“No, you’re not,” I say, and it feels so good to trust it. Well, mostly trust it—it’s not like I’ve shed all my baggage.

“No, I’m not.” He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head, and I float the rest of the way to breakfast.

Of course, the bliss lasts only a few minutes, and then, as I’m standing in line for waffles while Salem heads to the fruit table for his apple, I bump into the most smug, annoying smile on the entire campus. “All those guys in Rumson and you choose to fuck Grayson?”

Ugh, Duncan. Of course he would find a way into my space when I’m just trying to enjoy my waffles. I whirl around and meet his mocking gaze with my own. “All those guys in Rumson and you choose the role of Archie’s bootlicker? It doesn’t seem like you’re in any position to dole out relationship advice.”

His face turns a satisfying shade of red at that, but whatever nasty reply was hovering on his lips dies the very instant a solid arm wraps around my shoulders. “Hey, Peach.” Salem takes a big bite of green apple and chews loudly. “Did you know that Duncan here’s nickname at his old school was Crustysox? I guess he didn’t know how to do his own laundry. Still, such a strange choice of moniker…”

I barely smother a laugh behind my hand as Duncan’s flush gets even more fierce. “You two are so fucking annoying,” he mutters as he moves on.

“Key word: fucking!” I call after him, relishing the look of disgust I get in response.

Salem looks down at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Did you just lie about us having sex in order to look cool? You are a Rumson guy.”

“Oh, shut up.” I dig an elbow into his side, and he laughs. “He started it.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. I like where your mind’s at.”

I roll my eyes, but kiss him anyway. I’ve already told him I’m not ready to move at the speed he did with Jenna—and unlike Lucas, he was perfectly cool with it—but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Constantly. Which he does not need to know. Yet.

“I’m gonna get us seats,” he says as my turn comes up on the waffle line, giving my fingers a quick brush with his. I allow myself a few seconds to watch his butt as he goes, then treat myself to a perfect golden waffle I fully intend to bury in whipped cream and berries. I get my bliss back for all of one minute before yet another boy swoops in to ruin it with the worst four-word sentence in the English language.

“We need to talk.”