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?”

“It’s rude!” I practically shout, voice echoing, bouncing off the tile walls. “We don’t have our purses!”

“Valid point.”

“Jack being a dick isn’t good enough reason to bail without saying goodbye.” I hunt for the end of the toilet paper, dipping my head to peer under the dispenser. Find it and wipe. “You’ve called him a dickhead three times.”

“Because he is a prickhead! I’m being generous.”

“How kind of you,” I mutter, pulling up my underwear and jeans as I stand, flushing the toilet with the tip of my shoe. Join Hannah by the sinks to wash my hands.

She’s watching me through the mirror. “Want me to try to give you time with Abe? I’m willing to take one for the team and get that dick back to the bar if you want to be alone with Wrestler McHottie. Did you see his hands? My. God.”

Yes, I did notice his hands. Large hands. Strong fingers…

“Why would you do that?”

Our reflections are an old western showdown. “Duh. He’s into you. JB isn’t.”

“He isn’t?”

“No. He is into himself.” She stops drying her hands to turn and stare at me blankly. “Did you hear any of what I just said?”

Douche. Dick.