“Stubby? Ain’t no stubby here, Jack. Bona fide one hundred percent he stud,” Mack bragged, his grin almost impossibly huge.

“Oh? Did someone get lucky last night?”

“This morning actually,” Mack admitted.

“Your new girl? Damn, you move pretty fast there, Flash. And that’s what she said!”

“Nah son, I’m a marathon man.”

“Not the way you just sprinted all the bases and slid into home,” Declan said, smiling at his own analogy.

“Actually, I was more surprised than anyone. Who knew? Girl’s like a lady on the street and a…”

“Freak in bed,” Declan finished for him.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mack said, scratching the back of his head, a puzzled look on his face.

“And hungry too,” Declan said. When Mack gave him a confused look, he reached over and pushed the collar of Mack’s polo shirt sideways, fully exposing a massive, angry-looking hickey.

“She really marked you up, dude. Claiming her territory,” Declan said. Something else was bothering him about Mack’s neck, but it only hovered on the edge of his thoughts, not fully forming.

Mack frowned, slapped Declan’s hand away, then shoved the shirt back into place. “Not cool, dude,” he said, tone defensive and angry.

Usually Mack would laugh it off. His odd behavior puzzled Declan, who pulled back and didn’t say anything, just watching, his other unformed concern forgotten in the face of this sudden hostility.

Mack was looking around at the campus, distracted, then he turned back to Declan, expression clear and asked, “Wanna get an early dinner?” as if he’d already forgotten about the hickey incident.

Declan almost said no, mildly peeved at his buddy’s shift in attitude from bragging to defensive, but the lightning-fast shift back to normal gave him pause for thought. “Yeah, let’s hit one of the dining halls and chow down,” the young witch suggested, watching his friend.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m really hungry.”

Mack hated dining hall food.

“How about Harris/Millis?” Declan threw out.

“The Grundle? Yeah, that works,” Mack said, eyes on a trio of pretty girls walking past them.

Declan was seriously concerned now. Mack had eaten at the Harris dining hall, affectionately called the Grundle by the student body, exactly once in his college career. He had sworn never to go back.

“Alright, buddy, let’s head over now. Then I have to see one of my new professors in her office. She sent out an email last night that we all need to pick a topic for a paper and run it by her by the end of today,” Declan said, turning and leading his friend toward lunch.