Fletch takes my hand and untangles me from Shane, and we head over to the beer pong table. They are both very...present in my atmosphere. One boy makes eye contact with me, but before I can so much as smile, I’m being crowded by my muscular escorts. They are rippling with some kind of alpha power tonight. I thought the objective for them bringing me here tonight was for me to be seen by other guys who might take my research to the next level, but instead, they seem to be sending other guys very distinct “back off” signals and I’m confused. Is it because I’m the little sister or is it ...no, it must be them thinking they need to take care of me. Be my chaperones.

A guy wearing a football jersey bumps Fletch on the shoulder. “Hey, man.”

Shane and Fletch both give him their version of ‘sup, and then he looks down at me.

“Hey.”

I smile, hoping it’s not one of my super awkward smiles like...well, every single school picture hanging on my parents’ wall. “Hi. I’m the roommate girl.”

The roommate girl? What is even wrong with me? Shane snorts a laugh and Fletch introduces me as Penelope and the boy to me as Jones. Whether that’s his first or last name, I don’t know.

They talk about sportsing. I tune out. There are a couple girls looking over at us and talking, and that’s when Shane pats my ass. I get to see their reaction, and I really am living in a high school movie right now. The fact that I’m completely new on everyone’s radar and yet am nonchalantly hanging out with three jocks, one of whom is casually making passes, makes me someone to watch.

Jones didn’t notice the ass pat or doesn’t care. “Need another drink, Penelope?” He’s about the same size as my roommates, except for his neck, which is not quite proportionate if I’m saying it kindly. But he has a nice face and might be a potential—

“We got her drinks, man,” Fletch says, like it’s some kind of personal affront to his manhood. Or maybe he doesn’t trust Jones. Jones doesn’t look like the kind of guy who roofies a girl’s drink, but then, I guess nobody does look like that. Or we’d all know and stay away from him.

“Sure, why don’t you go get one while I dance with her?” Jones suggests.

He doesn’t actually ask me, which is a strike against him, and Shane uses his body to wedge between us. “Do you want to dance with Jones, little bit?”

I know this is probably not scientifically a thing, but the testosterone in the air around the three of them is heavy enough to be felt physically. “Um. Yeah. Sure.” Shane steps back and Jones takes my hand.