“I’m exhausted,” I tell her. Which she knows. She’s heard me stumble around the apartment in the early mornings all week.

“I thought you were off again tomorrow?”

“I am. I’ve got a ton to do, though. Unpacking boxes. Packing to stay at my parents’. That bookcase arrived earlier. I have to start looking for a car and—”

“Okay, okay.” Sloane waves her hand. “Get out of here. Listening to you stress is stressing me out.”

I laugh. “Okay. Should I worry if you don’t make it home tonight?”

“No. If I do, it’ll mean the photo was more than five years old. Thirty is still a hard limit for me.”

“Text me?”

“Yeah.” Sloane gives me her best mock glare. “And next weekend, we’re finding you a guy, got it? I liked Logan, but I kind of got the feeling he didn’t know what he was doing in bed.”

“Jesus,” Noah groans. Because he—like everyone else at this table, with one very new exception—thinks I would know how Logan is in bed.

I act like she didn’t say anything. “Enjoy the rest of your night, guys,” I say, then turn toward said exception. He doesn’t move. “You’re blocking me in.”

Gray holds my gaze. The longer it lasts, the faster my pulse pounds. Being near him is a vigorous cardiac workout. There’s something unsettled in his expression, like he’s searching for the right way to say something but can’t summon the words. Or can’t say them in front of my brother and his friends. Our silent stare-off lasts a few more seconds before he finally moves. I swallow a groan as my bruised feet protest standing. I stumble as I slide out of the booth, wobbling in the heels. Gray grabs my elbow, steadying me. His touch hits my nervous system like a shot of adrenaline.

“Look at Phillips, being a gentleman,” Emmett teases.

“First time for everything,” Gray replies. But he’s not looking at Emmett.

He’s looking at me.

“You ready, Evie?” Emmett asks.

“Ready.” I yank my arm away from Gray’s hot touch and follow Emmett out of the bar.

CHAPTER THREE

On Monday morning, I wake up at 4:13 a.m. I look away from the three numbers burning my retinas to stare at the abstract shapes that are all my eyes can make out in the dark, debating whether I get up now or remain under the warm covers for two more minutes. The opening chords of “You Belong with Me” start chiming before I’ve decided. I have to vigorously tap the screen three times to shut off the alarm.