Bibby, a tight end with a bushy red beard, looks curious. “What would we be modeling?”

“Swimwear.”

“Dibs on the Speedo!” Lockett says immediately.

C-Mac’s hand shoots up. “Dibs on the thong.”

I’m surprised at how easy this is. But in case they’re pulling my leg, I offer more details to judge their sincerity. “The show is a month from now, right before spring break. I’m still in the design stage, but if I get a commitment from you, we’ll take measurements in the next few days and start fittings in a couple of weeks. We’ll also do some runway coaching—”

“I don’t need runway coaching,” Lockett interrupts. “I’ve watched America’s Next Top Model.”

“Same,” Jules chimes in. “Tyra’s got nothing on me.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Yup. These are exactly the guys I need. “So you’re in?” My gaze conducts a sweep of the room. “All of you?”

Everyone nods. “We’ll be there,” Rex promises.

“She needs one more, though,” Bibby says. He glances over at me. “I’ll ask Chris.”

I have no idea who Chris is, but I reply with, “Sounds good. Thank you.”

He shrugs. “Anything for a Di Laurentis.”

Rex nods fervently. “Your brother used to chill here all the time. He was good friends with a lot of our seniors.”

“I know.” Before I can stop it, a lump of sorrow rises in my throat. “Beau’s death hit him pretty hard.”

It hit me pretty hard too, but I don’t say that out loud. Beau Maxwell played quarterback for Briar for three seasons and died in a car accident last year. After I’d heard the news, I’d locked myself in my room at the Kappa house and cried my eyes out. Dean doesn’t know this, but Beau and I made out once. It was a stupid drunken thing, and we both swore we’d take it to the grave because neither of us wanted to deal with my brother’s wrath.

My heart squeezes painfully as I realize that Beau really did take our secret to the grave.

“Beau was good people,” Rex says gruffly, and the mood in the room grows somber.

“Anyway.” Fitz clears his throat. “We should be taking off.”

“I’ll start a group chat for us on MyBri,” I tell the guys. “And thank you so much for doing this.”

They don’t let me leave right away—first, each one has to swallow me up in a bear hug, while Fitz watches with resigned eyes.

“Does every single hetero male on this planet fall in love with you on sight?” he mutters when we’re outside again.

“No. Some fall in lust.” I spare him a pithy look. “And some fool around with me and then pretend it never happened.”

He halts about five feet from our cars. “I’m not pretending it didn’t happen.”

“No? So you’re avoiding me for no reason, then? Just for funsies?” Gritting my teeth, I bulldoze past him.

He catches up to me as I reach the Audi. “Summer. Come on. Wait.”

“Wait for what?” I snap. “For you to decide that I’m worthy of your time and attention?”

His brown eyes widen. “What—”

“Isn’t that what it boils down to?” I cut in, bitterness staining my tone. “I’m not someone you want to spend time with.”

“That’s not true.”

“Fine. I’ll amend that. I’m okay to hook up with, but I don’t deserve a conversation about it afterward.”

“Stop saying those words,” he growls. “Worthy. Deserve. That’s not what this is about.”

“What’s this?” I burst out, my frustration levels skyrocketing. “Seriously, Fitz. What is this? You rub up against me outside Malone’s, and then you drive away. I get on my knees for you in the locker room, and then you disappear for two days. I have no clue how you feel about me at all. So forgive me for assuming that you don’t want me.” My mouth twists in a humorless smile. “Why would I ever think that, right?” Sarcasm creeps into my voice. “I mean, a guy runs for the hills after I blow him. That means he’s super into me, right?”

Guilt flickers in his eyes at the mention of the blowjob. But he remains maddeningly silent.

I grind my molars together. Soon they’ll turn to dust, that’s how pissed off I am. “I have a date with Hunter this weekend,” I find myself declaring.

That gets me a response. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and then he mutters, “Since when?”

“He asked me last week.” I hit the key fob to unlock my car. “And you want to know why I said yes? Because it was really frigging nice to be asked on a date by someone who isn’t, I don’t know, ashamed of me.”

Fitz exhales slowly before speaking. “I’m not ashamed of you,” he murmurs. “I’m just…”

“You’re what?”

“I’m bad at expressing myself.”

“Bullshit. You’re the most articulate person I know.”

“Not when it comes to sharing feelings.” He sounds as discouraged as I feel.

“Feelings? Oh, you mean you have those?”

Every muscle in his face goes taut. It’s the only outwardly discernible sign that my accusation upset him. His expression is completely shuttered. “I’m not good at this shit, Summer.” The words are hoarse, strained.

“Good at what?” I clench my fists in exasperation. “It’s not that hard, Colin! You either want to be with me, or you don’t.” My fingers tremble on the door handle. “So which is it?”

He hesitates.

He actually hesitates.

A ball of hurt clogs my throat. I gulp it down best as I can. “Wrong answer,” I mutter, and then I get in my car and slam the door.

22

Summer

A few days ago, Fitz was the one avoiding me. Now we’re avoiding each other.

If he’s in the living room with Hollis and Hunter, then I’m in my bedroom. If I’m in the kitchen, then he’s somewhere else. Our townhouse turns into a pathetic game of Musical Chairs: The Room Edition, as we do everything in our power not to share the same space or breathe the same air.

But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Because when I am, I’m either touching his dick or sucking it, and I refuse to let that happen again.

As usual, Fitz and the guys have already left for practice by the time I’m ready to head to campus. I have another check-in with Hal Richmond this morning. Yay. Fun times. Can’t wait.

I drive to Briar and park behind the admin building, but I don’t get out of the car yet. I’m fifteen minutes early, and damned if I’m going to spend any extra time with Froghole. Instead, I crank the heat, load up an old playlist, and start singing along to One Direction’s “No Control.”

I’m still humming the same song ten minutes later on the way to the dean’s offices. Man, why did 1D ever break up? They were so frigging magical.

“Get back together already,” I moan, at the same time that a dark-haired girl rounds the hall corner.