Benny comes up from behind and flings an arm around both of us. “Listen, I’m really upset Rhett isn’t here.”

“You two and your boy drama,” Sofía says. “You shouldn’t have to take this!”

“We don’t have to take this.” The words slosh around Benny’s mouth. “I’m a strong, confident woman!”

“Hell yes, you are!” Sofía screams.

“Let’s go down to their room and, I dunno, storm ’em or something,” I shout.

“Oh,” Benny says, shrinking down. “Idunnoaboutallthat. Maybe a text? To channel every senator in Congress, send a Strongly Worded Text full of Strongly Worded Concern.”

“That traitor,” Sofía mutters as Benny furiously types something and hits send before conferring with us.

“What’d you say?” I ask.

Benny flashes us his phone: You coming tonight? Free boooooooze

“Really?” I say. “That’s what you said?”

“We can’t all be as strong as you, Chase Arthur!” Benny cries.

Chloe comes over with a bottle of vodka and tips it into Benny’s mouth, then Sof’s, then mine, giving me more than the others. It bubbles out; I try my best to swallow, but it burns like fire.

“That’s … awful!” My entire body convulses.

“You need to relax,” Chloe says.

My face is so hot. “No, I need re-Jacks.”

“Oh, she’s got jokes now?” Benny golf claps.

“I’m going to his room.”

“Chase, I don’t think—” Chloe starts.

“No, that’s exactly what you need to do.” Benny cheers me on.

“Yeah, Chase, are you sure?” Sofía asks.

“Absolutely!” I declare. “I’m just gonna be like, ‘Hey, man, the fuck is up with you?’ and demand he figure his shit out.”

But the second I get to Jack’s dorm, the momentary buzz I felt dissipates, and my hands are all sweat. I try to turn around, but there he is, in a towel(!) emerging from the shared floor bathroom, shower caddy in hand, dripping wet like an Olympic swimmer, looking every bit as delicious as he did the day we met. Except his eyes are red and puffy. He’s been crying.

“Chase?” His face brightens but just a bit. He wipes his cheeks. “Sorry I’m late, I was writing, and my phone was on airplane mode, and then I had to shower, and … wow, you look.” He walks toward me and puts his free hand at the dip of my waist. “Hot.” He clears his throat, and all the worry in his face disappears.

“You like me all shipwrecked?” I ask as his fingers hook into the tears of my shirt, grazing against my chest hair.

“Shipwrecked,” he repeats, lips and tongue playing with the syllables and hard consonants. “That’s a word I don’t think of too often.” He bites his bottom lip, and his eyes squint as he studies my face. “What’s wrong?”