“Oh yeah?” she challenges, leaning across the table with a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Then why do you get all smiley and weird every time he texts you?”
Almost on cue, my phone buzzes. It’s Freddie, sending me a text about something ridiculous a professor said today. I bite my lip to stop myself from grinning.
“See!” Tara crows, loud enough to make a group of freshmen at the next table jump. “That’s your Freddie face!”
“No, it’s not,” I protest, feeling my cheeks flush. “And even if I did like him that way, which I don’t, it doesn’t matter. Freddie’s not interested in anything serious, and neither am I. I’m here to save the planet, not get caught up in... complications. Freddie’s just a study buddy. A tall, annoyingly charming study buddy.”
You’re over-explaining, Alex. Stop digging.
Tara looks unconvinced but mercifully shifts topics, launching into a hilarious breakdown of her latest Tinder disaster—complete with gym selfies and an array of unsolicited dick pics.
“Tara, I really, really don’t need to see it again.”
“But it’s so freakin’ bendy!”
“Yeah…” The image flashes in my mind—bent at an improbable angle.
“It’s practically a right angle!” she exclaims, and we both tilt our heads in unison, scrutinizing the screen like it’s a bizarre science experiment.
“What’s at a right angle?”
I whip my head around so fast my hot chocolate sloshes. There they are—Troy and Freddie, effortlessly weaving through the crowded cafeteria as if they own the place. Troy strides ahead, while Freddie trails with that infuriating half-smile that could disarm anyone in a ten-mile radius.
Their squad is like a recruitment poster for “The Avengers of Hotness,” each member embodying a different brand of attractiveness. Freddie, Ethan, Alfie, and Troy—it’s objectively unfair. They’re all the kind of gorgeous that makes mere mortals forget basic motor functions.
Ethan’s got the golden-retriever charm, with strawberry blonde hair and a grin that could light up all of Colorado. Muscles ripple under his flannel, and you’d almost swear he was engineered in a lab. Troy is the clean-cut golden boy, sharing Tara’s perfect blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blinding white smile that probably glows in the dark. Alfie isn’t really my type, but he’s got that brooding bad-boy look that has half the campus—men and women—writing his name in their notebooks.
And then there’s Freddie. Tall, dark, and so ridiculously handsome he should come with a warning label. Messy dark hair, a jawline like carved stone, and hazel eyes that seem to change color with the light—it’s cosmically unfair. But it’s not just his looks. There’s a magnetic pull to him, a crooked smile that makes you feel like you’re the only person he’s speaking to.
Not that I notice. Or care. I’m just, you know, making scientific observations. For... environmental purposes. Studying the habitat of Freddie Donovan in his natural cafeteria ecosystem.
I sink lower in my chair, feeling like the human equivalent of a recycled paper bag in a field of high-definition roses.
Be kind to yourself, Alexandria. Mom’s voice, gentle and reassuring, sounds in my head like an optimistic GPS system.
Fine. Maybe I’m more of a dandelion in a field of roses. There. Positive self-talk. You happy, Mom?
Tara jolts, tossing her phone into her lap with a look of horror. “Top ten things you don’t need your brother to know: the angle of your latest Tinder conquest.”
Troy, thankfully, catches her panic and mercifully doesn’t press the question. Good call, Troy—no one wants to explain the math behind that particular picture.
“Hey, nerds,” he says, sliding into a chair. “Is the library on fire or something?”
Tara rolls her eyes so hard I worry they might get stuck. “That joke wasn’t funny when Dad said it, and it’s not funny now.”
“You wound me, little sis.” Troy clutches his chest in mock agony before eyeing her sushi. “You gonna finish all that?”
“Try it and die,” Tara says, brandishing a chopstick like a tiny samurai sword.
Freddie drops into the chair next to me, much closer than necessary. His cologne—warm, rich, a mix of vanilla and leather—fills the air between us, a heady, intoxicating scent that shouldn’t be allowed in public.
“Hey, you,” he says, nudging my shoulder. “Miss me?”
“You wish,” I retort, ignoring the way my heart does a little somersault. “Friends don’t miss friends after, like, two hours. That would be crazy.”
Oh god.
Tara snorts at my obvious deflection, and Troy’s too busy checking out the volleyball team three tables over.Men. Their talent for selective observation should be documented in scientific journals.
