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How adorable is that?

Each time I go out, I check neighborhoods and back windows. I get excited when I hear Beckett buckle his belt for fuck’s sake—who does that?

Me.

Me me me me me.

Sinking further into the bean bag, the candy melts into sticky gray pools inside my palm.

I think I’m in love.

Beckett smooths out the tablecloth, and I watch the crease fall into a perfectly straight line. He’s smiling a lot more lately, too.

Maybe we’re both in love.

I hope his girlfriend’s cute.

Beckett

Our frat’s hosting a New Year’s Eve party, and I’m locked inside the bathroom, trying to finish the world’s worst-looking sketch of the Neon Menace’s tattoos. I’m nearly positive it’s a cottagecore theme after doing some research. The rope I saw probably isn’t rope at all—I think it’s a basket.

I put down the colored pencils and hold the paper away from my face. Tilt it. Then tilt it the other way. It’s safe to say I’ll never become an artist, but I think it’s the closest rendition I’ve done yet.

Someone bangs on the door.

“Are you taking a shit?” Gavin yells. “Get out already, Beck! I gotta pee!”

Standing, I shove the pencils under the sink. Then I fold the paper into a square and stuff it into my back pocket. My face is back to normal by the time the door opens.

“You couldn’t use one of the other four bathrooms?” I grin. “Did you miss me?”

“Everyone’s brought a fucking guest, man. It’s a ten-minute wait to wash your hands.” He grabs the front of my shirt. “We are never doing this again. Ever. I’ll slap you next year, or you slap me. Hear?”

“Heard.”

I turn the corner and almost run straight into someone else.

Damn, he’s not kidding—I can barely walk. It wasn’t this bad when I went in the bathroom an hour ago.

“Where the hell’s my hello?” a guy yells. “Or my hug, you ginger?”

I know that voice.

On my tiptoes, I scan the ever-growing crowd until I spot Asher’s messy brown head thirty feet in front of me, waving so hard he looks like he’s vibrating.

Asher’s the whole reason Ira ended up in our house. Hard to say no when everyone’s favorite treasurer spent two years convincing us his little brother is an angel in disguise.

I scooch people aside as I make my way over.

He pulls me into a hug so tight it cracks my back. “You haven’t changed at all, Beck.”

“What’re you doing back? Couldn’t cut it in the real world?”

After a minute, he pulls away, a huge smile painted on his face.

“Mom hasn’t heard from Ira in almost a month. You know she’s freaked.”

“Why?” I ask. “He’s chilling up in our room.”