“SO WHAT’S REALLY GOING on with you?” Jenna asks as she pulls outfits off the rack and holds them up to me.

“Nothing. I’m just hungover a little.” I mean if being wasted got me out of deep talks last night, then being hungover ought to work for today, right?

She raises her eyebrow. “Why aren’t you excited to go on this date with Jones?” She pauses, wincing as if she’s thinking too hard. “Is Jones his actual name? Like first or last?”

I take the very tiny dress out of her hand and put it back on the rack. “I actually don’t know. I passed the point of being able to ask without it being weird that I don’t know. Everyone just calls him Jones.”

She holds up a super bright red outfit, and I shake my head. I cannot pull off that color. “Okay, but why don’t you want to date him? He seems nice.”

“I do want to date him. I’m going out with him tomorrow, remember?”

She frowns at me. “I know how you are when you are excited about something. And this isn’t it. After all, I was there the day we learned how to graph sentences in Language Arts, remember?”

Oh, that was a good day.

“Truth?” I ask, and she nods and assesses an electric blue top against my skin. “I like someone else.”

She shrugs. “So?”

“Two someone else’s,” I add.

Her eyes practically glow at me. “Well, this just got interesting.”

“Does that make me a slut?”

Cue eye-roll. “Being attracted to more than one man does not make you a slut, Penelope. But also, stop saying slut like it’s a bad thing.” She smiles at a woman wearing a blonde helmet-bob haircut and a disapproving scowl as she passes us. “Having a healthy sexual appetite is good for you. And normal. And fine. Just don’t promise someone to be exclusive unless you actually are exclusive. That’s bad juju.”

“So I shouldn’t disclose to Jones that I’m attracted to two other guys?”

“Well, not over mozzarella sticks, no. But if you guys get intimate, you might want to make sure he understands that you’re still seeing other people right now and don’t want to stop.”

“And that is socially acceptable?”

“Yeah, of course. If you guys have sex on date number one, it’s pretty much a given that it’s a hookup but with potential. If you hold out for date three, he might assume you’re a couple, though. So, make sure you know how you want to go on.”

“This is confusing. What if we have sex on date two then?”

She shudders. “Just don’t. That’s no-man’s land and the rules are foggy.”

I hold the hanger she shoves into my hand. “That makes no sense at all.”

“Who told you this was all supposed to make sense? Men are weird. They’re hard enough to figure out when you know what you want, but if you’re still exploring, it’s even worse.”

“Why do we put ourselves through this then?”

“Penises,” she answers matter-of-factly. And we dissolve into giggles when helmet-bob woman huffs from the next aisle over.

The outfit Jenna styles for me includes the electric blue top. It’s a color I don’t normally wear, but it’s not crazy. I kind of like it. It’s less comfort-zone but not out of the galaxy for me. We also spend about an hour in front of the bathroom mirror practicing mascara when we get back to the house. Much to the chagrin of Shane who ends up taking a piss in the yard, according to him.

I still don’t like the way she eyes him up. Like he’s a cupcake and she’s on a diet, but she’s calculating the calories in her head just in case.

When it comes time for Jenna to leave on Sunday morning, I sob and cling to her the way I did my mother’s leg the first day of kindergarten. Luckily, she is crying as hard as I am, so I don’t feel like a total loser. I really wish I could tell her what is going on with me. I need her advice more than ever about Shane and Fletch.

I go back to bed for a couple hours and when I get up, I’m confronted by a shirtless Fletch in the kitchen. He’s just back from a run, and sweat is running down his muscles in little rivulets. The scent of his workout is clean, masculine. Damn those pheromones. My core tightens, clenching around air, and I want him so bad.

He pulls the orange juice carton out of the fridge and starts drinking it right out of the container. I watch his throat working until he lowers the juice and sends me a direct stare. “So, you have a date tonight?”

Bucket. Ice-cold water. Poured over my head.

That’s how I feel.

My veins turn to ice and any and all sexy time feelings I might have been entertaining are flash-frozen by the tone of his voice.

I raise my chin. “That’s the rumor.”

He sneers at me. “Going to add him to your notebook, little bit?”

