All five of us are squeezed into Donovan's car, and the vibes are electric. I almost feel sorry for him. All of us girls are chattering away about the crazy things we saw at Pascal's (never a dull moment in our town), our favourite songs are playing on his radio, and he's quietly focused on the road, listening without complaint.

I'm trying to stay present in the conversation, but my thoughts keep drifting to him - what must it feel like to be stuck in a car full of girls? We can be... a lot.

I'm sitting in the front seat after an awkward - and very literal - shove from Jay. She insisted it didn't make sense for anyone else to sit up front with Don, especially since I was the one who invited him tonight. She said it might make him feel uncomfortable - or worse, rejected - if I didn't. 

My nerves almost got the better of me. Almost.

Funny how Jay had to shove me into the spotlight like I'm the star of the show, when all I wanted was to quietly disappear into the back seat.

But here I am.

When we get to Dingy Doo's, it's already packed. No surprise there. I can't think of a single night when the regulars aren't crowding this place. It's cheap, the music's always good, and we love the staff - of course people keep coming back. To top it off, it's Summer. The season when everyone leaves their little hidey holes to feel alive. 

"There's a parking!" Mel almost shouts, pointing animatedly from the back seat to guide Donovan.

"Score!" the girls cheer, high-fiving each other.

I laugh under my breath and glance over at Donovan - but he's not looking at me. 

Did I say something wrong? Or is he just doing that "mysterious, brooding guy" thing? Because honestly, I'm not sure which is worse.

"Earth to Tam. Are you getting out sometime this year?" Jay says. I turn to see she's already opened my door and everyone else is waiting. Ladies and gentleman, chivalry is not dead. 

I climb out and we all head inside.

There's an open table right next to the dancefloor - rare for the weekend, but definitely possible during the week. We all make a beeline for it, tossing our bags, jackets, and hookah pipe onto the table.

Mel catches my eye and, without a word, we know the drill. She heads to the bar and I start prepping the hookah. I open the box to grab the flavour, foil, and coals, then climb onto a chair.

"What are you doing?" Donovan asks, clearly concerned. 

"She can't reach the top of the hookah when it's on the table, so she climbs the chair," Jay answers for me.

Donovan laughs - like, full-on belly laugh.

I'm not self-conscious about my height, so I just laugh with him. He's nearly six feet tall, so of course he wouldn't understand the struggle.

I go back to setting up, tearing open the packet of flavour. A sweet, minty scent hits me, and I inhale deeply. I love this one.

"I'm heading to the bar. Do you ladies want anything?" he asks, finally catching his breath.

"Oh no, Mel and Carry have already gone, so don't worry," I say. He gives me a wink and walks off.
Maybe he just needs to pee or something.

Mel returns to the table with everyone's drinks and takes the pipe from my hand, gesturing that she'll help get the head going.

"Where's Don?" she asks, exhaling a small puff of smoke.

"I don't know. I told him you and Carry went to the bar, and then he just disappeared," I shrug.

"Speak of the devil," Jay says, nudging me with her elbow.

Donovan is making his way back to the table with drinks in both hands. That was fast. 

"Don, I told you Mel and Carry were already at the bar. Your drink's already here," I remind him.

"I didn't think you meant for me, too - so I just ran up to the bar quickly," he replies, a little sheepishly.

Are we the only people who buy drinks for the whole table? Mel and I were raised that way - my dad always taught us it's just good manners to offer.

"Well, now you've got three drinks!" Mel laughs, grabbing Carry's hand and pulling her toward the dancefloor.

Jay throws me a knowing look and follows them, leaving Donovan and I alone at the table - well, as alone as you can be in a crowded bar.

I pass him the second pipe and let him know I've just started the head. He takes one pull and compliments me. Apparently, his friends don't know how to stack a hookah properly. That or I'm just a genius. 

Other than that, he's pretty quiet.

Not that I blame him - trying to have a conversation this close to the dancefloor means shouting over the music while covering one ear just to hear the response. Not exactly the setting for a heart-to-heart.

An absolute banger starts playing, and I excitedly hand my pipe to Don.

"I'll be right back! This is our song," I say, then run to the dancefloor to join the girls.

We dance like there's no tomorrow, singing off-key and laughing until our cheeks hurt. These. These are the moments I live for.

I glance back toward the table to check on our bags and drinks - but Donovan hasn't moved. He's standing there, smoking, eyes fixed on us.

Okay, well... I wish his eyes were fixed only on me. But I can't let my hopelessly romantic heart run wild. I know what I know - or... I think I know? Or maybe I know what I think? Ugh, whatever. The point is: he's not a relationship guy. And he's definitely not into me. That much seems clear.

We make our way back to the table, sweaty and breathless, ready to refill our drinks and take a break after going all out on the dancefloor.

Donovan hands both pipes back to me.

"I've already ordered drinks for you ladies, your bags and jackets are safe, and I stacked a new head for when you got back," he says. "I'm going to take my turn on the dancefloor, if that's okay?"

My jaw literally drops.

What?

On what planet do guys our age watch over your things and your friends' stuff, order drinks without being asked, and stack the hookah for you before disappearing to go dance?

It's just not done.

Chivalry? That died several moons ago when it comes to the men of our generation.

