I haven’t seen much of Vanessa since she dropped statistics. She’s taken to staying at Mario’s most nights, and during the day, our class schedules keeps us out of sync. It goes without saying that when I find her rummaging through our closet singing along to K-pop the next night after work, I’m caught completely by surprise.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at Mario’s again tonight?” I ask as I set my backpack down at my desk. Four hours of working at the café has left me with sore feet and a kink in my neck. Not to mention, splattered with the sticky sweet syrups I can’t seem to wash off my hands and always manage to smear in my hair.

And worst of all, my quotes went completely unappreciated tonight. I usually get at least one smile or thanks. So much for putting good out into the universe and getting it back.

“I am, but the guys are having an after-hours party and you’re coming with me.”

I attempt a smile that I’m sure looks more like a grimace. “Tonight? Shoot, you know I’d love to hang out, but I’m exhausted and have a class at eight tomorrow.”

“Who signs up for eight a.m. classes past sophomore year?” She shakes her head. “And that was your excuse the last two weeks. You’re coming.”

“It was the only time advanced econ was available.”

Vanessa pulls out a red tube top and shakes the hanger at me.

“No, not that one. Last time I wore it, I kept pulling it up all night afraid I was going to flash the entire bar.”

“Would have made the night more interesting and maybe you wouldn’t have ended up back here alone.”

“How do you know I ended up alone that night?”

She raises two perfectly arched brows.

“Fine, I came home alone.” It isn’t that I’m a prude, but picking up a guy at a bar or party seems so freshman year. Is it too much to hope that a nice guy might notice me in the daylight, completely sober?

“Ever since that asshole David, you’ve been hiding away all this awesomeness.” She waves a hand in front of me and waggles her eyebrows.

“I have a lot on my plate this semester.” Vanessa doesn’t know that my workload is double what it should be because David is blackmailing me into doing his work. I’ve considered telling her everything a million and one times, but I know Vanessa’s reaction would be to march right over to his frat and kick him in the balls. It’s exactly what I want to do every time I think about it, but I won’t risk pissing him off and having him expose me in front of the entire college . . . or worse, wind up on one of those revenge porn sites.

I move past her, and I know I’ve already given in when I find myself scanning the clothes on my side of our tiny walk-in closet.

When we leave thirty minutes later, I’ve managed to shower and make myself presentable. I let Vanessa talk me into a short black dress that leaves none of my curves to the imagination, but I refused the high heels in favor of my chucks.

Vanessa has practically been living at the baseball house, and when we walk in, she’s greeted enthusiastically. The two-story house is small, old, and borderline condemnable, but the upper classmen baseball players don’t seem to care as they mill around.

The bars haven’t closed yet, so the party is still small, mostly baseball players and their girlfriends and the many single girls vying for the guys’ attention. A keg sits in the dining room, and an array of liquor bottles clutter the kitchen counters. Mario already has Vanessa’s drink and is walking it over to her when we cross the living room.

“Hey, babe.” He hands her the cup and drops a kiss to her temple. He puts an arm around Vanessa and addresses me. “What can I get you to drink?”

I don’t even have to think about it. The smell of anything fruity or sweet makes my stomach roll after serving mochas and caramel macchiatos. “Vodka tonic. I don’t suppose there’s any lime in there?”

He shakes his head apologetically. “No tonic, either. How about Sprite?”

I nod my approval. I bet if Vanessa wanted tonic and limes he’d not only make sure there were limes but also he’d plant a tree out back.

“He is in love with you,” I say when he disappears back into the kitchen.

A panicked look crosses Vanessa’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been dating for three weeks.”

No one dates the first few months of a new school year. It’s all the excitement of new students and different situations. Guys especially, but it isn’t just them who reserve the first few months of the semester for hookups and having fun. I’d probably think he was in love with her regardless of the time of year by the way he caters to her every whim, but the fact that it isn’t even October yet makes me certain.

