When Hanna burst into our dorm room on Friday evening, she was buzzing with palpable energy.

And maybe also something more—because her ponytail was messy and I could smell alcohol on her breath when she came up to where I was sitting, jolting me out of my quiet reading session. I didn't get any warning before she plunked herself down on the end of my bed, the cheap mattress sinking under the extra weight. Just a couple of seconds to stuff the book I'd been reading under the blanket—which, unfortunately, wasn't enough.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Her eyebrows raised so far they almost disappeared into her hairline. "Didn't seem like nothing to me. Seemed like a book."

"I'm reading. That's not unusual," I pointed out.

"It's not, but you acting shady as hell definitely is." Then, before I could do anything to stop her, she'd snatched up the blanket herself and pulled out the paperback I was trying to hide. "Aha! Jackpot!"

Until that point, I'd managed to conceal My Bad Boy Butler from Hanna, which was an impressive feat when sharing a room. I'd told her about Josh, of course, though in heavily-censored snippets that wouldn't get her overexcited. I didn't want to jinx anything. It already seemed so out of the ordinary that I was convinced the universe had made some kind of mistake and would seize any chance to correct the natural order again. Right now, all she knew was that there was this guy, and he was kind of cute, and it would be nice if we got to talk more while volunteering.

I hadn't told her about the book—nor the subtle request for a date that had come with it.

Until now.

I watched her puzzled expression develop. She turned to me. "What is this?"

"My Bad Boy Butler?" I tried, even though she was capable of reading the title herself. And already had. "This year's sexiest read, with a side dish of sizzling service?"

"Since when do you read raunchy romance novels? Wait... do we need a sock-on-the-door system or something to let me know when I need to stay away from this room?"

"No!" I said quickly. "It's not like that."

I could tell she didn't believe me.

"I don't read this kind of stuff usually," I went on. "And the book's every bit as terrible as it looks. But why I'm reading it... well, it's hard to explain. Josh gave it to me."

Her ears pricked up like she was a wide-eyed puppy who'd heard a fleeting mention of a walk. "Josh?" she echoed. "You mean the guy from the volunteer group?"

I nodded. "We were on this collection together at the weekend—"

"The one you were hours late back from..."

"Because this woman donated a whole bunch of boxes that definitely weren't children's books," I pointed out, before her smirk could spread any wider. "Like this one. And, I don't know, we'd been talking before, and I said something about how I hate classics, and he said we should try reading them in case they're undiscovered masterpieces..."

"Wait." Hanna frowned. "He's reading one as well?"

"Not My Bad Boy Butler," I said. "But something along the same lines."

I watched her expression shift, mouth flattening into a tight-lipped smile, eyes glinting in a way that wasn't worlds apart from Josh's mischief. For once, I couldn't tell what she was thinking. But I was right about one thing: now that she knew about this blossoming encounter, she wasn't going to let it go.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

Her smile made it feel like she knew all my secrets. "He wants to get into your pants."

I flushed. "What?"

"He's reading a raunchy romance novel," she stated, lengthening each word like they spoke for themselves. "Unless he's into that kind of thing—which I doubt—what reason does he have other than thinking of it as a long-term strategy for getting laid?"

"It's a literary volunteer group. These people like books. Josh included."

"No, no, no." Hanna shook her head wisely. "He's thinking with his other brain. Not in a gross way. Probably a romantic wanting-to-get-to-know-you-better kind of way. But still. I know how guys think."

"You're gay," I pointed out.

"I know," she said, waving me off, "but I've dated guys before, haven't I? Back in high school, when I was so clueless about what I wanted that I didn't even realize I'd got the wrong gender. But it taught me a few things. The question is..." She looked at me pointedly, pausing for dramatic effect. "Do you want to get into his pants?"

Only a few seconds since my face had returned to a normal temperature, and the heat was creeping up my neck again.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't even know anything about him. We've only talked a couple of times, but..."

"But you're already looking forward to the next time you do."

We both trailed off, but my answer was obvious in the silence. Somewhere downstairs, I could hear the faint thump of music from somebody's Bluetooth speaker, but the air here was vibrating with something else.

"This is great, Morgan," Hanna said. "I'm so excited for you."

"Nothing's happened yet," I reminded her. "We've just talked a few times."

