“Perhaps a change of footwear for the time being?” he said. “No point making it worse.”

I sighed and looked at Lydia with imploring eyes. “Josh says I can’t wear my sneakers.”

Lydia traced her fingertip around his ear. “Since when do you get fashion advice from Josh?”

“Since now. Can I borrow your fabulous brown boots?”

“No, because they are fabulous and I want them to stay that way at least until Easter. The slush outside will ruin the finish in a day and a half.” She looked from me to Josh and back again. “Is this one of your new rules? No metal, no sulfur, and now…no sneakers?”

“Could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Josh replied with a smug smile.

This was par for the course in our suite since the big reveal in November. Lydia teased Josh and me mercilessly because she knew we were in Rose & Grave, and we, for her amusement, played the parts of obnoxious, secretive society types. At times, Josh even affected an accent he said was James Spader–esque but I insisted was a lot closer to adenoidal.

On the whole, however, I considered myself pretty lucky that Lydia had picked Josh as my roommate-in-law. I had friends whose inter-suite romantic trauma had been so intense, they’d actually made their bunkmate choose: either the suite, or the significant other.

“Speaking of Easter,” Lydia said, tiring of the game a little early tonight. “We need to finalize those plane flights before the prices go through the roof.”

“Flights?” I asked.

Lydia looked a little guilty. “Yeah. Josh and I are going to Barcelona for Spring Break.”

Some might be surprised to learn that the look of betrayal on my face was not directed at my roommate and best friend, with whom I had spent my last three Spring Breaks. I’d told her back in the fall semester that I’d be occupied.

But Josh was supposed to be occupied right along with me.

“But…” I began, then broke off. What could I say? Oh, Lydia, don’t be silly. Of course Josh isn’t going with you, his loving girlfriend, on a romantic getaway to Europe to consume gazpacho and rioja and dance to guitars on streets covered in bougainvillea and orange blossoms. He’s got to go hang out in an undisclosed and possibly underground location with the Diggers, none of whom is giving him sex or rioja, and discuss those secret world domination plots of ours. Sounds fun, huh?

“Wow,” I said at last. “How exciting.”

Apparently, Lydia wasn’t entirely convinced by my ecstatic tone. “Well, you said you couldn’t—”

Yeah, but I didn’t realize how much the idea of my best friend jaunting off to Spain with her lovah was going to hurt. All of a sudden, I felt very hot inside my turtleneck sweater. I wanted bougainvillea and orange blossoms. I wanted rioja and gazpacho. I wanted to know why the hell Josh was ditching the Diggers. Wasn’t he supposed to place us above all others?

“What, I’m not enough for you, Lydia?” Josh cut in before I could grill him. “I thought this was supposed to be a romantic getaway you were dragging me on.”

“With all the museum trips you have planned?” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Guernico is not romantic.”

“It’s Guernica, and that’s in Madrid, so don’t worry about it.” Josh pulled her onto his lap. “You’re thinking of Gaudi, whose art we will be seeing a lot of, and whom you shall learn to love, my sweet. La Sagrada Familia. Colegio Teresiano. Palau Güell…” He began to nuzzle her neck.

Hint taken. Plus, if possible, I was even less interested than Lydia in a lecture about Spanish art, so I chose that moment to adjourn to my room. No sooner had the door shut behind me than I heard Lydia hiss in a whisper to Josh, “Don’t do that in front of Amy.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She hesitated. “I feel bad. She hasn’t had a boyfriend in a while…”

Oh, no. I sank into my desk chair. They weren’t going to be one of those couples who liked to gossip about a single friend’s lack of love life behind her back, were they? Of course, Josh knew exactly how long it had been since I had a date—he’d even warned me against my short-lived affair with George last semester. But still, it rankled. Especially if they were going to talk behind my back within earshot.

“She’s got bad luck with men,” Lydia continued.

“I beg to differ,” said Josh. True. A lot of women I knew would think I’d been very lucky indeed to snag George, even for a little while. I rolled closer to the door to listen in.

“Don’t you know any nice guys for her?” Lydia was asking. “We could double date.”

“Look,” Josh said, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice, “it’s not my responsibility to play Cupid for my—er—girlfriend’s roommate.”

“She’s not just your girlfriend’s roommate, though, is she?” Lydia cajoled.

“This conversation is officially over.”

Hey! No! It was just getting good! Why didn’t Josh want to set me up with anyone? Didn’t he think I was cute enough for any of his friends? Or did he have another problem with me? Was it my, um, experience with George? I was ready to burst back out and ask him what he meant, when Lydia spoke again.

“No need to get bent out of shape. I can understand your concern. She does have a tendency to self-sabotage all of her relationships. Like last year, she was seeing this great guy—”

“Brandon.”

“Right, of course you know.”

And he had made several vows to the effect that he wasn’t supposed to let anyone know that he knew! Josh! Man, I had him so bad. The fines I’d level on him at the next meeting—he’d better hope flights to Barcelona weren’t pricey!

“Anyway, you should have seen them together. They were so perfect. But of course she botched it up,” Lydia added. “Oh, that reminds me.” She shouted, “Amy!”

I waited a few seconds before opening the door, so they wouldn’t realize I had been right behind it. “Yes?”

“Brandon called.”

I blinked. I hadn’t known what Lydia wanted with me, but a phone message from my ex-boyfriend and ex-friend-with-benefits (if not ex-friend, full stop) was not at all what I’d expected. Brandon never called. In fact, the last time I’d spoken to him at any length, he had said the ball was in my court as far as future contact went.

It was a ball I’d dropped, as Brandon’s Amy-free life seemed to make him perfectly happy, and Brandon’s very non-Amy girlfriend was beautiful, accomplished, crazy about him, and singularly unimpressed with me.

“What did he want?” I asked, or rather, croaked. My mouth had gone inexplicably dry in the last two seconds.

“Um…to talk to you?” She pointed at the phone. “You still have his number, right?”

Yes, I still had his number. And I still had a lot of baggage to lug around regarding our broken relationship. After sleeping together for several months last spring, Brandon had finally talked me into becoming his girlfriend for real, only to discover that I was no more committed to him than I’d been when I hadn’t called him my boyfriend, and he broke it off.

I’d been more hurt by the loss of his companionship than by anything else. He’d mostly kept his distance ever since, but every time we did see each other, the air was charged with unfinished business.

My hand hovered indecisively over the phone, as if each of my fingers had taken a vote, decided that calling Brandon would be a poor plan, and mutinied. “It’s probably too late.”

“It’s barely eleven,” Lydia replied. “Early evening in college time.”

I willed my fingers to retrieve the phone then beat a hasty retreat into my bedroom.

“See what I mean?” I heard Lydia say as I shut the door.

I’d show her. I dialed his cell phone from memory, and Brandon picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Amy.”

I was so unprepared, I couldn’t think of a response. “You rang?” Ugh. Well, that was rude of me. Not even a Hi, Brandon, how was your Winter Break? No wonder his girlfriend thinks I’m a bitch.