“Right.”

“Who’s Jack? You?” Hannah asks.

I like that name, even though I don’t necessarily care for him. We’ve been here less than ten minutes and already I know this whole second date is for naught; I’m not going to fall in love with or date JB.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask, feeling like a complete idiot.

“I was saying that being part of a team is great, but at some point, that can’t be all there is. And JB agreed with me.” His dark eyes bore into me as he explains himself, long lashes blinking every so often, tiny indent at the corner of his mouth pressing into his skin.

Kind of want to press my finger there.

Abe blinks at me.

I blink back.

He seriously needs to stop watching me like this; it’s making me nervous, sweaty, and excited. It’s making me feel things I have no right to feel for someone I’ve only just met, someone who is not my date.

Butterflies. Flutters.

Feels.

“You know what?” Hannah stands abruptly. “I think I want something from the bar. All the drinks.” She moves around the table, bumping JB—he’s seated at the end of it—with her hip. “Come give me a hand.”

Come give me a hand? What the heck is she doing?

It takes JB a few seconds to rise; he’s confused and clueless—until Hannah grabs a fistful of his shirt and tugs. “Move it or lose it. I need a hand, and you look strong.”

Above their heads, she rolls her eyes then pointedly glances down at the back of Abe’s head. Wiggles her well-manicured eyebrows before leading my date to the bar. My gaze trails along after them.

What the…

We’re alone.

I’m alone, in a room full of people, with Abe.

Okay. No big deal.

I can handle this; I’m an adult!

“Is it just me, or was that weird?” I blurt out, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Is your roommate a drunk? How many drinks does she plan on ordering?” Abe wonders out loud with a laugh. “Furthermore, why couldn’t she have just ordered from the waitress when she came back?”

“Are you pre-law?”

He laughs, and it’s magic. “No. Not even close.”

I bite back a huge grin. “Well, I stopped trying to figure Hannah out years ago. She’s been my best friend since we were little and I’ve been confused by her every single minute of every day since we met.” I take a sip from my water, which is iced down and has a lemon it in. “What do you think of her?”

There’s a long pause. “Honestly? I don’t know yet. She hasn’t said much.”

She hasn’t, which is so unlike her. “I don’t know what her problem is—she’s usually the chatty one.”

“It’s fine. This setup is kind of…”

I try to guess what he’s thinking. “Not feeling it?”

“I didn’t say that.” Beneath the soft fabric of his shirt, I see the muscles of his shoulders contract, letting my eyes skim curiously down the front of him. Over the firm muscles of his pecs, nipples stiff.

He inadvertently flexes his arms, the thick biceps strong and—

Um.

No.

Skylar, focus.

But wow, those arms…

“So, are you on the LoveU app, too?”

His body goes still. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. I feel like I would have seen you.”

“Oh yeah?” he teases. “Would you have swiped right?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t know. I would have wanted to but probably would have been too scared. Or intimidated. Chickenshit, as my friends like to call me. Abe is terribly handsome, larger than life, and kind.

He seems like the kind of guy who could have any girl on campus if he set his mind to it; what would he want with a girl like me?

I might not be a great student, but I try hard-ish, sort of study (kind of), work hard, love my friends—but I am no brainiac or social butterfly. I don’t do parties, I’m not in a sorority. I don’t play a sport, not even intramurals. I don’t wear tons of makeup, or have extensions, or fake eyelashes. My lips aren’t plump and juicy, and nothing about me inspires sexual fantasies.

I’m just me. Regular me.

I was enough for JB to swipe on, the little voice inside my head interjects. Good-looking, athletic, not-too-bright Jack Bartlett.

He swiped on me, but he turned out to be some sort of fuck boy.

I don’t know Abe Davis, but every instinct tells me he’s nothing like his roommate—nothing at all.

“Would I have swiped on you?” I play with my straw. “The better question here is would you have swiped on me—that’s what I want to know, since you asked.” I push out a laugh; it sounds forced, even to my own ears, and I wonder if he can hear it too.

The vulnerability. It’s something I don’t want to project.

“In a heartbeat.” No hesitation, quick nod of the chin to go along with it.

Well then.

My face flushes bright pink, heating my neck as I wonder what that might mean—what would have happened if it had been Abe contacting me that night instead of Jack?

What date would this be? Number two? Three?