Before I can detail out all the reasons why I believe it to be true, Mario is back with my drink.

“Thanks, Mario.”

We stand, chatting and drinking, until the house begins to fill. Vanessa and Mario and two other couples claim spots on the couch, sitting on laps and watching the Phillies play the Diamondbacks. Neither being around happy couples or watching baseball are on my top one hundred ways to spend a Thursday night, so I venture downstairs where a makeshift DJ booth has been constructed from a card table and a sheet of plywood. The rest of the dingy unfinished basement has been cleared, and I find a few girls from my sorority holding red cups, shaking their butts, and singing way too loudly. The universal sorority girl version of dancing.

But I don’t care that I can’t dance for shit or that this basement smells of mold and cheap beer. For the first time all semester, I let it all go. All the worry about grades, David, Gabby . . . it’s all pushed aside as I give in to the rhythm of the pop mix booming from two large speakers. This is what college is supposed to be—exhilarating situations without real-world stipulations. After we graduate, we won’t be able to go out on a random Thursday night and let the night lead us wherever we want. We’ll have jobs and careers to obsess over. Bills and responsibilities. With David on my ass, I’ve had a taste of what it might be like to have a prick boss breathing down my throat, and I’m not eager to enter that world yet.

“I need air,” I yell over the music after the fifth song. Physical exertion has warmed my body and my soul. I move out of the circle, and the remaining girls close the space as I make my way up the stairs. I’m still moving to the beat of the music as I spot some of the basketball players, including Zeke and Joel. They stick out in this cramped stairwell, hunkering their tall frames down so they don’t bang their heads on the ceiling.

Joel notices me first, and we pause on the stairwell, holding up traffic on both sides.

“Hey it’s stat girl.”

I chuckle at the nickname. It’ll be flunked stat girl pretty soon if I don’t pass this next test.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, genuinely surprised. I assumed the athletes didn’t mix much outside of their own houses, and I can’t remember ever bumping into any of the basketball team before. I’d like to think I wasn’t so frat boy crazy that I wouldn’t have noticed.

“Same thing you’re doing here,” he quips, and we both start to move on as the people behind us get impatient.

I look over the other guys and give them a brief nod. They’re staring at me intently, and it’s way too much attention for my poor underappreciated lady parts.

Mario and Vanessa are gone from their cozy spot in the living room, so I slip out the front door. The baseball house is sandwiched between two other houses, presumably for other sports teams. All the jocks live nearby, giving them close access to the training facilities across the street.

I follow the wrap-around porch to the side, hugging myself and enjoying the cool air whipping through my hair. September days in Arizona are still disgustingly hot, but the nights are the best. The sky is clear, and there is just a touch of heat in the air.

I inadvertently stumble upon a couple making out on the back side of the house, catching dark figures embraced so closely makes it hard to make out two distinct forms, but I see enough to know I should turn around and walk away. Reminders are everywhere I look that happy coupledom can exist in college. Or maybe it’s just happy one-night stands. Honestly, I’m almost desperate enough to consider either as a step up from my current situation.

I quietly return to the front of the house, giving myself a silent pep talk to go in and have fun. Enjoy my carefree college years and ignore the stack of homework I need to finish. If only for one night.

“No way. You’re at a dumb jock party?” Wes somehow manages to skip up the steps onto the porch.

Placing my hands on my hips, I give him a playful smile filled with attitude. “I never said all jocks were dumb.”

“Just me.”

Mario and Vanessa emerge from the shadows, looking rumpled and surprised to see people outside. That shock is quickly wiped away when Vanessa realizes it’s just me and Mario calls out, “Wes, man, you made it.”

They meet in the middle, slapping hands and doing that one-arm hug thing guys are so fond of.

“You two know each other?” Vanessa asks, stealing my thoughts.

The guys exchange a look that clearly says they think we are the idiots for not knowing they are friends.