Blowtorch. Flamethrower. The ice melts, and I’m suddenly going up in flames. Frustrated rage fills my veins, my head. I want to howl like a wolf at the full moon. I take a deep breath, trying to hold on to my sanity. I do not like these crazy conflicting emotions or the ride they are taking my body on. I opt for something logical to say and aim for a neutral tone. “You never call me “little bit.”

He shrugs. He must not see that my blood is roiling to a boil. That I’m about to tear my skin off my own bones and dance like flames in a bonfire. God, his eyes are cold.

Breathe. “Should I have told him no? Even as you were telling me to go out with him.”

He shrugs again. “You’re a free agent. You can do anyone you want to. Take all your newly tested hypotheses to the next jock. Gonna give him your V-card, or is that for me and Shane?”

It feels like he hit me. Like his words are a physical punch. I’m unable to think or process, and I hate him for that. Thinking and processing is who I am, and he somehow took that away from me. I’m just in wordless shock for a few minutes.

His face is blank. Emotionless. I don’t even know this guy. Did I ever?

“What?” he asks, shrugging in dismissal at me.

“Why are you doing this?”

The hard edge of his voice doesn’t soften the fake-innocent smile on his face. “Doing what?”

“Acting like this!” I yell.

“Mom. Dad. What have I asked you about fighting?” Shane stops in the door, and his eyes widen when he gets a look at my face. Maybe I really am on fire. “Whoa. What the hell is going on in here?”

“Fletch is being a dick,” I say and Shane sputters.

“Little bit, I’m surprised at your language.”

“Well, he is.”

Fletch narrows his eyes at me, and he tosses the empty juice container into the corner wastebasket. “How am I being a dick?”

If he doesn’t know, then there really is no point in telling him. I guess my feelings are not as confused as they once were. I can’t believe this is the same guy that made me feel so safe. That I let my guard down in front of. “It doesn’t matter,” I say and hope nobody hears the crack in my voice.

I’ve never been betrayed before. I’ve never let anyone close enough to do it. Except Jenna. And I’ve betrayed her trust in me, so I guess I deserve it, right?

But I don’t think I’m capable of letting anyone in range of my heart again. Not if this is what it feels like to trust and be iced-over for it.

Shane pulls me into a hug. “Of course it matters. What’s going on?” I don’t say anything, so he directs his questioning to Fletch. “Dude? What?”

“I was just asking her about her date. I gotta grab a shower. See you guys later.”

I squeeze my eyes really tight. I should be all cried out from this morning’s tear-fest, but I guess all the hormones I don’t understand also come with eye leaking. Shane pulls back so he can look down at me. He’s searching my face, but for what I don’t know. “He hurt your feelings.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“He’s jealous.”

Now that makes me laugh. “He is the opposite of jealous, Shane. You heard him Friday night. He wants me to date Jones.”

“No, he wants you to think he wants you to date Jones, so that if you date Jones, you won’t know he’s jealous.”

“That makes no sense at all.”

“Welcome to the world of men, Velma.”

I bring a shaky hand up to my cheek and wipe away the moisture. “This is not the first time I’ve wished I was a lesbian.”

That easy smile curves across his face. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about you being a lesbian.”

I smack him. He smacks a kiss on my forehead.

“I think we both know Fletch isn’t jealous. After all, he’s not being a dick to you and you’ve done more than ask me out on a date in front of him. I think he’s just freezing me out. I’ve seen guys ghost on Jenna before, but since I live here, he can’t just disappear. He’s making it loud and clear that I shouldn’t get any ideas about continuing our lessons. I just don’t know why he has to be so mean about it.”

“He’s jealous, I tell you. If he wanted to ghost, he wouldn’t be acting like a dick. He’d be even nicer than he normally is. The fact that he’s unable to stop himself from being a douche is a new one for him. You know what he’s like—the Original Boy Scout. He must be really chewed up inside if he’s showing negative feelings.”

I don’t see Fletch for the rest of the day. Looks like he found a way to ghost after all. When Jones gets to the house to pick me up, both my roommates have vacated the premises.

“You seem on edge. You okay?” Jones asks me from across the table at Applebee’s.

I know what you’re thinking, but I’m fine with Applebee’s. There aren’t a lot of middle of the road places to go for dates in our college town. A lot of greasy diners, a lot of coffee houses, a lot of fast food places—but not many date places. There’s a super nice seafood restaurant, but it’s also very expensive. Most of the students don’t go there unless it’s during family weekends and your parents take you. And pay.

