London

I have worn the most ridiculous smile all day long.

Logan Links, devil dimples, my friend was at a total loss for words today when I left breakfast.

In Studio Writing, Jamie asked what was going on with me, and I told her running in the morning kicks in all my happy endorphins. I did not tell her Logan carrying me up the stairs to the Dome and then leaving his hand on my hip at the top, as if it was supposed to be there, kicked in some other hormone.

God, he is just...perfect when he’s not being...an ass or surrounded by plastic parts.

“You going to dinner?”

I look up to see Fletcher is peeking in the quad at me.

I close my book and get up off the couch. “Yeah.” I smile at my friend, who I may have used as a tool to drive Logan a little crazy today.

It totally worked.

As I shove my feet in my Tieks, I try not to scold myself for doing so. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Once in the elevator, Fletcher sighs.

“What’s up?” I ask as the doors shut.

“Auditions are this weekend, and I’m just...” He pauses and pushes his hair back. “I really want the lead.”

“We all want the lead; that’s normal.”

I watch as his face contorts, showing different emotions that aren’t easy to read.

“You’re fantastic, Fletcher. You’re going to do amazing.”

The way he looks at me, the gratitude in his eyes, the small smile that forms in the corner of his lips, Fletcher Reeves is so much different than anyone I grew up with.

“Thanks.” He looks down and fidgets with his watch.

“Fancy watch.”

He nods and his lips lift in the corner. “I’m fond of it.”

As the elevator doors open, he waves his hand in front of me. “Ladies first.”

I curtsy and use my best southern accent, “Thank you, kind sir.”

Now his smirk broadens into an actual smile.

I reach up and tap his chin. “You should wear that more often.”

“I’ll try,” he says, again motioning for the exit.

“So, what part do you want the most?”

“The lead,” he answers.

“No, if you could play any character, in any show—your dream character—who would you choose?”

He shakes his head and looks down.

“Spill it,” I coax.

“No judgment?” he asks, and I nod. “Aaron Burr in Hamilton.”

“But he kills—”

He chuckles. “No judgement.”

“Okay, but—”

“None,” he adds.

“Why?”

He opens the door and waves me forward. “I just like his character.”

“I can’t believe that. He killed Hamilton!”

“He killed someone in a dual. Historically appropriate.”

I sigh. He’s right.

“Fine, but you have to give me another.”

“Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha.” He smiles again.

With SU’s theatre program presenting that show this year, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I think you have an amazing chance at that dream becoming a reality,” I tell him.

“I appreciate the support.”

“You got it, Fletcher.”

He grabs my elbow, slowing my pace. “You have mine, too, Elle.”

People, I have watched them closely all my life. I have celebrated lavish holidays; beautiful, over-the-top birthdays, weddings, baby showers, and everything one could think an occasion was necessary to commemorate. I have watched the guest of honor beam with love and appreciation for those celebrating them, and their eyes warm at the return.

“What are you doing?” He gives an almost nervous chuckle.

“Noting your sincerity, Fletcher Reeves.”

He looks at me oddly for a moment then nods and opens the door to the dining hall. “Shall we?”

My eyes go to what is now deemed as our table. Lisa waves when she spots us, and I wave back. The three of them had their last class of the day together and are already sitting at our normal table.

One might think theatre people crave the spotlight and want to be the center of attention. Or possibly that they want to be someone else so they can hide behind the character. If that were so, it would make sense that our table would be in either the center or the corner of the room. It is neither.

I like the place we chose. It suits who we are as a group of four people. Four different people, from four different places in the country, with four different types of families, four different socio-economic backgrounds, who have one common—our love of music, dance, and theatre.

I love us.

I glance up to see Fletcher observing me.

“You’re beaming.”

“I sure am,” my smile broadens. “This is so much better than high school.”

He laughs. “You can say that again.”

After we get our food, we sit with the girls.

“Fletcher Reeves, what do we owe the distinguished honor of an upper classman as a dining companion tonight,” Lisa smiles.

It dawns on me that, although I have been spending a lot of time with him, we as a group haven’t. Thankfully, they don’t seem at all upset about it. Quite the opposite, they seem to like it.

