“Dude,” Taylor and Poppy say at the same time, sucked in.

“Can’t a girl just strip and not be called names for it?” Julia grits her teeth. “It’s an honest, hard job and I need the money.”

We watch Julia, who’s moved to stand inside her closet, and we hear her yanking clothes around. A sparkly corset and a pair of bottoms come flying out. Glitter goes everywhere.

“It’s the outfit that keeps on giving,” says Taylor.

She comes out dressed in a Snoopy shirt and leggings and curls up on my bed next to us.

Taylor leans in and strokes her hair. “I know we’re not besties—yet—but you gotta tell us the backstory here.”

“How about some Prosecco? Or Patron Silver?” I ask.

“Both.”

Okay.

I’m getting her drinks and she’s talking, telling them about the quarterback she met at the Kappa house. She picks up a brush on the bed and yanks at her hair, silver and pink glitter falling from the strands. “The worst part is, I think Mara might fire me. Parker—that’s the quarterback—he was throwing tables, breaking glass, and punching shit—”

I grimace. “Julia, he’s a drunk asshole. That’s not your fault, and she won’t fire you for it.”

“I’m not sure he was trashed.” She shakes her head. “What’s ironic about the whole damn thing is there was a girl with him, and just because I dumped him and never called him back, he thinks he has the right to get angry. Men are such fucking douchebags. Football players can suck it.”

“You’re my hero,” Poppy says, her eyes wide.

“I like you,” Taylor says, eyeing Julia’s long sleek brown hair. “Would you let me French braid your hair?”

She looks at my hair. “Did I interrupt girls’ night?”

“We’re celebrating,” Taylor says, giving me a nudge. “Sugar inherited a shitload of money, but she isn’t telling anyone, nor does she want to take it. Crazy girl.”

Julia gapes at me, and I shake my head, regretting my decision to tell them about the upcoming will reading in April.

I pop him on the arm. “I haven’t even been to the reading.”

“You’re like an heiress now,” Poppy says.

No. I’m not.

I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable. “But, I do have good news. I sent out more applications for law school today.”

“Hold on now—what about Vanderbilt? And isn’t that why you and Z are together?” Poppy asks, hands on her hips.

Taylor’s lashes flutter. “Girl, she is with him because she’s crazy about him. There’s no boyfriend bargain going on anymore. That whole thing was a joke.” He laughs at my expression.

“I can’t even argue with that,” I murmur, feeling my face burn.

Poppy frowns. “Are you really giving up on Vandy? I mean, it’s all you’ve talked about since I met you.”

I stare down at my comforter. The truth stings, but I just wasn’t what the admissions committee wanted. While my grades and LSAT score were stellar, my lack of community service and extracurricular activities may have been the reason I was waitlisted. “I’m moving on.”

Poppy is confused. “But Z is willing to go to Nashville with you and meet the dean at that thing…right?”

“At the waitlist event, yes, but perhaps it isn’t fair to everyone else if he’s on my arm.”

“But he really is your boyfriend!” she exclaims.

I take a sip of my drink and think about our written agreement, which is folded up and tucked inside my box of keepsakes in the closet. I’ll always treasure it, but over the past few weeks, the idea of influencing the dean that way has started to feel…unfair.

How would I know if I got in because of Z or on my own merit?

I keep thinking about my mama and something she told me when I was devastated in sixth grade because I wasn’t chosen to be in a stupid social club. You are worthy, and you don’t need anyone else to tell you so. Someday you’ll face other obstacles, tougher ones, but you must hold your head high and carry on. Be true to you, Sugar, and happiness will come.

The truth is, the biggest reason for going there was to shove it in my father’s family’s faces, but I have to let that go. And perhaps, deep down, part of me knew I was grasping at something I never would have been able to follow through with.

But, I did meet Z because of it, and I can’t be upset about that.

Poppy, who’s been checking the score of the game online, jumps up from her seat. “Guys! HU just posted an update.”

I dart over to her. Concord State University is part of our conference and one of the teams we need to beat.

She’s reading quickly. “Holy cow. Hawthorne lost by one goal.”

A collective sigh of disappointment ripples across the room—except for Julia.

“We were supposed to blow them out of the water.” I stand up and click the TV over to the local coverage of hockey, and the first thing I see is the score: Bears 3, Lions 2.

I adjust the volume to hear the commentators.

“It’s a disappointed Hawthorne group leaving the arena to head back home. A tough loss indeed as power center and number one draft pick Zack Morgan practiced with the team this morning but didn’t come out for the game, and we still have no word on if there was an injury.”

A cute brown-haired reporter is on the TV next, a microphone in her hand. “It was a tight game and you could tell the Lions had heart, but losing a key player was just too much. It’s a huge disappointment for the team.” She levels the camera with a serious look. “We aren’t sure if this is related, but questions are being raised, especially since Morgan wasn’t able to finish out a home game against Minnesota-Duluth earlier in the season. A statement from the team said that incident was the flu, but rumors are swirling that tonight it might be something more serious. Some are claiming Zack collapsed.”

I click the TV off and feel the weight of everyone’s gaze.

“Is he okay, Sugar?” This is from Julia.

I look around at each of them, and I know we each have secret hurts, but Z’s is not mine to share. “I don’t know.”

Was it one of his panic attacks?

I’m dashing across the room to find my phone. Please, let him be okay. I have my phone out and I’m calling him.

“Hey,” he says, and my eyes close as I step into the bathroom for privacy. His voice is low and I figure he’s on the bus, teammates everywhere. “You saw the news?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

A long sigh comes through the speaker. “I couldn’t hold it together, Sugar. Maybe I could have made it…” His unsteady voice tugs at everything inside me. I picture him leaned back against his seat, eyes closed. “I passed out and Coach wouldn’t let me play.”

“What can I do?”

He sighs again. I can hear his deep breaths through the phone and I want to hold him.

“I need you. Just…go to my house and wait for me. Please.”

“Done.”

33

Sugar

A while later, after bidding the party in my room farewell, I’m heading to the Krispy Kreme drive-through and getting donuts for the guys. I’m eating one when I pull up to his house and park on the street. Wrangling the box up to the back deck, there’s a bounce in my step at the thought of seeing Z, and I’m hoping I can cheer him up. There’s a knot of worry in my chest about what happened at the game, but he says he’s more centered when I’m around, and I want to be here for him.

I let myself into the house with a key he told me was hidden under a dead plant. It’s about ten at night as I open the back door.

Long John Silver flashes by and gives me a mean meow.

I flip on the lights. “Bad cat,” I say back at her, but my voice is sweet. She hasn’t quite decided if she likes me yet, and I figure it’s because Z and I aren’t here enough for her to warm up to me.

She looks over her shoulder, gives me a glare, and then stalks off to his bedroom.

But that isn’t the only cat in the room.

I flinch when Veronica comes around the corner from the den. Dammit. I must have missed her car parked somewhere along the street.

She frowns. “What are you doing here?”

In full makeup and dressed in jeans and a cropped black and gold HU hockey jersey with Reece’s number that looks custom-made, she looks a hell of a lot better than I do in my braid, grey joggers, and black sweater. I have zilch makeup on—Z doesn’t care for it anyway—except for a swipe of Make Me Hot red lipstick, which I wore especially for him.

“Why are you here?”

Her expression is stark. “I’m here to feed the cat—like I always do when the guys are out of town.” She prances around the kitchen in her stilettos and turns to face me at the counter. I eye the knives next to her. I don’t think she’d go for one, but there’s so much anger that oozes from her that sometimes I wonder. I get that she’s the queen of the jersey chasers, but she isn’t in charge of me.

“Z asked me to wait for him.”