You know that song that goes, "Checkout my nails, hair, hips, heels. Bitch, I'm a big deal"? Yeah, that one. Well, if this moment had a theme song, that would be it. Clothes are strewn across the room, makeup is scattered across my vanity, and a chaotic tangle of curlers, crimpers, and straighteners hums to life from every outlet.

"You look fine. Stop fussing!" Jay says, swatting my hand away.

"I don't know why I care so much. Who knows if he'll even show up?" I reply, trying to sound casual.

"Best friend, if he doesn't pitch, that's on him. You and I will still have a great wine night—like we do every week. He'd be an absolute idiot to fumble the bag with you," she says, grinning at me, straightener in hand.

She's right, of course. Jay is my biggest hype woman. We've been friends on and off since high school. We stopped speaking when we were about seventeen, but she reached out again during our first year out of school. She was dating a guy who used to manipulate her emotionally—and sometimes even physically. I encouraged her to leave him. We both got out of our toxic ex-cycles around the same time, and we've been inseparable ever since.

I glance at my reflection one last time. We need to leave soon. I wouldn't want Donovan thinking we stood him up—if he shows at all. My reflection looks back at me, showing me the usual: my hair's too short, I need to lose weight, and the self-critique goes on... and on... and on...

"You look stunning. Let's go," Jay says, snapping me out of it. She's wearing my white crop top and her blue jeans with the rose patches. Her hair is half-up, half-down, and perfectly straightened. Jay is the girl every other girl envies—long, thick blonde hair, lush lashes, green eyes, and a killer body.

Me? I'm short and chubby with a bob-length cut of light brown hair and hazel eyes. Sure, my eyelashes are pretty—but they've got nothing on Jay's.

Dressed in my own pair of blue jeans, a white top that just meets the waistband, and with my hair finally straightened, it's officially time to go.

Jay and I say goodbye to my mom and head straight for our Uber. We NEVER drink and drive. Side note: we don't have our driver's licenses yet either, so... there's that.

"Mr. Uber driver, can we connect to Bluetooth?" I ask, glancing at Jay with a grin. Screw it—let's get the night going.

"Dibs!" Jay shouts, beating me to it. Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer starts playing, and my mood instantly lifts. No matter what happens, I'm a big girl with my best friend by my side. I don't need to be nervous. I don't need to hate the way I look.

That's my mantra all the way to Pascals.

When we arrive, we walk straight in and take a seat at one of the four-seater tables outside. We love the outdoor area at Pascals—there are no windows, just pony walls and an open view of the parking lot. Colourful flags stretch across the ceiling, multicoloured bulbs line the entrance, and tequila signs are scattered across the walls. It's a cool little Mexican restaurant and pub. Thursdays are Quiz Night, which is always fun. I've played here once before—and, no surprise, they absolutely kicked my ass.

"Oooh! I love this song!" I say, turning to Jay as I take the seat that faces the entrance. She agreed to let me sit here so I could spot Donovan and his friends when (or if) they arrive and wave them over—since she doesn't know what they look like.

"Brandy, as usual?" she asks, smiling and handing the menu to the waiter.

"Sounds good," I reply with a wink, feeling a lot more confident than I did earlier.

We've been seated for about 10 minutes when Mel and Carry walk up to us, shooter buckets in hand. They're dressed in matching black shirts and skirts, hair and makeup done to perfection. My girls are adorable.

"Shoooooters?" Mel grins, drawing out the word and wiggling her eyebrows.

I can't help but laugh. Of course we're doing shooters—Mel's the reason we're even out tonight.

"Yes! What do you feel like, Jay? Jägermeister?"

"Let's do it!" Jay exclaims, slapping her hands excitedly on the table.

Mel and Carry begin pouring the shots just as a white car pulls into the lot. A flicker of hope lights up in my chest, but I squash it just as quickly. I refuse to spend the night thinking every car might be Donovan. I haven't heard from him since he agreed to come, and it's already well past 7 p.m. Sure, Jay and I were late—but we've been here for at least 20 minutes now.

I smile at Mel, careful not to let anything show. I didn't tell her I invited Donovan—just in case he bailed. One witness to my embarrassment is already enough.

"Alex is here," she says.

"Alex, our cousin?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah," Mel shrugs. "She's here with her new boyfriend. Can't remember his name."

"Oh dear. I definitely don't want to run into her. She'll probably judge me for drinking on a Thursday." I place my palm to my forehead. Fantastic.

"She's here drinking on a Thursday too," Mel laughs, picking up her shooter bucket and heading off to continue her rounds.

"Can we add another Jägermeister?" a deep voice says from behind Mel.

