That’s Quinn for you, though. Confidence radiates out of her pores.
One manicured finger taps my chest until I tuck my chin enough to meet her dark gaze. An itch forms beneath my skin from her nearness.
“Do you need me to get your phone myself?” Her hiccup takes the intimidation factor she’s going for down a few notches.
That doesn’t stop me from shuffling on my feet at the thought of her hand sliding inside the pocket of my shorts. Given the amount of beer I’ve consumed while playing Jenga, I might do something embarrassing like moan if she did.
That’s the only reason I can think of for why I finally give in and give her what she wants.
Quinn shoves her Solo cup at me, and I’ve barely gotten it pinched in my grip when she almost smacks me in the face, holding my phone up to it to unlock it with Face ID.
She hums as she navigates through the apps until she finds the Greet Geek app.
“Greet Geek?” She pauses, thumb hovering over the screen, her dark eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You are so perfectly geek chic.”
She’s not the first person to use that descriptor for me, and it’s one of the reasons I gave in to the others’ prodding about trying out this particular app. It’s geared toward matching me up with others who consider themselves in the geek camp.
“Oh my god, Superman.” Quinn pops me in the chest with a backhand, and I try not to preen at the nickname she bestowed upon me months ago. “You barely listed any of your best qualities.”
I roll my eyes, because yes, Kay has rubbed off on me. The exaggeration in how Quinn expressed that statement was a bit much, even for her intoxication level.
My profile lists many of my academic achievements, my major, and that I like to design video games in my spare time. What else would people want to know?
“We need to fix this.” She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “Hold, please.”
Grant snorts, propping his elbow on my shoulder as Quinn walks away and huddles with Kay and Em on their original lounger.
I can honestly say I’m not quite sure what just happened.
#CHAPTER3
* * *
The entire U of J marching band plays inside my skull, and I roll over with a groan, smothering my face deeper into my pillow.
I’ve just found goose-down bliss when the creak of door hinges sounds, and I’m jostled by ninety pounds of canine jumping onto my bed.
Any other day I love how Herkie, Kay’s yellow Labrador, seeks me out in the mornings. Lord knows his mama damn near goes into anaphylaxis when it comes to her reaction to hours in the a.m.
This particular morning, however…not so much.
Herkie doesn’t give two Scooby Snacks about the hangover high stepping through my brain. He needs to pee, and he needs to pee now.
Still…
I don’t move fast enough for the pooch and get the doggy equivalent of a wet willy when he all but shoves his tongue into my ear canal. With considerable effort, I flop my head around on the pillow, sputtering all manner of bed head out of my face, and glare at my incredibly rude alarm clock.
With a harrumphing body adjustment of his own, followed by a lick across the tip of my nose, all my mad melts away. I’m such a sucker for Herk’s soulful brown eyes. Grunts and curses in Spanish—both from me—fill the silence of my bedroom as I untangle myself from the mass of blankets, attempting to keep me with them.
The temptation is real.
But…I wouldn’t be a good dog aunt if I didn’t let him outside to do his business.
The buzzing of my phone has me hunting around in my pillows. But when I find it, there aren’t any notifications, and…where the hell is that buzzing coming from?
Welp, that’s a new hangover symptom.
Again, I go searching, wondering if maybe Emma or Kay left their phone in here last night. Tossing pillows like I’m hunting for treasure left behind by the Tooth Fairy, I freeze when I find my query.
Umm…
What?
Why is the phone on my bed not in a case with Skittles or a cartoon coffee cup on it? Why am I staring at an old-school Game Boy?
Only one person living in this penthouse has a case like that. But why do I have it?
Hmm…
Does anyone want to fill me in here?
I’d like to buy one of those vowels, or maybe a clue.
A wet nose pushes into the back of my leg, and my fuzzy brain remembers we have more important things to worry about—he needs to pee.
As expected, none of my other roommates are awake as Herkie and I make our way through our home until we reach the doors leading to the balcony. I’m supremely grateful for the section of fake grass Mason had installed in the far corner of the deck when Herkie is able to just trot outside on his own to do his doggy business. It leaves me free to try to piece together whatever bad decisions led to me having my crush’s phone.
How do I know they were bad decisions? I had a lot of tequila last night.
So…
Just trust me on it, y’all.
Standing in front of Emma’s bedroom door, I make the sign of the cross and pray to whoever is Abuelita’s favorite patron saint when she worries if I’m safe or not. I’m going to need all the protection I can get if I’m going to survive the task of waking up a non-morning person.
Not to be outdone by the starlight projector on her bedside table, a beam of sunlight illuminates my slumbering friend like she’s a goddamn Disney princess.
Naturally, I do what any best friend would do when confronted with a scene like this.
Balling my hands into fists, I brace myself on the shelf my knuckles create, leaning forward to place a smacking, wet kiss on Emma’s forehead. I duck just in time to avoid the arm that comes swinging my way.
“The apartment better be on fucking fire for you to be waking me this early, Q,” Emma mumbles into her pillow before lifting it to cover her face.
My heart rodeo lassos like it does almost any time I get called Q. It’s such a simple nickname, yet I know the true significance of being labeled a letter to those closest to Kay. Hell…I don’t even call Emma Emma anymore. She is strictly Em, now and forevermore.
“Listen, biotch…” I climb onto her mattress and flop down beside her with a dramatic flair. “We have way more important things that need to be addressed than the time of your wake-up call.”
I don’t wait for Emma to answer or, hell, even to pull her pillow away from her face before I’m thrusting my hand at her, CK’s phone clutched tightly and upside down in my grip.
Perfectly manicured fingers wrap around my wrist, lowering my arm enough to make it possible to actually see what I invaded her space with.
It takes four blinks and one hell of an impressive crane of the neck before Emma asks, “Why do you still have CK’s phone?”
“Still have?”
Emma nods, and now I’m even more confused than I was when I first found the unexpected snuggle buddy stowing away in my bed.
“Why did I have it in the first place?” A hint of panic creeps into this question. None of this is making any sense.
“You—” A yawn cuts off whatever Emma was about to say, and I’m this close to shaking her in I gots to know impatience. “Didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t getting any matches on that dating app.”