Beau’s hand slides around mine, and he leads the way through the crowd toward the patio furniture on the far side of the pool, where half the football team is crowded around, drinking and sharing joints, their girlfriends perched in their laps.

Beau clamps a hand on one of their shoulders, and my heart nearly stops when Matt turns around, the blond girl in his lap jumping up to let him stand. I’m doubly stunned when I recognize the blonde as Megan.

Oh my God. They’re together. In a parallel universe, my best friend and my ex are together. That had to have been who Matt was at the theater with that day.

“Hey, man,” Matt says, clapping Beau on the back, and I desperately fight to get my facial muscles, heart rate, and nausea under control. Seeing Matt with Rachel was one thing, but this is something else entirely.

“Wanted you to meet someone,” Beau says. Matt’s and Megan’s eyes both wander over to me. Megan’s hair is cut short, her eye makeup more generous than usual and her hoop earrings bigger, but she’s undeniably the double of the Megan I’ve known for years. And this Matt looks identical to the one who gave me a ride to NKU a few days ago.

“Hi,” I say, holding a shaky hand out to Megan first. “I’m Natalie.”

I don’t know what I’m expecting. Some flicker of recognition maybe, some sign that she’s aware we were born to be best friends, but I don’t get it, and I feel like my heart’s collapsing. Megan smiles politely. “Meg.”

I turn to Matt next, trying to compose myself. When our eyes meet, his soften immediately and his mouth drops open, a blush spreading rapidly up his neck as his gaze roves over me. “Hey,” he says, taking my hand.

When his eyes drift back up to me, I’m stunned by what I see in them: not recognition, exactly, but something that shouldn’t be there, not in this Matt Kincaid: softness, connection.

Beside me I’m aware of Beau’s eyes dropping to the ground, and I let go of Matt’s hand as fast I can. Megan’s noticed Matt eye-fondling me too: She crosses her arms and lifts her eyebrows as she looks out across the yard. “Excuse me,” she says. “I think I need to pee. Or take a shower. Puke. Something in the bathroom.”

I want to go after her, to apologize, but at the same time I feel betrayed, no matter how illogical that is. How could Matt and Megan be together? And why isn’t she at Georgetown? It shouldn’t matter—they’re not my Megan and Matt. It’s hypocritical and I know it. How can I tell Beau he doesn’t need to feel bad about what’s going on with us when I feel bad about what’s going on between them?

“How do you and Wilkes know each other?” Matt asks, his voice tight and awkward. This whole thing is too weird.

I open my mouth to answer, but I’m cut off by someone drunkenly shouting from across the pool.

“SCREW YOU, BEAU WILKES.” I turn to find Rachel and some of the dance team girls huddled together on a couple of Derek’s plastic chaise lounges, Solo cups in hand. She smiles aggressively and lifts her cup to wave at me. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” she calls.

The crowd sort of oohs, and Beau sets a hand on my back. “You want that beer yet?”

“Or fifteen consecutive tequila shots, whichever you find first.” Beau’s version of the world or not, tonight might be harder to get through than I had realized. I glance at Matt. “You want a drink too?” Beau stiffens beside me.

Matt just shakes his head. “Nah, I shouldn’t.”

Beau relaxes again. “Be right back, then.”

I watch him slip off into the crowded kitchen, until I feel Matt’s stare on me. “We’ve met before,” he says.

“We have?”

“At the movie theater. And at some point before that, right?”

“Oh.” I peel my hair off my neck and pull it over my shoulder. “That’s right. I think maybe we met at a party last summer, or something.”

“Huh.” Matt digs his hands into his pockets and looks down at his shoes. “Are you from around here?”

“Rhode Island,” I lie, as quickly as my brain allows. “I’m just here visiting family.”

Matt laughs. “Rhode Island? What’s in Rhode Island?”

“Brown University, for one thing.”

“You go to Brown?”

“I start in the fall.”

He glances over his shoulder to the kitchen, where Beau’s filling a couple of cups from the keg. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not Wilkes’s usual type.”

“And what would that be?”

Matt looks back again. I follow his eyes to the girl leaning across the counter, death-glaring at Beau. “Rachel Hanson,” Matt says. “Crazy girls in general.”

“I wouldn’t call Rachel crazy,” I say. Matt looks confused, and I backtrack. “I mean, she doesn’t strike me as crazy. It’s sort of admirable how she just screams whatever she’s thinking at the top of her lungs.”

“Even if what she’s thinking is that she’d like to shave your head?”

“That would be her mistake,” I say. “I’d look great with a shaved head.”

“Probably so,” Matt says, blushing. The joking, the flirting, the feeling that it means something to be wanted by Matt Kincaid. God, this feels so familiar. But he’s also different from my Matt, more relaxed. Definitely less animated or affected, though just as friendly.

I look over his shoulder into the kitchen. Rachel’s gone, but Beau’s been hijacked by Derek and some of the other players. He’s leaned up against the pantry door, staring straight past everyone to me, and when I meet his gaze, he just barely smiles. It’s such a small, quiet expression, but it lights him up, makes me flood with heat until I have to look away.

“So is he any good?” I ask Matt.

“No, he’s pure evil,” Matt jokes.

“I mean at football,” I clarify.

“Yeah, he’s good. Really good, but lazy. He could be great if he wanted.”

“You don’t think he wants to be great?”

“Nah, not really. I don’t think he’d know how to handle it if the world found out how good he was. He can barely handle having us rely on him, and most of us have played together since we were ten.” Matt pauses and scratches the back of his head anxiously. “It was the same way with Rachel, you know.”