“I can’t wait to see the final designs,” Bianca gushes. “The pics you sent of the sketches are so hot.”

“Yeah, they’re boss,” Madison agrees.

“Thanks. I’m excited to see them on you guys.” I jot down Madison’s bust measurement and then roll up the measuring tape. I tuck it and my little notepad into my Prada tote. “All right. Perfect. I’ve got everything I need. Next time I’m here, we’ll do a proper fitting and—”

“What the hell is going on?” Kaya appears in the doorway, suspicion darkening every inch of her pretty face.

“Hey, Kaya,” I say cheerfully.

Bianca warily gets off the couch, while Madison scurries out of the room like an animal that’s just sensed a thunderstorm brewing.

Kaya glares at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take some measurements.” I sling my purse strap over my shoulder and root around inside the bag for my phone.

“What for?”

“For none of your business,” I chirp.

Bianca makes it Kaya’s business quickly enough. “Some of the girls and I are walking in Summer’s fashion show.”

“Well,” I hedge in, “it’s not my show. The Fashion department does this every March.”

Kaya ignores me. She’s too busy staring Bianca down. “Why would you walk in her fashion show?”

Bianca falters for a beat. “Because it sounded like fun.”

“So fun that you didn’t think to ask me if I wanted to do it too?”

I arch an eyebrow at the huffy girl. “Would you like to model in my show, Kaya?”

“Absolutely not.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes, but somehow I manage to restrain myself.

“I just feel like I should have been informed about this before you agreed,” she says stiffly. “I’m the president of this sorority, Bianca. Anything a Kappa does has the power to reflect poorly on me.”

“Chill out, Kaya. It’s just a fashion show, and it will look great for the house, I promise. We’re helping out a fellow student. Nationals likes it when we show community spirit.”

“How many of you said yes?” Kaya demands.

“Six of us.”

“Six? Oh my God. I can’t believe you all agreed and not a single person told me!”

“Because it had nothing to do with you.”

I edge toward the door. “Um. I’m going to take off now—”

“After everything I went through with Daphne! You know how upset I was when I found out she was going behind my back, and now you’re doing the same thing?”

“No one is going behind your back,” Bianca coos. She gives me a look that says, Get out of here while you can.

I make my escape, fleeing through the front doors of the house that, instead of Kappa Beta Nu, should be called DAPHNE KETTLEMAN WAS HERE, because holy shit did that girl leave her mark on this place.

As I’m unlocking my car, “Cheap Thrills” blares out of my purse. I fish out my phone and flip it over to check the screen.

Hunter.

I answer with an overly bright, “Hey.”

“Blondie. Hey.”

The sound of his husky voice triggers a rush of guilt. Saturday night is fast approaching, and I’ve been stalling in telling him it’s Valentine’s Day. Because he’ll either want to go anyway, or reschedule, and I don’t even know if I want to keep the date.

“So. I was just informed that I scheduled our date on Valentine’s Day.” He snickers. “My bad.”

I laugh in relief. “Okay, thank God. I was going to say something about it, because, yeah…I don’t know if V-Day is the best idea for a first date.”

“No, I totally get it. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“We should probably reschedule,” I say, even more relieved now. Maybe I can put this off indefinitely, or at least until I figure out how I feel about him.

Hunter throws a wrench in that plan by suggesting, “How about tonight?”

I gulp. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. No game, and I don’t have plans. Do you?”

“No.” Crap. Why did I say no? Now there’s no reason for me not to go.

“So let’s do it. Dinner?

“Sure,” I concede.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at your place.”

Another laugh pops out. “That was so lame.”

“I know.” He chuckles. “Should we leave around seven?”

“Sounds good.” I hope he doesn’t hear the note of uncertainty in my voice.

“Later, Blondie.”

After we hang up, I instantly call my mother.

“Sweetie!” She sounds overjoyed. “You caught me at a good time. I just got out of a meeting.”

“I’m having man problems!” I blurt out.

There’s a second of silence, and then, “Okay, baby. Hit me.”

Laughter bubbles in my throat. I love this woman. “I have a date with one of my roommates tonight. Hunter. He went to Roselawn, but he was a year behind me.”

“All right…” I can practically see the deep furrow between her eyebrows as she absorbs my words. “Are you nervous about the date?”

“No, not really. But…” I let out a breath. “I kissed my other roommate.” Among other things. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“You kissed him before the date?”

“No, I didn’t kiss the one I’m going out with. Well, I did, but that was a while ago. On Saturday I kissed the other one.”

“Hunter.”

“No. Fitz.”

“Fizz?”

“Fitz!” I sputter. “Colin Fitzgerald. Mom, keep up.”

“Sorry, Summer, but maybe I’d have an easier time keeping up if your love life wasn’t like an episode of The Bachelor.”

“The Bachelorette,” I correct. “Okay. Pay attention. Hunter is the one I’m having dinner with tonight. Fitz is the one I kissed.”

“I see. And you have feelings for both of them?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question?”

“No? I mean, I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“Well, I’m not sure what to say to you, sweetie. You’re skimping on both the context and the details. I suppose pick the one you like more?”

“Mom! That doesn’t help at all,” I grumble. “Whatever. I’ll figure it out on my own.” I mimic her crappy suggestion. “Pick the one you like more. Come on, Mom. Get it together.”

Her laughter tickles my ear. “Hey, it’s all I’ve got. Call me later. Let me know how everything shakes out.”

Wonderful. Usually my mother dispenses the sagest advice in the world. Today she gives me nothing. Even grammatically incorrect fortune cookies offer better solutions than pick the one you like more.

Besides, it’s not a matter of liking. Half the time I’m not sure I even like Fitz. He drives me bananas most of the time. But I’m drawn to him, and he’s on my mind constantly, a lot more than Hunter is.

In all honesty, I wouldn’t be considering going out with Hunter if Fitz came up to me and said, “Let’s do this.”

But Fitz isn’t saying that. He isn’t saying anything, except that he’s “bad at expressing feelings” and “not good at this shit.”

What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Beg him to magically be good at “this shit”? Forget that.

Hunter is a great guy, and we get along so well. What’s the harm in getting to know him better?

You’ll be leading him on.

Not necessarily. Maybe we’ll have so much fun on the date that my feelings for Hunter will eclipse my feelings for Fitz.

Or that won’t happen at all, and you’ll be leading him on.

Do I keep the date or cancel it? I have no idea what to do.

I’m still debating it when I take a shower later. A worry-free shower, thanks to the new lock Hollis installed on the bathroom door.

I’m still debating it as I dry my hair and get dressed. I pair a dove-gray sweater dress with black stockings and Jimmy Choo lace-up combat boots, black suede.

I’m still debating it when Hunter calls out from downstairs that he’s warming up the car.

And I’m still debating it when Fitz enters my bedroom without knocking and levels me with two husky words.

“Don’t go.”

23

Summer

“W-what?” The question comes out in a fast, quavery squeak, as my heart stutters mid-beat.

Fitz’s long, muscular body advances on me. I find myself moving backward. Moving away from him, because his intensity is a bit terrifying. Usually his eyes are a normal shade of brown. Right now, they’re dark chocolate and liquid fire. The heat of them sears right through me.

I move until I can’t move anymore—because my butt meets the wall. Fitz doesn’t stop until his body is a mere inch from mine. If I inhale, my breasts would rise and probably bump his chest.

“Summer.” His voice is low, tormented.

His rough fingertips graze my cheekbone. I can scarcely breathe. My worried gaze flicks toward my bedroom door. It’s ajar. Hunter or Hollis could walk by at any moment and see us.