I open my mouth to try.

“Hey.” A girl is now standing next to me. “You’re Gray Grayson.”

She’s looking at me like I’m a latte she’d like to drink down. Irritation spikes. This is why I didn’t want to meet Mac in public. Not when football fever has hit an all-time high on the campus. I’m about to give this chick the brush off when Mac slaps her free hand on the table.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gray,” she says to me in exasperation. “Irritable bowel syndrome is treatable. There’s no need to fear. It’s the rampant gas that you really should worry about, because, dude, it’s bad.”

Her words hang in the air, and I gape at her, shock and horror tingling through my skin. The girl pretty much does the same before her face goes beet red and she backs away from me.

“I…uh…I’ll leave you to your conversation,” she gets out.

I don’t answer. I can only stare at Mac. Part of me wants to strangle her. I can just imagine how fast this little nugget of gossip will spread. I can hear my nickname now, Gaseous Gray. “So…social annihilation is on the menu today, huh?”

Flushing, she shrugs. “Got rid of her, didn’t it?”

The little shit. I bark out a laugh. Whatever has happened between us, she’s still my best friend. The one person I want to be with most in the world. And I adore her. I’m so gone on her, I don’t know my left from my right anymore. She’s my center line. All thoughts run through Ivy Mackenzie.

I reach out for her, ready to tell her just that. Tell her that I want everything with her. That she is my everything.

But she speaks first, her words coming out fast and tight. “Things got out of hand. It happens. We’ve been in each other’s pockets, seeing each other all the time. And if we just stepped back and took a break from that, not hang out so much…” She spreads her hands as if to say, problem solved, no big deal.

Take a break. Not be together so much.

Hurt slams through me so hard that my knee jerks, hitting the underside of the table and almost knocking it over.

“Sorry,” I mutter, as she scrambles to keep her cup from falling.

I want to shout at her that this is the worst fucking idea she’s ever come up with. That taking a break sounds like torture. But she’s not finished ripping my heart out.

“And if you’re not always with me, you can…you know… go out. With girls. Hook up or whatever.”

I’d like to think her expression conveys the same misery as I feel. But I can’t be sure. I can no longer think straight. “Kind of hard to do that,” I snap. “When the entire campus will soon think I have a flatulence problem.”

She cringes. “Right. Sorry. But I doubt anyone will believe it. Or even care. Most women obviously would overlook anything to get to you.”

Oh. Joy. I don’t give a ripe fuck what other women believe. I don’t want to be with anyone other than Ivy. Her helpful comment makes me want to scream. And then another horrible thought hits me.

“Wait, why are we talking about hook ups?” My voice is rising, along with my panic.

Her gaze slides away from mine. “Well… We’re both clearly in need of some sexual relief. Why shouldn’t we find it—”

“Am I cramping your style? Blocking you from all these potential dates you have lined up?” I don’t even know what I’m saying. Panic has me by the balls. She’s slipping away from me, and I can’t seem to hold on.

Her eyes narrow. “You think I can’t get a date?”

“Hey, I did not say that.”

The tension leaves her with a sad sigh, and she slumps a little. “This is getting off track, and we’re sniping at each other, which is not what I wanted.”

I rake a hand through my hair and blow out a long breath through my nose. “Are you…” I take another breath. “Do you want to go out on dates?” I’m going to be sick. I’m going to fucking throw up. All over fucking Java Cup.

Her lips pinch. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time that I do.”

Mac. On a date.

The cup in my hand crumples, sending hot coffee splattering every which way.

“Shit.” I jump up, shaking coffee off my hand.

Mac jumps up as well, grabbing napkins to mop the mess, until she sees my hand. “Did you burn yourself?”

She touches my reddened hand, but I snatch it away. “I’m good.” My throat is closing in on me. I can’t be here. I back away, tripping over the leg of a chair before righting myself.

“Gray,” she says in a soft plea. “I’m just trying to fix things.”

“Use me,” I blurt out.

Ivy stills, the space between her brows furrowing. “What?”

“You want to fuck someone. Fuck me.”

She rears as though I’ve spit on her face. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” I snap, a little desperate now. “You want to have sex. Have sex with me.”

“We. Are. Friends.” She enunciates every word through her clenched teeth as color rises over her face.

“Oh, please, Ivy. You came on my fingers. I think we’re way past just friends.”

Bad route to go. Bad fucking route.

Her face flames red, her nostrils flaring. “You asshole. You think because you got an orgasm out of me that I’m now some sort of easy lay—”