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“Famous last words,” I mutter, resting my forehead on the edge of the sink. “I should have my head examined for trusting you with this.”

“I’m not saying I’m sorry again. I am, but like you said, sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

“You’re right.” I nod, convincing myself I’m making the right decision. “The list is out there. I need to make the most of it.”

“Are you sure? A whispered plot in a coffee shop is one thing. Going through with it because everyone found out is . . . It’s something else entirely.”

“If I have to choose between the whole campus thinking I’m plotting the death of my hymen or everyone finding out I got played, I’ll go with the first option.”

“But—”

“Save it,” I cut her off before she can change my mind. “I refuse to let this asshole beat me.”

“You sound like your mom.”

A blast of laughter bursts out of me.

“I meant that as a compliment.”

“Why do you think I’m laughing?”

“Hey, maybe your mom was right all along?”

Suck it up, Kennedy. The time for tears and tantrums is over.

I let out a sigh. “Maybe she was . . .”

Sunday morning, armed with fresh lattes and a shared cinnamon roll, Nicole and I sit at the same table where we originally wrote the list and come up with a plan. A new plan.

Nicole rubs her hands together like an evil genius. “I think the best way to handle this whole thing is to start over.”

“What do you mean, start over?”

“I mean, throw Tyler and Caleb back into the running. Make them woo you. Make them all woo you.”

“Woo me? Did I suddenly become the diamond of the social season? And what do you mean by all?”

“I mean, now that the cat’s out of the bag, we throw away the list and open this up to every guy on campus.”

A twinge of fear grips my insides. “All of them? As in Aaron? Lucas?”

Jordan?

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know.” As hesitant as I am to agree to her suggestion, I have to admit, the idea of Jordan wooing me is exciting . . . and slightly terrifying.

“Hear me out.” Nicole’s eyes light up. “They can sign up for a shot, but the first time they screw up, you disqualify them. We let it play out like a reality TV game show. Next time someone drops you into a stream, they’re out.”

Her idea sits like a bad taco in my stomach. “I’m not giving away my virginity as the prize in some weird competition.”

“I guess that does sound a little creepy.” She snickers.

“Mustache-twirling-level creepy.”

“It’s not too late to turn back.”

I heave out a breath. “No. I’m not turning back.”