I’d immediately glared her down and snapped, “Having a filter and knowing when to use it will take you pretty far in life, I promise. But, no, I’m not ADHD. Are you?” She had visibly recoiled at my words, and although I apologized soon after, it probably left a bad taste in her mouth.

Now, I try my best to smooth out any wrinkles in our new relationship. While I doubt I’ll ever be “besties” with Corinne—or anyone else at this university, for that matter—I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Especially when my present foul mood has little to do with her and everything to do with Rhys Delane.

“Look, in the future just ask me before you let someone lay on my bed, alright?” I pull the comforter off my bed and readjust it. “See? Now I won’t be putting my face near where Hollister’s ass was.”

“Hollister?”

I manage a small smile. “He reminds me of a Hollister model.”

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” she proclaims excitedly. “Totally different from the guys back home.” This is the second time since noon she’s said this—the first time about the “hot” juniors who helped her move her stuff in.

Shrugging, I sit down at my computer desk and take a sip of my water. “I guess, if that’s your thing.” An image of stunning blue-green eyes flash in my mind, and I swallow hard. Forcing the thoughts of Rhys out of my head, I focus my attention on what Corinne is telling me.

“And if you’re not busy—and I totally get it if you are—he invited us to a party at Baseball House tonight.” At the silence that greets her, she drops her gaze to her plain teal comforter and fusses with the edge of it. “I’m going.”

“Daniel invited us?” I ask because I missed the first part of what she was saying and she bobs her head eagerly.

Maybe it’s because I’m still so flustered due to Rhys or because I know the crap that happens at these parties, and Corinne is so new to all this—so much younger than I am—that I nod my head distractedly. “Whatever, I’ll go for a little while.”

A broad grin stretches across her face. “I think I’m already in love with you.” The corners of her green eyes crease, and for the briefest moment, her expression reminds me so much of Lily that all my senses go numb.

But then, that resemblance is gone, and I’m left looking at the girl who will be living with me for the next year, not the one who should be.

***

“This is it?” Corinne questions disbelievingly as she clomps over to where I’m standing beneath the soft glow of a street lamp. Muttering something about her shoes—lace-up cork wedges she swore up and down she absolutely had to wear tonight because they make her look leggy—she leans against the pole, adjusting her boobs in her low-cut tank top, before she looks up at me and continues.

“You didn’t put in the wrong address, did you?”

The bitch in me wants to point out that she’s breathing like a chain smoker after walking only ten blocks from the main campus gate. Instead, I hold my tongue. Keeping my expression neutral, I hold my phone closer to my face and study the walking GPS app on the screen. The flashing blue arrow says we’ve reached our destination, and the app has never failed me. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I shove my phone into my front pocket.

“No, I didn’t. This is definitely it.”

It being the Baseball House—a white, three-story Victorian situated at the end of one of the streets surrounding main campus. Other than a couple of girls who are smoking on the front porch, the place looks completely lifeless. Nothing questionable—like empty beer cans or prank toilets—litters the front lawn, and the exterior looks well maintained. After all the parties I’ve been to, and I’m ashamed to say there’ve been more than I can remember, even I’m a little doubtful as Corinne and I pad up the concrete walkway to the front stoop.

Finally, when we reach the bottom step, I hear the sound of One Republic from inside and the busy hum of voices. When the door flings open, an Axe-scented guy breezes past us, talking on his phone about the upcoming baseball conditioning that was scheduled for next week. Giving Corinne a grin, I gesture for her to go up the four steps first.

“See? We’re fine,” I say.

“Just wanted to make sure, I didn’t want to—” She stops short, nearly tilting over in her outrageously high shoes, when the big guy standing in the doorway bars us from entering. “Um, excuse me?”

“You got your ID?” he asks.

Corinne blinks a few times. “What?”

“Have to see it before I let you in,” he drawls.

“I’m not—” She takes a step back, a bold flush creeping across her round cheeks, as she shoots me a flustered look. “I don’t have it. Daniel Hanson asked us to come, and—”

“He’s just screwing with you.” I point to the red Sharpie in his left hand. “It’s some bullshit accountability thing they like to do in case they’re busted by the cops. They check your license; stamp your hand if you’re under twenty-one. Trust me, it means absolutely—”

The stamper shushes me loudly, but his shoulders are shaking from muted laughter. He motions me to him with a jerk of his head. “Goddamn, girl, you’re giving away all our secrets.” Curling my lips into a frown, I stretch my arm out, and he pulls my fingers into his roughly. When he’s done writing, I roll my eyes at the words he wrote on the back of my hand.

Do Not Water the Freshman.

On Corinne, he settles for the simple but effective: Under 21.

Flashing us a wide grin, he steps aside so we can move through. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

“Gotta love the dicks,” I mutter as soon as we’re out of earshot.

Corinne giggles nervously. “You’re good at this stuff.” She gestures around us, nearly hitting a couple coming from the opposite direction. After she gives them a quick apology and earns a nasty look from the girl, she continues, “Did you go to a lot of the parties in ...”

All evening and even throughout dinner a few hours ago, my new roommate had probed me for more details about my life. Even though I haven’t directly asked, I now know everything there is to know about Corinne Mayer. She’s seventeen, she graduated a year early, she’s taking a break from her boyfriend because they both want to be able to fully enjoy the college experience, and she’s a communications major but is seriously considering education because her entire family teaches.

Up until now, I’ve successfully evaded talking much about myself but as we come up to a table full of drinks, I finally let my guard down just a little.

“Bristol. I grew up in Bristol, on the Virginia side. And no, I didn’t really go to a lot of parties—well, at least none there.” I look back and forth between a giant bowl of jungle juice that reeks of 151 and a half-empty case of cheap beer, making it seem like choosing one or the other is a night-altering decision. “I went to a different college last year.”

Corinne starts to make a comment, but I quickly add, “I’m repeating half of my freshman year because I screwed up. A lot.”

“Oh,” she says.

To my relief, instead of asking me more questions, she grabs a can of beer and pops the tab. I study her pinched expression as she takes the first sip, and I cringe along with her. She must notice, because she quickly downs another drink, keeping her face completely void of emotion this time. “It’s good. Really good.”

“Never heard anyone call piss-flavored water good before, but hey, who am I to judge?” Still, I grab a can for myself because I can feel the body heat coming from the person who’s shuffling impatiently behind me. Cupping Corinne’s forearm, I steer her out the way.

Just when I think she’s given up on hounding me with questions, she turns to me and asks, “So, where exactly did you go to college last year?”

Chapter Four