“He’s not your typical upperclassman,” I say when he doesn’t respond immediately to stop awkward from setting in.

“No?” he asks.

I begin to list all the things he is. “No, you’re our RA, you’re my swimming partner—”

“Your friend,” he interrupts.

I nod and pick up my fork. “My friend.”

“Oh no,” Jamie interjects. “He has to be voted in, and he has to be all of our friend. Plead his case.”

I laugh. “His case?”

Lisa nods. “We need to know that he’s trustworthy.”

“And can keep secrets,” Christy whispers loudly.

He smiles. “I’ve already kept one.”

“Do tell,” Jamie encourages, leaning forward.

“The first night, you four had visitors. I didn’t blow your cover then.”

“He didn’t,” I agree. “Why didn’t you?”

“I owed you one.” He winks.

“Oooo, I think there’s more to this story. If we’re going to turn our friendship quartet into a quintet, we’re going to need more detail,” Christy interjects.

We tell them the story of how we met that first day.

“I nearly gave her a black eye, so I definitely owed her one,” Fletcher says, seeming a little less uncomfortable.

Jamie smiles. “Okay, you have one point toward the required friendship total.”

“And how many points are required?” he asks.

“I’m not sure. I’m kind of making this up as I go.” She laughs, and so do the rest of us.

“We do the swim thing a couple days a week, and he accompanies me to dance class on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s.” I reach over and touch his cream cable knit sweater. “Yeah, I think he’s friendship material.”

“Both of which I need just as much as you, Elle. Don’t sell yourself short.” He gives my arm a squeeze.

“You need help?” Christy asks.

He nods. “Unfortunately, I need more help than that.”

“No way. We’ve seen you do skits in lab; you’re fabulous.”

“I agree, but he’s stressing auditions,” I tell them.

Jamie leans over and whispers something to Lisa, then Lisa whispers to Christy, and they nod to Jamie.

“Fletcher, you must solemnly swear that nothing you see, learn, or hear within this friendship quintet spills over to your obligations as our Lawrinson RA.”

He raises his hand in the air as if under oath. “I swear.”

Jamie stands and looks at us all. “All in favor of Fletcher becoming part of the circle, say aye.”

“Aye,” we all parrot.

Jamie sits. “We’ve been thinking that the three of us need some work with vocal, too.”

“Well, if you want to join us at five—”

“No!” they all yell, and then we all fall into a fit of giggles.

“Well then,” Fletcher jokes.

“Are you kidding me? Sleep is important.” Lisa shrugs. “But so is our time together.”

“And since we seem to be spending less and less time together as we all get into our routines, we’ve looked into a way to spend more girl,” Christy pauses. “Or now...” She stops and tries to think of a different term.

“Squad time?” Lisa offers.

Jamie grins. “Oh, wow, we are a squad.”

I can’t help grinning, too. It feels good to finally have a group of friends, true friends.

“Squad time. I like it,” Jamie agrees.

“Squad time, it is.” Christy declares. “In looking at ways for more squad time, while considering that we are here for a common objective, an education, but still it’s about the music and more importantly our friendship and our time together.”

“Since you two seem to be spending a lot of time together,” Christy adds.

How can just one sentence make things suddenly feel awkward?

“We have a lot in common,” Fletcher remarks, making it a little less so.

“Like what?” Lisa asks.

He chuckles uncomfortably at her question, looks down at his watch, and seems to position it. “Well, I suppose it’s the same as all of us. Music speaks to us.”

“It sure does,” Jamie agrees.

“Fletcher, being part of the squad, we’ll extend the invitation to you. It’s last minute, and being new to us, you can opt out.” She looks at me. “Elle, you don’t get the same courtesy.”

Jamie smirks. “We know you don’t have any other plans.”

“Well, maybe I do,” I defend dramatically, finishing with a gasp.

“We know you, Elle.” Christy sighs. “Thursday is off-campus dance class, shower, dinner, lab, bed, alarm at four thirty, snooze until four forty-five, then out the door.”

I smile. Outside and in, my squad knows me well.

“We’re hitting Sound tonight.” Christy claps her hands.

“Isn’t that a twenty-one and over club?” Fletcher asks.

“It is. Remember, your squad now,” Jamie reminds him.

