"Aren't you ready?" Sable asks. She's dressed in jean short-shorts that show off her tanned legs, and a cleavage-revealing tank top, her hair pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head that looks simultaneously effortless and chic.

"Ready for what?" I'm sitting on my bed with various books about football open. "I'm working on my literature review for my thesis."

"Oh." Sable gives me a funny look. "Right. Um. Are you and Colton okay?"

I shrug. The last time I saw him was last night at dinner at his house where he was sending me dirty text messages and running his hand up my leg. Well, the actual last time I saw him was during that awkward conversation near the car. "There's no me and Colton," I say. "We're friends."

Sable cocks her head to the side as she looks at me. "You guys hooked up."

"I regret telling you that now."

I didn’t tell her exactly how we hooked up. I’m sure she assumes we just made out. No big deal.

No big deal.

I also didn’t tell her about the awkward conversation by the car after dinner.

"I'm your best friend," she says. "You’d better not regret it. And you shouldn't regret hooking up with him, either."

"Where are you going, anyway?"

Sable gives me a sheepish look. "I thought you were getting ready," she says. "I didn't even think to ask if you were going. I assumed you were."

"Stop dancing around whatever it is you're talking about and just spit it out," I demand. "You're acting weird."

Sable exhales heavily. "There's a house party," she tells me. "At Colton's place."

Oh.

A party that I wasn't invited to.

I make a face. "Oh yeah," I say casually. "I forgot about that. I had to work on my thesis tonight, so I wasn't going to go."

It’s definitely no big deal that Colton didn’t invite me to a stupid house party.

A stupid house party where there will be half-naked girls everywhere.

"I should really work on my thesis tonight, too," Sable says quickly. "I'm so far behind and you know Dr. Talbot is really up my ass about mine. We can totally do work together."

"Is Tank going to be there?" I ask.

Sable blushes.

"Oh my God, did you just blush??" I ask. "I don't think I've ever seen that happen."

"I'm not blushing," Sable spits back, running to the mirror on my wall to examine her face. "It's just warm in here, that's all."

"You're blushing," I insist. "When I mentioned Tank, your cheeks turned pink."

Sable shrugs. "It's no big deal."

"You like him," I tease, laughing.

"I think he's cute."

"I think that's probably the first time Tank has been called cute. The guy is massive. Built like a, well, tank. He's not the kind of guy you call cute. Unless you're Sable.

"He is cute," she says. "I was talking to him after dinner. I think he's really nice."

"Holy balls. You're standing here telling me you think a guy is nice and cute. How many assholes have you dated? This is like the first time I've ever heard you say a guy is nice and that you're interested in him."

"I'm not interested in him," Sable says. "Okay, I'm interested in him. But I'm going to text him and tell him I'm staying in to work."

"No, you're not. You're going to the party. I have to insist."

"I really thought Colton invited you," Sable complains. "Are you sure he didn't text you? It has to be a mistake. I'm positive he would want you there. Why don't you get dressed and come with me?"

I look down at what I'm wearing — flannel pajama pants and a tank top that's raggedy and worn out, with a faded pink stain on the front from last fall when Sable and I made a giant pitcher of strawberry margaritas one night.

"No," I say with false brightness. "I'm doing work. You should go have fun. I want you to see Tank.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” Sable asks. “If I see Colton, I’m going to hit him for being a dick.”

“It's no big deal,” I insist, despite the pang in my chest. “We just hooked up. That’s it. He’s under no obligation to invite me anywhere. And I’m busy anyway.”

Sable groans. “The two of you just need to start banging. All of this denial and back-and-forth is really exhausting.”

“There’s going to be no banging,” I huff, grabbing one of the books and opening it to demonstrate how incredibly busy I am. Alpha Male Behavior in Athletes. I think it was written in the nineteen thirties.

I slam it closed. The last thing I want to do is think about alpha male behavior.

“There’s going to be banging,” Sable promises me with a look. “The two of you should just admit it already.”

She turns to leave.

“Hey Sable?" She stops at the door. “Be careful, okay? The football parties… I think they get kind of crazy. At least the one I saw in the afternoon was anyway.”

Sable laughs. “Honey, I can out-party a bunch of beer-guzzling football players,” she insists. “Besides I always bring this when I go out.”

She reaches into her demure little purse and pulls out a knife that she opens and brandishes proudly. It’s gold and covered in glitter. Or rhinestones. I can’t tell which.

“Oh my God, is that a switchblade? How many other weapons do you have in your room?” I ask. “Is there an arsenal in there?”

“I like to be prepared,” Sable says nonchalantly, closing it and returning it to her purse.

“I feel like maybe I should worry about the safety of the football players instead of you.”

“That would be advisable.”