“It’s not bad.” She smiles hesitantly.

“Great, I was hoping she’d take one look at me and say, ‘Eh, not bad’.”

Tara and Corinne roll their eyes at me in perfect synchronization.

I tip my head back and stare up at the boring white ceiling. Fuck, I’m a boring white ceiling.

“Can you two help me or what? I have five minutes before I have to leave to pick her up.”

“God, he’s such a drama queen,” my sister says to her friend who nods in agreement. “Picking her up is a good move though, props for that.”

I smile tightly. No reason to tell them I wasn’t actually the one who decided that part.

“Do you have anything that isn’t black, white, or gray?” Corinne asks.

I go to my closet and pull out the first three shirts that meet that criteria and bring them closer for their inspection.

“Oooh,” they say in unison and then turn to one another.

That sounded promising. I glance at the shirts and hold out the navy blue one. “This one?”

Their heads shake side to side and at the same time they say, “Pink!”

“I love your shirt.” It’s the first thing out of Sydney’s mouth when she climbs into the passenger seat of my car.

“Yeah?” I wait until Nathan and Chloe are settled in the back before I pull away from the dorm.

“Bright colors—pinks, yellows, greens—they make me happy.”

Thank you, Tara.

The Hideout is already busy, but we’re able to grab a booth close to the bar. Sydney slides in and I follow.

“I’m glad this worked out. I’ve been looking forward to hanging with you again.”

“You have?” Her smile is fucking radiant.

“Well, yeah. I thought I made it clear the other night that I wanted to keep bumping into you.”

“I do too.” She ducks her head a tad like she might be embarrassed to admit she likes my company. She glances to Nathan and Chloe across from us. “What are we drinking?”

“I’m gonna grab a pitcher. Be right back.” I stand. “Want anything else?”

The tip of her tongue comes out to wet her lips. “I’ll come with you.”

Angling my body to make room for both of us in the cramped space, I lean against the bar. “What do you feel like drinking?”

“Beer is fine.”

“Fine is boring.”

“Beer is great, then.”

“Pitcher of the IPA on tap,” I say to the bartender and then focus back on Sydney. “You look great.”

“It’s the dress.”

“It’s you.”

She looks unconvinced. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the dress, but you could have worn a T-shirt and jeans and you’d still look great.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t believe me?”