He holds his hands up. “Okay, I’ll keep your secrets as long as I get invited to the slumber parties and pillow—” Fletcher stops mid-sentence when the empty chair bedside me screeches across the floor.

Fletcher’s lips do a little twitch, and then he looks away.

When I see Mitch sit across the table, I know it’s Logan next to me.

“Hey.” Mitch smiles at Jamie.

She rolls her eyes and looks away. “Hey.”

I look over at Logan and nod. “Hi.”

“Spill it.” He acts annoyed.

“Spill what?” I’m confused.

“Secrets that involve sleepovers with guys who are supposed to be responsible for keeping you freshies in check.”

Christy forces a laugh. “You two have already had one with us, and we didn’t even make you take the oath to the squad.”

“We don’t do squad. We do team,” Logan tells her.

“Well then, we can’t tell you.” Jamie looks at him like he’s as annoying to her as Mitch, and my heart hurts momentarily for her. I know it must be awful to have spent a night with a guy who doesn’t seem to see the fault in what he did by then acting as if nothing was wrong or recognizing the countless stop signs she puts up when he does come around.

Logan smirks. “Even though my dad gave you ladies four tickets to his private box for Saturday’s home game?”

Jamie’s face changes from annoyed to overjoyed, then confusion all in a three-second span. “Number 12, Lucas Links, the Lucas Links, invited me to join him in his private box?” she asks for clarification.

Logan shakes his head and sighs. “He invited the four of you to join him and my stepmom, Tessa, to watch the game.”

She closes her eyes and a smile starts to form on her lips again. Then she opens her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. We accept. Hand over the tickets before you change your mind or something.”

Logan leans forward and looks at Fletcher. “You didn’t give the girls the tickets?”

Fletcher shakes his head. “I planned to do so this evening.”

“More interested in pillow fights and sleepovers than football?” Logan’s question is more an accusation.

I look at Fletcher to gauge the level of offense he may have taken to Logan being...Logan

When Mitch chuckles, I look up.

“Can’t say I blame him.”

Fletcher’s chest rises in a silent chuckle

“Fix your fucking skirt,” Logan sneers at him.

Mitch looks shocked by Logan then shrugs. “My bad, man.”

Thankfully, Jamie is self-focused and unaware of what a dick Logan is being. “I don’t give a damn about skirts, I wanna know I am one hundred percent guaranteed that number 12, Lucas Links, personally invited me—”

“Us,” Christy interjects.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waves her off and looks back at Logan. “Number 12—”

“Yes, Jamie, he invited you four ladies. To clarify, that would be Elle, you, Christy, and that girl.” Logan points at Lisa. “Not that one.” When he points at Fletcher, I want to do one of two things: go off on him or hide under the table.

When Fletcher laughs, my harsh gaze moves from Logan to him, almost shocked because it’s unlike him. The somewhat introverted and reserved traits I have seen him display over the past few weeks haven’t lessened...until now. Fletcher only speaks when he has something fairly important to say. He admittedly likes being alone, something he told me when I invited him to dinner with us before. He is constantly looking at his watch like he can’t wait to get away from people. I asked him once if he had plans, and he said yes, to go to his room and recharge. When I looked at him oddly, he smiled softly and mentioned how people drain him. Then he told me, being an only child, he was used to alone time and honestly needed it. He also speaks slowly and softly. He doesn’t laugh at people, which he’s doing right now.

“The fuck is so funny?” Logan snaps at him.

“You.” Fletcher points at him.

“Me?” Logan huffs.

“Let me explain to you in words you’ll understand. I am not in the least bit intimidated by you, or boys like you.”

“You mean men,” Logan seethes.

“I don’t need a team. I’ve done just fine without one my entire life. I’m here based on merit. I was the valedictorian of my high school.”

“So was fucking I.” Logan laughs at him.

“A class of over three hundred students. Where did you go to school again?” Fletcher asks.

“None of your damn business,” Logan replies.

“I’ve looked into you. You come from a small town, played team sports your entire life, and done very well at them.”

“Okay, Captain Obvious.” Logan looks around the table, giving off a look like Fletcher is ridiculous.