Applebee’s is fine.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just nervous. I haven’t dated much.” Ever. “I don’t mean to be weird about it.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t date much either. I’m kind of nervous too. Most of the time, I just see girls at parties.”

Code for “most of the time I just hook up with girls.” I get it. But I guess I should be flattered he’s making an effort, right?

“The party we met at was my first college party,” I tell him. “I’m probably too serious.”

“It’s cool, though. I guess I’m starting to get more serious about stuff, too.”

He seems very earnest and sweet. I wish I was all-in on this. I keep trying, but my mind wanders to the kitchen this morning. Maybe I’m just wary of getting my feelings hurt again. I really didn’t think Fletch would be so cold to me. Ever. Logically, I knew the tutoring sessions were not a forever thing, but I thought we would be able to maintain civil friendships. Maybe once I’m in a real relationship, Fletch will ease up since he won’t have to push me away anymore.

But it hurts.

“So, how did you end up living with two guys?”

“I had a nightmare roommate in my freshmen dorm and the guys had an empty room. Fletch is my best friend’s big brother. You met Jenna Friday night.”

“Is it weird living with dudes?”

I laugh. “You have no idea.”

After dinner, he suggests a small party.

“I don’t know. I’m not really good at parties.”

Jones buckles his seatbelt. “The only way to feel more comfortable is to keep going to them. We can leave whenever you want.”

It’s definitely a smaller gathering than the one I went to with Fletch and Shane. The commonality is that Shane is here.

But he’s with a girl.

“Little bit,” he says, bumping fists with my date and kissing my head like I’m seven. “How’s your date so far?”

Since my date is standing behind me with his hand on my lower back, I answer, “Great. Fletch here, too?”

“Nah. Haven’t seen him.” He introduces me to the cute brunette with him, and she slides her arms around his waist.

Maybe she’ll pee on him next to show me he’s her territory.

Jones grabs me a red cup of beer, and I drink from it right in front of Shane, who sort of narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t say anything. Since he didn’t bring me here tonight, I’m not his responsibility. Apparently, Jones doesn’t subscribe to the theory of watching your date’s drink closely.

I feel like such a rebel.

Jones gets called to beer pong, a theme that seems recurring from the first party we went to, so I wander around the house until I find a dog in the kitchen. Perfect. Dogs are much easier to socialize with than people. I spend about twenty minutes with the dog, whose tag says his name is Hairy. When I go to find Jones later, he’s under a beer bong.

Perfect. He’s def not driving me home. That’s when I see Shane and his friend Nina going up the stairs together.

All the things I’m not supposed to feel are bubbling inside me in a frothy boil of emotion I don’t want. I’m not supposed to care who Shane does or doesn’t do.

My phone vibrates with a text. From Shane.

“Hey, little sis. I’m indisposed for a bit, but don’t let Jones drive you home, ok? Grab Uber. C U tomorrow.”

He’s texting me little sister messages before his has sex with another girl.

What am I even doing?

I find Jones to tell him goodbye. He protests, but his eyes are red, and he’s not really fighting it. I order a ride and try to chill the whole way home. Shane is just being Shane. He was still very sweetly looking out for me, even as he was about to get with someone else. He’s never been anything but honest with me.

It’s me that has a problem. I’m reading too much into my “relationship” with the guys. It’s Fletch I’m still mad at. Fletch who hurt my feelings on purpose. Fletch who knew where I was softest, so that’s where he aimed his barb.

My inexperience with sex is far less troubling to me than my inexperience with my heart. I didn’t expect it to be so tender.

I get home to a dark house. I’m walking down the hall when I see it.

There’s a sock on Fletch’s doorknob.

He’s got a woman in there with him.

My phone vibrates again. This time it’s Jenna. “How is the date? I want all the deets tomorrow.”

My eyes are a little blurry as I plop onto my bed and answer her. “Great. Everything is great. We’ll probably go out again next weekend.”

Quietly, so as not to disturb the sex-fest happening in Fletch’s room, I pull a cardboard box out of my closet.

I’ll be gone in the morning.