“Wes is the only guy at Valley who spends more time at the fieldhouse than I do.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna beat your deadlift weight just as soon as I get this thing off my foot,” Wes says, nodding his head down to his booted leg.

“In the meantime, what do you say we get you a drink?”

The four of us make our way through the living room. Slowly. I hadn’t thought of Wes as a big man on campus, but clearly, I missed the memo. Wes Reynolds – big damn deal.

As if my humiliation hadn’t been bad enough before.

Guys yell out to him, slap his back, or ask about the foot. And the girls? If desperation has a smell, I am inhaling it now, and it reeks of flavored vodka and self-tanner. Hanging back, I glance around the room, paying particular attention to the way girls move so they’ll be in his line of vision. Even the ones who aren’t brave enough to come forward seem to be biding their time until he looks their way.

I grab Vanessa and pull her into the kitchen.

She careens her neck backward as if she can’t bear to look away. “Did he get better looking since I dropped statistics, or have I been with one man for too long?”

I roll my eyes. “He puts me on edge. He has this arrogant charm that makes me want to kiss him and punch him at the same time. And I really need him to pass statistics, so I cannot make an ass of myself . . . again.”

“Isn’t it great? All that muscle and confidence and who would have guessed—brains!” Vanessa fills two cups with vodka and a splash of Sprite Zero and hands me one. “God bless smart jocks.”

I play hide and seek with Wes for the rest of the night. To be fair, he has no idea we are playing any such game, but every time he comes into view, I duck out of the room. My theory is that if I don’t talk to him, then I can’t put my foot into my mouth. I still haven’t figured out how I am going to convince him to tutor me, but I have a hunch that getting drunk and begging isn’t the way.

Well after two in the morning, I drag myself outside and call the sober driver to take me home.

“You know, it seems you were practically invisible tonight.” His voice sends goose bumps racing over my skin.

“Yeah, weird, I didn’t see you either. Guess we just kept missing each other.”

“You waiting for a ride?” He places both hands into his pockets, which forces me to really look at him. Dark jeans, a gray T-shirt that fits tight across his chest and arms, and tennis shoes . . . well, one tennis shoe.

The look suits him. I can’t picture him in a dress shirt or loafers, my usual preference, but he works this look.

“Yeah, one of the girls should be here in a few minutes.”

“One of the girls? Roommates?”

“Sort of. Sorority sisters. The sophomores take turns being sober drivers during the week.”

“Smart idea.”

“You guys don’t have some sort of similar set up?”

“Nah. We can usually walk.”

“Must be nice to be a guy sometimes and not have to worry about walking home alone in the dark.”

He glances down at his body, pulls his hands from his pockets and runs one from his chest to his abs, which is where he lets it rest before pulling up the hem of his shirt just enough to tease me with the hard lines and a promise of a six pack. “I totally understand. I swear that every time I walk home, old ladies are honking and yelling out the window for me to take my shirt off or get in the car.”

My mouth waters as I openly check him out. He’s joking, but I have zero doubt that what he says is true.

He lets his shirt fall back into place. “Why don’t you make the freshman do the sober driving?”

I shake my head and force my eyes back up to his face. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it makes more sense that you’d put that sort of crap job on the newest girls—sort of a rite of passage. I thought it was freshman who got hazed.”

“Our freshman girls get the red carpet laid out for them. You don’t gain loyalty and sisterhood by hazing.”

“No?”

“People are more loyal when they respect and trust you. Respect and trust come from treating people well. A positive first year makes loyal sisters.”

“Yeah, but if you put them through hell right away, then you know who will really be there when times get tough.”

I consider this. “Fair point, I guess, but we aren’t marching to war. Sisterhood is supposed to be fun.”

“F-U-N,” he says dryly.

The sober driver pulls up to the curb, and we say goodbye. As I walk away, I bite back the temptation to turn and ask him to reconsider being my tutor. I need to figure out what it is he wants or needs, and then I need to strike a deal.