“No … I want to bring, uh … Chelsea.” I wince, waiting for the barrage of questions and teasing.

“Owen. Really? You want to bring a girl?” Fable sounds shocked. “The girl who’s your tutor?”

“Well, yeah. I do on occasion hang out with girls, you know.” I’m irritated and I don’t really have a reason to be.

“Right, I do know. But I figured that was all you were doing. Hanging out with them and that’s it. You sound sort of serious about this Chelsea girl.”

“I’m not. Not really.” I grimace at my lie. I don’t know how I feel about Chelsea. We’re having fun. We’re taking it slow. Does she really fit into my life?

No.

But I’m working on somehow making that happen anyway.

“So she’s a friend?” Fable asks.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what she is.” I’m not too far off the mark with that. We are friends.

Friends who like to sit on my couch when Wade’s gone and make out for hours. Until we’re both so worked up I have to practically shove her out the door for fear I’ll strip her naked and jump her bones right there in the middle of the living room. And no way can I take her back to my bedroom. I do that and we’re done for. Naked and me buried deep inside her within seconds, I have no doubt about that.

“Come on. Friends? Really?”

“Really,” I say firmly. “Let me ask Chelsea if she’s able to go and I’ll text you. Is that cool?”

“As long as you tell me as soon as possible. I need to ask for those tickets as soon as you know.”

I hang up and immediately text Chelsea, hoping she’s not sleeping in.

But hey, it’s Chelsea. I’m sure she’s already been working on her homework for the last two hours, knowing her.

Wanna go to a professional football game?

I barely have to wait two minutes before she’s responding.

When?

Today, I type.

Are you serious?!?!

Smiling, I answer her, giving her the details, then asking: Do you have to work tonight?

No. It’s my day off.

I couldn’t make this work out any more perfect if I tried.

Then you should take your day off and come with me to San Francisco.

You really want to take me? What about Wade or Des?

They’ll kill me if they find out I’m going to a game and I didn’t invite either of their asses to go.

Tough shit.

I’d definitely rather take you.

I wait for her reply, nerves eating at my gut. This girl has me all twisted up inside and I don’t quite get it. Still.

My phone rings and I answer it without even looking to see who it is. I already know.

“I know absolutely nothing about football,” she says when I say hello.

“I can teach you.” I lie back on my bed, scratching my chest. I wish Chelsea were in bed with me. That would be a most excellent way to spend a Sunday morning.

“I’m boring. You’ll probably wish you had one of your friends with you the minute the game starts,” she says. “I’ll probably play on my phone or whatever. Or be so completely lost I won’t know what’s happening on the field.”

“You are definitely not boring. And hey, if you’re going to spend more time with me, you gotta learn about football sometime, right?”

She pauses. I can practically hear the cogs turning in her brain as she processes what I just said. “I guess you’re right,” she say, her voice soft.

That soft voice of hers gets me every single time. “I want you there with me, Chels. It’ll be fun. You could meet my sister and after the game’s done, I bet you could meet Drew, too. Come on, say yes.”

“I’d get to meet your sister?” she squeaks, sounding nervous. “Oh wow. I didn’t realize that, though it does make sense.” She pauses again, and I swear I can feel her nervousness come over the phone loud and clear. “Okay. Yes. I’ll go.”

“Good,” I say, relief sweeping through me. I’d truly been afraid she’d say no.

We make arrangements for me to come pick her up within the hour and then I hang up, immediately texting Fable that I need two tickets for Drew’s game.

I can’t wait to meet your Chelsea, Fable answers.

Yeah. I can’t wait for Fable to meet her either. Though she’s definitely not my Chelsea. Despite the occasional possessive wave that comes over me when I’m with her, we are really just friends. Friends who make out. Friends who wish for more, but neither of us is doing anything about it.

I’m almost afraid to push for fear I’ll ruin it all. She’s afraid because … I don’t know why. But taking it slow isn’t so bad.

Most of the time, it’s pretty damn good. Except when I’m walking around with blue balls.

Climbing out of bed, I exit my room and go to the kitchen, on the hunt for something quick to eat before I make my way to taking a shower and getting out of here to go pick up Chelsea.

“What are you doing up so early, asshole?”

I stop short to find Des in my kitchen, eating a bowl of Cheerios and way too much milk. It’s practically sloshing out of the bowl and onto the table. “Good morning to you, too,” I mutter, irritated.

The guy acts like he lives here. It’s annoying as hell, especially since he doesn’t pay rent. Of course, neither does Wade, but that’s the arrangement we made before Wade moved in.

I’ve known Wade since I was a kid. His mom bailed me out multiple times and let me stay at their house way more than she ever had to. She understood Fable was always working and Mom was never around. Wade’s mother always welcomed me with open arms.

It was the least I could do, offering Wade a free place to live while we went to college. His mom may live in the same town but he wanted to be on his own, just like I did.

But Des? The guy is loaded, one of those rich kids from the Bay Area who come to the university looking to party now that they’re free from their parents. He’d been the drug-dealing high school kid in the suburbs and now he’s the drug-dealing college student on campus. I like him, but not just because he’s my dealer. He’s my friend.

He’s also a user.

Aren’t we all?

“Why you up so early?” Des pushes more cereal into his mouth, munching loudly on his Cheerios. “I usually have the house all to myself on a Sunday morning.”

“You act like you live here,” I say, leaning against the counter. I need some fucking coffee, stat.

“I practically do.”

“So why aren’t you paying any rent?”

“Because I sleep on the fucking couch. Why should I have to pay rent to sleep on a come-stained couch?”

“Jesus, Des.” I reach for the coffeemaker, thankful Des actually made some. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I pour myself a cup, then dump sugar and creamer into it before I take a sip.

And grimace as I swallow. Damn it’s strong, even with all the cream and sugar added to it.

“You know it’s true. How many girls have we all banged at one point or another on that couch? Too many to count.” Des chuckles and shakes his head, sounding proud of the fact that my couch has hosted an endless list of chicks sprawled naked across it.

The image disgusts me. Not even a few weeks ago I probably would have high-fived him.

Now all I can think about is Chelsea. And how grossed out she’d be if she really knew all the dirty shit I’d been up to in my not-so-distant past.

“I just feel like if you’re going to stay here all the time, you should at least contribute something,” I mutter.

“I do contribute. Plenty of beer and weed to keep y’all on a continuous buzz,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I always pay for the weed, bro.” I do. I never expect a handout.

“I’m getting real sick of your poor-ol’-me act. You act all hard up and like you always need money, but gimme a break. Wade lives here rent-free. Why can’t I hang around here on occasion?” Des pushes the now only filled-with-milk bowl away from him and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his longish brown hair. He always has a shaggy, slightly unkempt look about him. Thin, worn T-shirts, old, holey and torn jeans, scuffed shoes. His hair is a mess, his face covered in four-day-old beard. It’s like he’s cultivated this drug dealer image, but I know he’s full of shit.