“Your dad is fifty-one, Hannah. I was there for his birthday.”

Her bubble bursts. “Oh.”

“In any case, I feel like I would know if JB was a slime ball. I would have picked up on the vibe. We’ve been chatting for almost an entire week—don’t you think I would have picked up on it by now?”

“Probably. But still—McGuillicudy’s? That place is so awful.” She makes her body shiver. “I was going to say we should talk about what you’re going to wear on your date, but it’s…in a seedy bar. Technically you could wear that.”

Hannah points at my pajama bottoms with the tip of her spoon.

“All right, stop being so dramatic—the place isn’t that bad.”

“No. But you could legit wear that on your date and no one would bat an eye.”

She makes a very valid point. “Maybe just jeans then, and a flirty top?”

“Ratty t-shirt? I don’t want you to ruin anything—do you know how many airborne STDs are probably floating through the air in that place? Allll the herpes, yo, straight to your vajajay.”

My roommate is certifiable.

I can’t even argue with her—she’ll only keep going on and on, because if there is one thing she loves to do, it’s shock people.

I pretend she’s not talking. “What about that blue shirt that’s cut a little lower? It’s not too revealing, kind of perfect?”

She ponders my suggestion. “Yeah, that’s cute…what about wearing something red? You look so good in that color, and you can do red lips.”

“You don’t think red lips are a bit much for a dive bar?”

Hannah nods. “Good point.” Thinks a few seconds. “What about a black turtleneck? That sends the message that you’re not willing to fool around on the first date.”

“Ah, a modern-day chastity belt?”

“Exactly!”

“No.” I laugh. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I dig into the chip bag, making a ton of noise in the process while I root around for one or two—the sound drives Hannah nutso—then shove three tortilla chips in my mouth at the same time. Bite down and chew. Swallow. “Okay, how about a black camisole and jean jacket?”

“Yes, yes, I love that. Just enough skin without being revealing, and the denim makes it casual enough that it doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard. Yes. Perfect.”

I nod. “It is quite perfect.”

“Plus”—Hannah eyes me slyly—“if things get heated, you can slide the jacket off and—”

“Stop. Just…don’t even say it.”

She rattles the bottom of her ice cream bowl with the metal spoon in her hand, the hollow, empty sound making her frown and tip the bowl sideways.

“Empty. Empty like my heart.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” I laugh, tossing a chip in her direction. She snatches it up and pops it in her mouth even though it just landed on the couch.

“The date is going to be fine. If anything, it will be a good practice run. Right?”

Right. It’s going to be fine.

What’s the worst thing that could happen? He turns out to be a mass murderer? The Craigslist Killer?

“He’s going to fall madly in love with you.” Hannah leans toward me, wrapping her free arm around my shoulders. “He’s gonna love you like I love you, only he’s going to want to sex you, too.” Long pause. “Not that I don’t want to sex you sometimes.”

“Shut up, Hannah!”

She shrugs. “What can I say? You’re adorable.”

Adorable.

Great.

Abe

“You’re not seriously going to meet her at that bar,” I deadpan to Jack, who’s studying for the first time this semester—that I’ve seen, anyway. When I walked into his bedroom after Blue confirmed their date, I found him with an actual textbook open and a highlighter in his hand.

I almost fainted from shock.

Blew my fucking mind.

He looks up from his book, a pair of actual, authentic reading glasses perched on his nose. “What’s wrong with McGuillicudy’s? I take all my dates there. No one has had a problem with it yet.”

I know he takes all his dates there. That’s why this feels so…wrong. A girl like Blue doesn’t deserve to be treated like all his other dates. She’s classier; I know this without even meeting her.

I’ve spoken to her long enough to know the idea doesn’t thrill her. It took her several minutes to respond and confirm the date to begin with.

“These women aren’t going to tell you they hate it to your face.” I pause, thinking. “Ethan Ransick finger-bangs someone in the hallway by the bathrooms almost every weekend, and the last football victory party was there. One of the linebackers got wasted and tore the kitchen door off.”

“Dude, why do you sound so surprised? I have literally taken at least twelve girls there.”

“Twenty-one, but who’s counting.”

“Sounds like you are.” He sounds aggravated.

“Only because I’m the one setting all this shit up. Change it up a little for God’s sake. You’re becoming way too predictable.”

JB stretches his neck, ignoring my barb. “Why should I change shit up when you’re doing such a great job being me? Keep up the good work, buddy.”

“Fuck you, Bartlett.”

He pulls the glasses off his face and lays them on his open book, finally giving me his attention. “What the hell is your problem, Davis?”

BlueAsTheSky is my problem; she’s one of the good ones and dipshit here is going to fucking ruin it by being…himself.

My lips seal shut, pulled into a straight line as I fold my arms across my chest. “Maybe it’s time to get serious. You say you want a girlfriend and you’re over Tasha, but you’re not actually trying.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“Statistics.”

“Huh?”

I cross my ankles and lean against the doorjamb. “You bag seventy-five percent of your dates, and odds are you’re going to bag this one. This chick is…she’s—”

“This chick is what?”

A keeper.

Funny. Smart.

Clever. Pretty.

Someone you’d take home to your family.

“Nothing. I just don’t… Let’s just say I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Yeah?” JB’s brows rise, interested. “What kind of feeling?”

“She—”

“Makes your dick tingle?” He’s smirking at himself, one side of his mouth turned up, kind of like the Joker in Batman. It’s creepy as hell.

“Shut the fuck up, Bartlett. Be serious for a second.”

JB rolls to his back, laughing at the ceiling. “I am being serious, Grandpa. Jesus, act your age for a change.” My roommate laughs again. “I made a rhyme.”

God he’s an idiot.

“Is that what this is about? This chick gives you a woody?”

“No, you asshole. She doesn’t get me hard.”

I’m lying, obviously.