He takes my stunned silence as approval and heads to the dancefloor.

I'm still frozen in place, mind spiralling.

Then the waiter sets our drinks down, snapping me back to reality, and suddenly all the girls are looking at me with cheeky grins.

They're doing that thing - the teasing looks, the kissing noises, the smug "we told you so" expressions. That weird girl-telepathy when they're convinced someone likes you.

I roll my eyes, trying to shake it off - but when I glance back toward the dancefloor, my eyes land on this tall, lean figure in motion.

Wait... is that Donovan?

I didn't know he could dance like that! I mean, I've seen him dance but tonight he's pulling out all the stops. 

The boy has rhythm. Like, serious rhythm.

Fuuuuuck, I love a guy who can dance. It's such an attractive quality for me - especially as an ex-dancer. My ex? Terrible dancer. And to make it worse, he only ever danced with his friends.

I love hitting the dancefloor when I'm out, so a guy who's not afraid to let go and have a good time? That's a win in my book. I don't want to be tied to a table just to appease a man. 

The girls' laughter and chatter fade into the background. All I hear now is the music. All I see is him.

The crowd has made a loose circle around Donovan, and they're going crazy.

Hands are up in the air, pumping rhythmically, others cupped around mouths as they shout and cheer him on. It's electric.

He's totally lost in the music, grinning ear to ear, soaking in the crowd's energy.

He's the crowd favourite.

I don't know how I feel about that. My feelings seem to be rather contradictory around this guy. 

In high school, I wanted to date the popular guy. It was a thing - being drawn to those golden boys who turned out to be total assholes.

Is Donovan one of them?

Right now, with that huge grin and the way he's owning the room, I honestly can't tell.

But I want to.

I shut the thought down just in time to catch Donovan looking up - he sees me staring and winks.

He. Winks.

Holy shit, that was hot. Confidence is literally oozing off of him. 

That wink should come with a warning label: Dangerously distracting and 100% illegal for stealing hearts on the dancefloor.

The song ends, and the guy next to him high-fives him. Donovan laughs as he walks back to the table, somehow not even out of breath. Not a single bead of sweat in sight. Is he, like, superhuman or something?

There's a sultry look on his face, like he knows exactly how watching him dance made me feel. Cocky.

"Let's get you girls home," I announce. "You two still have school tomorrow, and we all have work."

Mel and Carry groan in protest but eventually agree. They'll thank me tomorrow - after they're done complaining about how tired they are.

The car ride home is quieter than the trip to Dingy Doo's, but the energy's still light. Everyone's chatty and giggling. Donovan even chimes in a few times, making the whole car laugh.

He's funny too. And he stayed. He didn't leave early like I thought he might. 

Great dancer, funny, responsible... Seriously, is this guy even real? He's like a walking rom-com checklist. What's next - fixing my life while making me breakfast?

All the more reason to keep my distance. I don't need to catch feelings. I'm a career girlie, remember? Besides, what good ever comes from an unrequited crush?

Still... I like that he's opening up now. I was worried earlier that we'd overwhelmed him or that he was secretly regretting not bringing his friends along. He never really explained that. I mean, from what Mel's said, and from the way he carries himself, he seems pretty social. Confident.

Which brings me back to the question that's been bugging me all night:
Did he think this was a date?
Or is he just so self-assured that he didn't feel the need for backup the way I did?

There's no way I would've met him alone. Not yet. But him? He seemed totally at ease all night. He even knew the unspoken rule in a group of girls: watch the bags, keep the drinks safe, restack the hookah.

He probably made a great boyfriend - to some other girl at some other time.

At that thought, a strange twist of jealousy curls in my chest.

No. Stop. That can't be.
I barely know him. We've only just met.

"Thanks for dropping us off at home!" the girls chime together.

Wait - we're home? Already?

Just like that, jealousy and uncertainty turn into a wave of disappointment. I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

The girls pile out of the car and I turn to Donovan.

"Thank you for coming," I say, smiling. "And for watching our stuff. And for the lift home."

"No problem," he says with a smile of his own. Breathe girl. Breathe. 

Now I'm sitting here, frozen like an awkward duck.

Do I hug him?
We're at that weird angle where a rejected hug would be so embarrassing.
Should I just say goodbye and get out?
Should I be brave?

What if he wasn't even thinking about a hug?
What if I've been reading everything wrong and this night meant nothing to him?

Luckily, I don't have to decide - he leans in first.

It's a brief hug. Warm, polite... but not quite telling.

I murmur goodbye and step out of the car, more conflicted than I was before the evening started.

I don't get it.

Flirty looks all night, but a hug that feels like a formality.
He came out alone with my friends and I - but doesn't respond to my texts.

Does he like me or not?
Am I the problem? 
Or am I just overthinking everything?

I open my door and there's Jay, already in her pyjamas, standing like she's been waiting for me to arrive.

Hands on her hips. Grin on her face.

Okay, sassy queen.

Her expression says she's got me all figured out - meanwhile, I'm still lost in my own head.

They say your best friend always knows you better than you know yourself.

Probably because they don't deny the obvious like you do.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she crosses her arms and hits me with:

"So," she grins, "do we like him... or do we like him?"