Somehow I’m standing next to Chase fucking Harding, about to fulfill item number seven on my high school bucket list (rolling into a party on his arm), and I’m thinking about how badly I would want to throw up if I saw Jasmine Killary making out with someone on the other side of that door.

Literally everything is wrong with this picture.

What am I doing here?

I don’t have a chance to rethink my plans, because the door swings open and a stream of Stratford kids comes pouring out. I recognize them as the tennis team, and a bunch of them say hi to us as they curl around the house and head into the yard. A quick peek past them shows it’s probably too crowded inside to get to the French doors that exit to the deck with the hot tub, and oh God I remember this house so much better than I thought I did, which somehow makes everything feel worse.

The minute we walk in, Shannon, Kiki, and Gia descend on me, pulling me toward the kitchen while Chase accepts high fives and shoulder claps from adoring fans and teammates.

“So? How was the ride?” Kiki asks, waggling her eyebrows.

“Did you discuss his tight end?” Shannon’s voice could not sound pervier.

Gia spares me—dirty humor isn’t her thing—but her big Bambi eyes widen and I can tell she’s waiting for a response.

I roll my eyes. “It was a car ride. We talked about normal things. We’re friends. We talk about things.”

“We’re friends,” Shannon says mockingly. “Oh, please. Fine, play it cool here, Bogdan, but when you’re done with work tomorrow, we’re going to Lily’s and we’re getting waffles and you are giving us a full—”

“Here you go, as promised!” A long, bronzed arm jangling with bangles reaches between us and holds out two long-necked bottles, which Shannon and Kiki pluck from familiar purple-tipped fingers. “And a cider for you.” Jasmine hands a bottle to Gia with her other hand, and only when she has nothing left to offer does she realize I’m standing there with them. “Hey,” she says with far less enthusiasm.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Oh, you two have met!” Kiki says.

It’s exactly the opening that can break open the truth. I could say, “We spent the summer together.” I could say, “My mom works for her dad.” But like with Chase’s jacket, I don’t want to make any moves until she and I talk—really talk—and I find out what the hell is going on.