I look up—and there he is. Donovan. Alone. And holy shit... he's even hotter than I remember.

"Hey Don! I didn't know you were joining tonight," Carry says, setting her bucket back down with surprise.

"Tam invited me," he replies, glancing over at me. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he looks nervous.

"Did she now?" Mel says, shooting me a smug look.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I stand to greet him. No handshake—he's a hugger. In true Tam fashion, I manage to stumble over my chair and nearly fall on my face, but his hands catch me just in time.

I look up, flustered and mortified, meeting his eyes. "Whoops," I giggle nervously.

"How was your trip?" Jay chimes in, clearly enjoying the show.

"See you next fall!" Mel and Carry quip in unison, laughing at my expense. Seriously—why am I friends with these people?

Donovan is still looking at me, but quickly pulls himself together and gives me a proper hug hello. He then introduces himself to Jay, and before he's even had a chance to sit down, we're all tossing back our shots.

"You can sit next to Tam," Jay says, gesturing to the empty seat beside me.

I shoot her a look only best friends can understand—WHAT. THE. HELL. ARE. YOU. DOING?

She just shrugs and takes her seat, unfazed.

"So... where are your friends?" I ask Donovan.

"I came alone," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.

Wait—he came alone? Why? Did he think this was a date? Did I completely mess this up? I was clear... wasn't I? I told him Jay and I were going out and asked if he wanted to join. I definitely said that. Right?

"Why didn't you invite anyone?" I ask, nerves creeping into my voice.

"Because you invited me," he says simply. "If I wanted to hang out with my friends, I would've made plans with them."

"But I don't want you to feel awkward or out of place. You're more than welcome to invite your friends—if it's not too late," I say.

Don just laughs and shakes his head. Jay narrows her eyes at me: Be cool, message received. I'm about to say something else when the waiter returns with our drinks. Don orders a brandy too, hands over the menu, and thanks the waiter politely.

"Your food will be out now," the waiter says, looking directly at Jay.

Food? We didn't order food...

I glance at Jay and catch the smirk she's desperately trying to hide. She knows exactly what she's doing. Jay knows I can't eat in front of Donovan. When I'm nervous, my appetite vanishes. And even if I was hungry, I'm a notoriously messy eater. Eating in front of boys? Absolutely not.

"Jay?" I say, giving her my best death glare.

"You said you were hungry, so I ordered a pizza," she says casually, as if she didn't just betray me. "You're more than welcome to share with us, Donovan. We definitely won't finish it."

Liar. Between the two of us, we could inhale an entire pizza in under ten minutes. We're sporty girls, our appetites are legendary.

Don politely declines, saying he already ate at home. That's why he was a bit late—his family had dinner together.

He's a family guy? Great. Kryptonite.

After a few more drinks, some good music, and several shooter rounds courtesy of Mel and Carry, our conversation flows effortlessly. Jay even manages to convince me to eat one slice of pizza. The rest is packed up in a takeaway box for when we get home. Thank goodness—I'm starving.

I'm mid-laugh at something Donovan just said when a familiar face catches my eye. My blood runs cold.

"Oh fuck! Jay! You didn't see me!" I duck under the table.

Jay turns to follow my line of sight and spots Alex—my cousin—with her boyfriend.

"Okay, fine. You're being ridiculous, but fine," she whispers, and gently pushes my head further under the table. "They're leaving, just don't move."

"What's going on?" Donovan asks, amusement clear in his voice.

"Shhh," Jay replies, then waves sweetly. "Heyy!"

Alex knows Jay, but probably doesn't recognize her right now. Mel said she was pretty tipsy during her last round near that part of the restaurant. Plus, Alex is older—she doesn't really keep track of my friends.

"Okay, she's gone," Jay finally announces.

Whew. Bullet dodged. I sit back up and fix my hair, cheeks still flushed. When I glance at Donovan, he's watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes, a small laugh tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It was my cousin," I explain, half-laughing. "I was hiding from my older cousin. Long story."

He chuckles and simply shakes his head, the same way someone does when they're mildly entertained but trying to keep it cool. Cute. That dimple appears again, and I find myself mesmerized by his eyes. Fuck, he's even better-looking up close.

Suddenly, a metal bucket hits the table with a thud, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Alright, are we going to Dingy Doo's or what?" Mel asks, eyes flitting around the table expectantly.

Donovan turns to me.
"I'm in—if you're going," he says, waiting for my answer.

Without thinking, I nod. Then I look at Jay to see where she stands. Her grin is practically splitting her face, and she nods enthusiastically. She looks like she's holding onto a juicy secret she's dying to spill.

She knows.
She can see it.
I'm screwed.