rex, would you PLEASE meet with me tonight because I CLEARLY need help.

Rex: Yup. Meet me at Mad Dog Jacks at 8:00. You don’t mind if I have a burger or something, do you?

That’s it? Yup? It was that easy? Why did I expect him to give me a hard time before agreeing to meet me out?

Because most guys would have, just to be jerks.

Me: That sounds good. And a burger sounds good, too.

Rex: So I’ll see you later, then?

Me: Yes.

Rex: Just to be clear—later TONIGHT?

Me: Lol, yes. TONIGHT.

Rex: Just checking, I don’t need you to bail and pretend you screwed up the day.

Me: I wouldn’t do that.

Rex: Sure you wouldn’t…

Me: Hey, you have my word.

Rex: Whatever you say Hannah.

Me: I promise. I’ll be at Mad Dog Jack’s tonight, BEFORE you, in a corner booth.

Rex: Will you be wearing yellow and carrying a red rose?

Me: LOL, no. I’ll be wearing gray sweats and carrying a Big Gulp.

Rex: No carry-ins allowed.

Me: Don’t be so literal.

Me: And Rex?

Rex: Yeah?

Me: Thank you.

3

Rex

Hannah is here when I arrive, seated in the corner booth, just as she said she would be. Why this surprises me, I don’t know. I walk past the bar and remove my jacket along the way, I motion with my head to the corner so the bartender knows to send a server over.

I’m starving and need to eat, pronto.

I’d cleaned my place for a bit after talking with Hannah then lost motivation, totally distracted by the idea of a date. No, not a date—she made that very clear. We’re here for classes and not to get chummy.

Fine by me, I might be looking for something casual, since I won’t be here past the fall semester, but I’d rather that someone casual be sweet. Not a girl with a lack of experience, who treats men like punching bags for her one-liners and put downs.

Why are you here then? To punish yourself?

I’ll admit, for the longest time, I thought I was in love with Annabelle. The wrestling coach’s daughter, I spent three years on the team as their manager, getting close to the players and Annabelle’s father, Coach Donnelly. When she transferred to Iowa, we were warned to stay away from her.

Did I listen?

No.

I made a stupid bet with another guy on the team that he couldn’t sleep with her—he didn’t—but the damage was done. Coach found out and brought the fucking hammer down.

Did I pay the price?

Yes.

I was kicked off the team, moved home for the summer to live with my folks and lick my wounds of embarrassment. Came back at the start of the semester and happened to have a class with none other than Annabelle Donnelly.

She forgave me. Was gracious. Pretty.

And pregnant.

Pregnant at the age of twenty and in desperate need of a friend, since her ex-roommate — aka: Baby Daddy—had no clue she was knocked up and in grad school hundreds of miles away.

She let him leave without telling him, so he could make a life for himself without the burden of a newborn.

Fucking Annabelle. Always thinking of everyone else.

I was there when she told Coach. I was there to hold her hair back when she was throwing up at two in the morning. I was there when she cried herself to sleep, stroking her back and telling her everything would be okay.

I became her best friend in a place where she knew no one. Had no one. I was there for her.

Elliott wasn’t.

Talk about bitter, I resented his reappearance for a long time.

Anyway.

I recognize Hannah as soon as I walk into the door, and it has nothing to do with the fact I knew she’d be parked in the corner booth.

She looks exactly like her pictures.

Better, even.

True to her word, Hannah is wearing gray sweats—but they’re athleisure wear and not dowdy in the least. Sexy, even. When she stands, I note the tight fitting yoga pants hugging her curvy ass. The loose gray, cotton sweatshirt does nothing to hide her full breasts beneath the fabric sway when she stands to greet me.

Gray sneakers. Hair pulled back into a pony.