“Nah, I’ve actually seen that guy before. I think he was in one of my finance classes. I’ll bet the first round of drinks that he’s twenty-one.”
Ian looks at me skeptically. “You’re going to ask that guy how old he is?”
“Nope,” I say, smiling. “But I’m buying anyway since this is our last hurrah. You wouldn’t let me throw you a going away party, so a few rounds of drinks and some greasy bar food will have to do.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “What do I need a going away party for? I’m not going away, not really. I’ll be back every chance I get.”
“Yeah, to have all the sexy sex with that hot boyfriend of yours, not to hang out with little old me. I swear, you and Phoebe conspired and got boyfriends just to leave me in the dust.” I’m joking, well, half-joking. I know there was no actual conspiracy, but it still stings that two of my favorite people on the planet, Ian McBride and Phoebe James, are in blissful relationships while I’m stuck pondering how in the hell I thought it was a good idea to date a man nearly fifteen years my senior. But I’m not dwelling on that, not when it’s Ian’s last night in town. “And speaking of your handsome boyfriend, is he on his way?”
Ian gets that dazed smile on his face that he’s been wearing for the last few months since he and Booker got back together. “He’s with the team, but he said he’ll be here soon.”
“Booker’s partying?” I fake a gasp. “What, did he bring a protein shake along with him?”
“Haha. No, they partied last night. He’s just socializing like a good captain. He wants to make sure the new guys feel welcome, but I know he won’t be long. After all, there’s no one on this campus who’s as much fun as we are.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say. “Well, I will when I actually have a drink. What are you getting?”
Ian looks at me like I’m crazy, which makes sense. We met three years ago when I was a freshman. My roommate was the spawn of the devil, so I spent most of my waking hours at Drip, the campus coffee shop. Ian and I became fast friends, and then coworkers. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the years, so it’s a safe bet that he’s ordering his usual. But then again, I’m switching up my order, so he might be too.
Ian looks at me like I’m already drunk. “Uh, an IPA and a basket of mozzarella sticks like I always do. And you’re getting tiny tacos and a gin and tonic. It’s the way of the universe, Mel.”
“Not tonight,” I tell him, as our server arrives, and I place my order. She leaves to put it in, and Ian stares at me, mouth agape.
“Astrawberry daquiri? Andfried artichokes? Who are you?”
“Still Mel,” I assure him. “But better, wiser, smarter Mel.”
Ian frowns. “Are you calling tacos dumb? I’m not following you.”
“Never. And I’m still your second-favorite human. I’m just turning over a new leaf.”
Ian frowns. “I don’t get it. Turning over a new leaf requires you to mainline sugar and eat deep fried vegetables you hate?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I insist, laughing.
“Explain,” he instructs, giving me his very best professorial stare.
Our drinks arrive, and I fiddle with the stem of my frosty glass. “Every instinct I have is wrong, Ian. Every fucking one. So, I'm trying something new. I decide on what I want and then choose the opposite. I want the mini tacos and the gin and tonic. But as the last year has so clearly illustrated, my decision-making skills are shit. So, I ordered the strawberry daiquiri and fried artichokes. I'm making changes.”
Ian still looks skeptical. “What you're doing is making yourself sick, but ok... And for the record, your decision-making skills are not shit. After all, you chose me as your best friend.”
I roll my eyes in response. "Did I? I don't remember it happening that way. In fact, I remember you approaching me and declaring that we'd be best friends. I don't think I really had a choice in the matter."
He considers this. "Yes, well. You might be right. But still, wise of you to go along with it."
I shake my head. "I'm not wise, Ian. And you know it. If I'd been wise or smart or even halfway discerning, I'd never have gotten involved with fuckface."
Our server swings by with my fried artichokes. God, they smell awful. I’m envious of Ian’s mozzarella sticks. And I nearly leap across the table and kiss him when he orders my usual. But then he turns his gaze on me, and I have no trouble believing he’ll be presiding over lecture halls in no time.
"You stop that shit right now, Mel. What Professor Asshole did is on him. You can't take the blame for that."
"The hell I can't. You even tried to warn me, like, a million times. But I was so fucking stupid. I thought he was different. I thoughtIwas different. I thought he really cared. I thought—"
"You thought he was telling you the truth,” Ian says, cutting me off. “And whether or not I thought he was a dickface is beside the point. You believed him. And he was lying. That's on him, not you."
