“You know I’m the quarterback of the football team, right?” I can’t help returning, even though she has it all wrong. I’m charmed as fuck that this is where a cool, sexy cheerleader brought me on a date; it’s a whole dorky side I didn’t even know she had, and it’s a-fucking-dorable. And yeah, we’re here because no one else at Atherton would be caught dead at—I squint at the half-burned-out neon sign—Gutter Kittens, but she also clearly likes it here.

And if she thinks I’m going to let her beat me just so I can see her do a cute little victory dance … Okay, she might be right.

“You know I’m a cheerleader, right?” she counters. “I lift and throw girls in the air, do stunts that would make you weep, and I’m waaaay more limber.” She lets the words stretch out in the most infuriatingly teasing way that makes all my clothing feel too tight. “Prepare to eat dirt, QB.”

“Prepare to eat those words, Cheer Girl,” I shoot back as we get out of the car, but I still hold out my arm for her to take with her dainty little hands, because I am nothing if not a gentlewoman.

Miguel and his boyfriend are already inside when we enter the wonderland of sensory overload that is Gutter Kittens, looking adorably couple-y as they crack up over some joke I’m guessing from their gestures revolves around the fascinatingly glittery collection of bowling balls, which emerge from creepy-ass returns designed to look like gaping mouths. It’s by far the lightest I’ve ever seen Miguel, who usually requires heavy machinery to pull his lips into a smile. Next to me, Amber radiates a sort of warm joy at the sight. It’s clear she really cares about him, more than I even realized, and I wonder how tonight is going to balance between Miguel My Cautious Teammate and Miguel My Maybe-Future-Girlfriend’s Best Friend.

If the latter is as impossible to impress as the former, this may end up being Cheer Girl’s and my only date.

My concerns are confirmed when Miguel spots us, and it’s like someone dimmed all the brightly colored lights in the room. (And there are a lot of brightly colored lights, weirdly placed in Gothic chandeliers and reflecting off the shiny harlequin wallpaper.) For a moment, I worry that somehow they got their lines crossed, and Amber was never supposed to bring me here. All the “Intruder! Intruder!” feelings I get from practice and weight-lifting class and even just wearing the uniform come rushing back. But then Miguel smiles and Amber squeezes my arm as she gently pulls me over and I see that they’ve already input our names—right below “Better M” and “Best M” are “Loud McCloud” and “QB1.”