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“I don’t know yet. Whoever’s closest. Probably you two.”

“Rude.” Sam’s gaze slides past my shoulder and settles somewhere near the big windows at the far side of the café.

I don’t need to turn around to know what she’s looking at. Or rather, who. I noticed him when I walked in, which is its own kind of annoying.

I turn anyway.

Zach has the corner table by the window, probably for the light. He’s got his headphones on, the big over-ear kind, and his sketchbook open flat in front of him. His head is bent over the page, pencil moving in quick strokes. From here I can’t tell what it is, but it’s probably another project. The afternoon sun through the palms outside throws shifting shadows across his forearms, and the ink there moves with them, dark and tangled, running up under the sleeves of his black T-shirt. He’s so immersed in what he’s doing, he probably has no idea anyone else in this room exists.

“Damn, he’s hot.” Sam tilts her head. “He looks like he’d break your heart and then build you a very tasteful house to cry in.”

“Please stop,” I groan.

“Can you introduce us?”

I keep scowling at her, and she holds my stare for about two seconds before her mouth twitches. “Is that a no?”

Thankfully, Elliot steps in. “Why’d you move in with him in the first place? He’s not an athlete. Why aren’t you living with another water polo guy?”

“Because Rick decided he and his girlfriend were ready to ‘take the next step.’” I add the air quotes with my fingers. “And the next step was an apartment off campus, despite our plans to live together this semester. With Rick gone, I was scrambling, and everyone else on the team already had their rooms sorted. I was on the housing list begging for literally anything when Zach put the other bed in his room back up for grabs. His roommate had moved off campus too, so housing assigned me to Zach’s room.”

Sam finally drags her eyes away from the window and back to me. “You know you’re lucky, right? You get to live with that. And he’s openly bi, which, I’m sorry, is kind of hot. Confidence is hot.”

I don’t argue. The thing is, I have eyes. I know Zach is objectively good-looking. I’m straight but I’m not blind. You can see that someone’s hot without wanting to do anything about it.

But I’m not giving Sam the satisfaction, and I’m not giving Zach any credit, because Zach and his abundant, five-star-reviewed sex life are the reason I’m running on four hours of sleep and a level of frustration I haven’t felt since high school. So I keep my mouth shut and let the silence do the talking.

My gaze drifts, not on purpose, but then it is. Because three tables over, near the pastry case, Kenzie Lane is laughing at something on her phone.

Kenzie is the hottest girl on campus, and I don’t say that lightly. She’s got dark hair she wears in a loose knot, and a way of sitting cross-legged in a chair like she does yoga and shit. I’ve had three classes with her over the past two years and talked to her maybe four times total, and every one of those times I walked away thinking, next time I’ll ask her out.

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Her friend across the table says something, and she rolls her eyes and smiles.

Next time is a coward’s word.

I turn back to Sam and Elliot. “I’m gonna ask Kenzie out.”

Elliot follows my eyes, then looks back at me. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Sam is already nodding, the look in her eyes shifting from teasing to supportive. “Go for it. I heard from someone who heard from someone on the squad that Kenzie thinks you’re cute.”

I sit up a little straighter. “Which someone?”

“Does it matter? Go before you overthink it.”

I give Sam my most confident grin and stand up, pushing my chair back. “Watch and learn, kids.”

“We’re watching,” Elliot says. “No promises on the learning.”

The café is laid out so that the fastest route to Kenzie’s table runs right along the windows. Right past Zach. I’m three strides out when he looks up. Our eyes meet, and he pushes one headphone back off his ear with a knuckle. I give him a roommate nod. He watches, head tilted a fraction, then his chin dips, barely, and I keep walking. I feel his gaze on the back of my neck the whole way across the room. It’s a warm, prickling weight.

Kenzie’s friend sees me first. Her eyes go wide and she says something low, and Kenzie looks up.

“Hey,” I say. “Kenzie, right? Jamie. Jamie Foster. We had Brit Lit together freshman year. You sat behind me and kicked my chair every time the professor said ‘liminal.’”

She laughs. “Oh my God, he said it so much.”