Right. A mess. Like me. I’m suddenly acutely aware that I haven’t washed my face or brushed my teeth yet this morning. My standard sleep attire is shorts and a T-shirt, so I’m not exactly undressed, but I sure feel naked and unworthy standing here.

I’m still gawking too, which is about to get uncomfortable as he reaches for his towel again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m good. All good.” My voice lowers like I’m some sort of suave dude. I wave him off, and the red heart falls from my hand and tumbles like a weed toward his feet.

He picks it up and looks over the red square. “Some of your crafting? What is it?”

He starts to unfold it, but I snatch it from his hands. “It was a rough concept of an idea that didn’t really work out.”

“If you did it, I’m sure it’s great.”

The compliment warms my insides. Everything he says is so perfect. “Thanks, Adam. I should…” I motion with my head. Leave before I make this any more uncomfortable.

One of those rare smiles tips up his lips. “Later, Reagan.”

I hustle out of the apartment and back to the safety of my own. Dakota’s back from class and standing in the kitchen throwing ingredients into the blender for a smoothie. The same one every day. Chocolate protein powder and a scoop of peanut butter. She adds peanut butter to everything, buys it in bulk. I’ve had so many peanut butter sandwiches since we started rooming together freshmen year; I can’t even look at a jar of Jif anymore.

“Where have you been looking like that?” She waves a peanut butter-covered spoon in my direction. “And without shoes.”

“Retrieving a secret admirer letter.” I run a hand over my messy hair again and then use my scrunchie to pull my hair back. Where is that black and gold scrunchie anyway? It isn’t exactly lucky, but it is my favorite, and I haven’t seen it in weeks.

“Oh.” Her brows lift. “Sounds like I missed an interesting night.”

“You have no idea.”

2

ADAM

I’m broken.

A hot girl is sitting on my lap and the only thing I can think about is how her bony ass is digging into my thigh. I try to adjust to find a more comfortable position without tossing her off my lap. She turns and smiles at me, bats her lashes.

She’s pretty—stunning blue eyes, a cute pixie haircut that few girls could pull off. My gaze drops to take in the skintight dress that molds to her curves and stops mid-thigh. Nope, nothing. I feel nothing. I really am broken.