We drive to a luxe karaoke joint in Korea Town. The place is lit in soft shades of blue and gold. A twenty-something dude in a button-up black shirt points us to a room at the end of a long hallway. He doesn't look at us funny, like it's strange a rock band is congregating in a private karaoke room.

Not strange at all.

Drew runs his hands over my inner thighs. He takes his time to trace three of my scars. It's careful, like he finds them fascinating instead of off-putting, like they only make him want me more.

It's funny. When I'm with him, I forget all about the scars.

I'm not a poor, damaged girl. Maybe a girl driven mad with lust and some other l-word she can't admit.

But not poor, damaged Kara.

He removes his hand, tragically, to push the door open. Meg jumps to her feet and rushes to me.

"Thank God. I thought I'd have to hear Tom and Pete do another duet." She throws her arms around me. "Your brain working yet?"

"If I never see another Scantron again, it will be way too soon."

"Ditto." She turns to Miles. "Only one more quarter of college."

"And then four years of med school," he says.

"You're no fun." She sticks her tongue out at him then looks to me. "Miles refuses to sing, which means—" She points to Pete and Tom and shakes her head.

"You don't sing?" I ask.

"Not for free." He turns to Meg. "Except maybe for you, babe."

"Uh-huh."

"But it wouldn't be fair to get you dripping wet then make you wait all night to fuck me." He slaps her ass. "Now would it?"

"I could live with it," Meg says.

He picks her up and spins her. They fall onto the couch, Meg landing perfectly in Miles's lap.

Tom flips through the karaoke book. He points something out to Pete. They share a look of glee.

And then Pete nods. "Okay, okay. I'm more than happy to rise to this particular occasion." He winks at me and Meg. "And many others."

"He and the girlfriend are on a break," Tom says.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up," Pete says.

"Tom, why are you so obsessed with other people's relationships?" Meg asks. "Like first you pulled that shit with me and Miles. And now you're meddling with Pete. And I'm sure you—" She looks at me, then clears her throat like she didn't say anything. "You're a manwhore. What do you care if other people are settling down?"

"I want what's best for my friends," Tom says.

"Yeah, what you think is best," Meg says.

Miles pulls her closer. "Babe, Tom is as stubborn as you are. This is not an argument you're gonna settle." He kisses her neck. "How about you let him work himself into a fit?"

"You happy with how things turned out or not?" Tom asks.

She nods like he has a point. I guess he does. Whatever Tom did to fuck things up between Meg and Miles, they're happy now. They're gooey, madly in love.

Tom opens a bottle of whiskey and pours shots for everyone except Miles. He passes them around the table. Each slides, smoothly stopping near the intended shot taker.

It's impressive, really.

Meg pushes hers back. "I'm not drinking."

"It's not like your pussy is going to get Miles tipsy." Tom slides the shot back to her. "You gotta celebrate properly."

"Haven't you heard of solidarity?" she asks.

"Heard? I spent an entire tour sober because of your boyfriend and spent another tour celibate because of her—" He points at Drew. "Because."

Meg shakes her head. "You fucked like eighteen girls in Japan alone. No way you spent more than three days celibate."

"He did," Pete says. "Shocked us all."

Tom looks to Meg. "You drinking or not?"

"I don't need my girlfriend dry.” Miles smirks.

Just in case we all missed his double entendre, he slides his hands up her thighs. She groans like she can hardly pull herself off him. Thankfully, she manages.

"Okay." She holds up her shot as a toast. "To our last quarter of college!"

I hold up my drink. And then, all at once, we all—well, everyone but Miles—slam our shots. It burns my throat, but there's a certain pleasant richness to the whiskey.

Pete taps something into the karaoke machine. "If you'll excuse me."

The name of the band and song flashes onscreen. "No Way in Hell" - Sinful Serenade.

Miles groans in agony. "You're so bad at doing me."

Pete clears his throat. He rises to his feet then stands on the table in his best Miles impersonation. "Hey baby." He scans the imaginary crowd, landing on Miles. "This one is for you."

He blows a kiss.

The song starts. Pete does his best imitation of Miles's breathy, throaty singing. He's way off-key, but he brings the energy.

The song gets to the guitar solo—a polyphonic version of it. Pete scans his audience. He blows us all kisses.

"It's just, ugh, I hurt so bad deep inside that I can't even bear to wear a shirt. There's too much paiiiiiiiiiin in my chest." He plops his mic into one hand, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the ground. "That's better."

Tom and Drew crack up.

Miles pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. "I am not like that."

Pete claws at his chest. "Yeah, baby, look at my hot tattoos."

Meg stifles a laugh.

He growls. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

"Hilarious." She paws at him.

The verse picks up. Pete ups the breathy factor of his singing, stopping every syllable and a half to grunt into the mic.

It is hilarious. I fall onto the couch next to Drew and revel in the imitation. It's quite the performance.

When the song ends, Miles is beet red and everyone else is dying of laughter.

Tom taps something into the karaoke machine.

Another Sinful Serenade song.

He grabs the mic and blows Miles a kiss. "This is too much fun."

"Don't make me leave," Miles says.