“You are from a well-known and wealthy family. Hometown hero type that breeds big egos and clearly poor people skills.”

Logan pushes his chair back, and I grab his knee, stopping him. I don’t want to witness another tequila and Jones incident.

He looks at me, blue eyes wide and wild.

“Please don’t,” I whisper-plea to him.

His eyes narrow at me as he sits forward.

“I stopped running with Elle because you seemed to think it was some sort of competition,” Fletcher continues. “It wasn’t at all. It was—”

“You were staring at her ass,” Logan says through his teeth.

I grip his leg firmer.

Fletcher doesn’t deny Logan’s allegation. “I may have looked, but I can assure you I wasn’t staring.” Fletcher looks from Logan to me. “I hope you don’t find that offensive, and that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention to do so.”

I shake my head and look down.

“She finds it fucking offensive, bitch boy,” Logan hisses.

“Logan, enough,” I snap at him.

Again, Fletcher laughs at his inane remark. “Bitch boy? Can’t you come up with something more substantial than that?”

Logan again starts to stand, and I grip his leg harder, with full intention of inflicting some sort of pain. When his eyes widen, I know I have done just that.

He does sit back down, though, and leans forward again, fists balled on the table. Now I am truly afraid a fight is going to start between them. Logan is...Logan, and Fletcher is intent on instigating him.

“I’ve had bigger men than you come after me. Some may have even gotten a few jabs in, but none broke me, Links. So, if you want a fight, I won’t back down, but it certainly won’t be here where I risk a full scholarship based on what’s in here.” He taps the side of his head.

I grip Logan again when he again attempts to move, and he stills. He grabs my hand like he may pull it off, but I grip harder, knowing I’m not going to stop him unless I get his damn attention.

I look at Fletcher who is looking down. His head tilts slightly as he looks at me. “We’ve come to be friends, Elle. I’m telling you that you deserve better than that type of boy.”

I fully expect Logan to lose his shit and either beat him up, tell him he’s not at all interested in me like that, or possibly expose that everything Fletcher thinks he knows about Logan can also be assumed of me. But he says nothing.

I look at him as he leans back and pulls his hat down over his eyes.

“It’s not like that with her and I, so back the fuck off,” he snips.

I look back at Fletcher, who seems to be waiting for an explanation of some sort.

“We’re just friends,” I tell him.

“Good, because I’m sure you’re smarter than that.” He points to Logan as he stands and takes his plate, glaring at Logan, then looks at Jamie. “I’m in.”

“For...?” Jamie asks, clearly having forgotten what it was they planned for tonight.

“Tonight,” he says then turns and walks away.

When I start to stand, I feel a grip tighten on my hand and look at Logan, who is smiling smugly at me.

“What?” I snap at him.

He looks down, and I follow his eyes to see my hand is very, very...very high on his thigh. I look back at him, and he shrugs.

“What the hell, Logan?” I ask, pulling my hand away.

“The words are: thank you, Logan.”

“For what?” I gasp.

“For saving you from that.” He nods to the door Fletcher is walking out of.

I stand. “He’s my friend.”

“Keep it that way, because that’s not the kind of guy you need.”

“That’s for me to determine.”

“You end up with him, and you are gonna get sick of eating him out.”

Eating him out? “What does that even mean?”

“He has a fucking vagina!”

“And you’re a giant tool.” I turn on my heels and walk away.

Once outside, I try to catch up with Fletcher. “Hey!”

He looks back, shakes his head, and keeps walking.

I increase my pace until I’m beside him.

“I’m sorry about him,” I tell him.

He stops and looks at me, brows creased. “There’s a world full of hims, Elle. Don’t apologize. But don’t you let someone like that ruin who you are.” He looks away then walks faster.

“Hey, Fletcher?”

He looks back at me, and then at his watch.

“I know you like being alone to recharge from people and stuff, but if you want company, need a friend, I’m here.”

He forces a small smile. “I’ll see you at lab, and then we’re going to Sound, right?”

“Promise?”

He nods. “Of course.” He looks beyond me and rolls his eyes. “See you later.”

“Sure thing.”

I see Logan standing outside the doors, arms crossed over his chest, watching us.

I point to his stupid truck, Black Betty, and yell, “Go!”