“Check the book.” Pete motions to the book of songs by artist. “We’ve got about six more to go.”

"You can't leave." Meg draws a line over his chest. "I need you to serenade me."

"My impressionists aren't getting you there?"

She shakes her head. "Only the real thing will do."

The song intro plays. Tom grabs the other mic and jumps onto the table next to Pete. "This one is going out to my biggest fans, Mr. Miles Webb and Mr. Drew Denton."

The song is a ballad, very much about love and affection. Pete and Tom take turns singing one line at a time in their best throaty, breathy voices.

Miles is red and huffy. Meg whispers something in his ear. It must be pretty good because his frown turns upside down.

Drew moves a little closer. He runs his fingers over my lower back. We're positioned across from everyone. No one can see him touching me.

How can he still be so hot and cold?

Is he ashamed to be with me?

I shake off the thought in favor of watching the performance. The song ends. Pete collapses on the couch in hysterical laughter. Tom pours another round of shots and passes them out.

Everyone except Miles drinks.

That shit burns.

My head spins just enough to make me dizzy. I hang back while everyone takes turns singing. Tom serenades us with a Disney song. Pete performs some Aerosmith. Meg does her best Britney Spears.

When it's Miles's turn, he shakes his head but obliges. He pulls Meg onto his lap and he sings "I Want Your Sex" while staring into her eyes. She blushes like a tomato.

Everyone else groans.

Then it's my turn, supposedly. I shake my head. "I don't sing."

There must be a song that goes something like, What the hell are we doing, why are you afraid of the word "girlfriend?"

It doesn't really have a good ring to it, but it's an honest sentiment.

Drew nudges me. "You sing very well."

"Um, no, you sing very well," I say.

Tom laughs. "Drew doesn't sing. He won't even sing backup."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Shows what you know."

"Damn, I guess there are certain perks to—" Tom clears his throat. "Whatever you two are."

Drew shoots Tom a death glare. I sigh. Whatever. Been there, done that, couldn't find a song to describe it accurately.

I grab the mic and pick my favorite No Doubt song, "Don't Speak." I'm way off-key, but I do my best to sell the enthusiasm.

I stare at Drew as I sing. He watches me closely, like he's looking for some meaning in my eyes. Truth is, I don't know what I'm thinking except Your two weeks are over. Time to put up or shut up.

After I finish the song, I do a little bow and set the mic back on the table. Drew pats the spot next to him, inviting me to sit with him.

I make eye contact. "Can I talk to you outside?"

"Is it important?"

I bite my lip. "Tom, repeat that last thing you said."

"What thing?" He plays dumb.

I shoot Tom a death glare.

He shakes his head like he finds it a bad idea. "This is not the time, kid."

"Kara, what are you doing?" Drew asks.

I shake my head. "How about another round of shots?"

"That I can do." Tom passes out another round of shots. One for everyone but Miles. "Anything more, and I suggest you actually take it outside."

I slam my shot back. Beautiful liquid courage. No more shyness. I slide onto Drew's lap and kiss him.

My chest heaves against his.

He kisses me back for a second. Then he's pushing me away, pushing me off, staring at me with this look that says What the fuck?

Behind me, someone clears his throat. Someone else.

Drew just stares at me.

All this hurt in his eyes.

Like I've betrayed his secret.

I slide off his lap and plant my ass on the bench seat. My arms fold over my chest. Everyone is staring at me. At us.

Pete breaks the silence. "Am I really the only one with the balls to say something?"

"You're going to make it worse," Tom says.

"How could it get worse?" Pete looks at me. "Drew good in bed?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"As good with his hands as he always says?" Pete asks.

"Better."

Drew snaps at no one in particular. "What are you doing?"

Pete waves him away. "The better question is what are you doing?"

Meg looks to me. Are you okay? I nod. I'm not, but I need to hear this.

"I’m not even going to ask if you’re with Kara, because we all know you are." Pete takes his shot. He stares at Drew. "And I’m not going to ask if you’re in love with her, because we all know you are."

The room is dead silent.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Pete asks. “Why are you trying so hard to throw away the only person you’ve been able to tolerate in years?”

Drew takes his shot, like that will somehow absolve him of answering the question.

Tom shakes his head. "Jesus, fuck this. Drew, answer the fucking question. Your girlfriend is about to cry. Are you fucking stupid or just desperate to be as miserable as possible?"

Drew scowls.

Tom shakes his head. "I'll give you five seconds. Five, four, three—"

Drew presses his palms into the seat.

"Two, one."

Nothing.

"Fuck me." Tom sighs like he's about to commit ritual suicide. He pushes off his seat. It's fast, a flash, and he grabs me and kisses me.

Tom is kissing me.

What the hell?

And then he's not. And there's this loud thud of flesh pounding into flesh. And a scream. Meg's scream.

Someone lands on the floor. Tom. And Drew is standing there shaking his first, his expression the picture of embarrassment.

Drew punched Tom.

"I told you not to touch her." Drew's eyes turn to the floor, like he's confused by his reaction.

He turns. His eyes catch mine. It's a split second and then he pushes past me. Pushes out the door.

And he's gone.