"But you're going to talk more. Plus, you like him, and I'd bet a lot of money that he likes you back, which means it's only a matter of time."

If my cheeks stayed red any longer, I might have burst a blood vessel. So I changed the subject.

"What are you doing back here so early, anyway? I thought you were out all evening."

"I still am," she said. "I was hanging out with Devon—you know, the girl from our lit class?—and some of her friends in the Williamson lounge. She managed to get her hands on some vodka, so we may have had a few inconspicuous drinks in water bottles... but, long story short, now we're actually going out. Anna knows the guy on the door of this bar downtown, so we're going to try sneak in there. I came back here to change."

She glanced down at her outfit: a cropped hoodie and high-waisted leggings. Though she looked as effortlessly stylish as ever, it wasn't the best option for trying to get into a bar.

"And," she went on, "I'm hyped on inspiration."

"What do you mean?"

She paused. "Can I run something by you?"

"Yeah, sure."

"We were talking about it earlier," she said, "down in the lounge. At first, it wasn't anything serious. We were talking about the most random shit, bouncing all these crazy ideas off each other—you know, the kind of far-fetched stuff we'd do one day if we had the money and time. But then we had this actual idea. One that seemed more real. I think the others were still half joking, but... I can't stop thinking about it."

"What?"

She pulled her legs up onto the bed, crossing them beneath her. "Morg, you'll tell me if I'm sounding crazy, won't you?"

"Of course."

"I want to start a magazine," she said, the words tumbling out in one rushed breath. "But not just any magazine. The kind all these students should be reading—especially with the state of politics right now—but that doesn't exist yet."

When all I gave her was a quizzical look, she took it as her cue to continue.

"You see, I went to the intro talk about writing for the campus newspaper," she said. "And I had such high hopes, because I thought that would be my thing for the next four years. But it was just... bullshit. For starters, it was like eighty percent male, and they were all strutting around the place, barking unnecessary opinions like they were trying to prove whose dick was biggest. Then, I made the mistake of raising my hand to ask how they structure their writing team to make sure they're getting diverse perspectives on each story... and they actually laughed in my face. Like their oversized white male opinion is all anybody needs."

"You're kidding."

Hanna shook her head so vigorously a few blonde strands fell out of her hair clip. "And they can get fucked if they think I want to be part of that. Which is why I want to start my own rival publication. One that's female-led, wholly inclusive, and not afraid to make people feel uncomfortable. Like I said, am I crazy?"

There was such fire behind her eyes: white-hot inspiration that I knew would outlast the alcohol in her system. "Not at all," I told her honestly. "It sounds amazing. A hell of a lot of work, but... wow. It could be something incredible."

Her breath of relief seemed to fill the whole room. "I'm so glad you said that. Because I really want to do it. I don't have the faintest idea how or where to get started, but I guess I'll figure that out along the way."

"You will," I said. "And you've got me. I'll help wherever I can. Maybe not on the writing side of things, unless your standards are seriously low, but perhaps more emotional support?"

She laughed. "I think I'll need a lot of that."

I glanced at the clock on my bedside table, only then noticing how much time had passed. "Aren't you supposed to be getting changed?"

"It's fine," she said. "Devon's meeting me back here at eight. I've got time."

"You've got five minutes."

"Point taken." She rose from the bed quickly, wobbling a little as she got to her feet. I didn't want to know how much vodka she'd consumed already, because then I would start to imagine what state she might come back in later. So far, we'd managed to avoid any puke-on-the-carpet incidents, and I wanted to keep it that way. "I better find something."

And, to her credit, she did. By the time her phone buzzed on the table with a message from Devon, she'd pulled on her best black jeans, an almost see-through lacy top and her well-loved leather jacket. After an extra layer of powder and coat of mascara, she turned to me and struck a slightly unsteady pose.

"How do I look?"

"Great," I said. "As always."

"Thanks!" She flashed me a smile. On the table, her phone continued to buzz with further messages; clearly, the extra time spent on her make-up had pushed her over the unofficial deadline, and now Devon had something to say. But this didn't seem to concern Hanna, who turned to me. "What are your plans for the rest of the night?"

I looked down at my current position: propped up against the pillows on my bed, curled up under a fluffy blanket, the ridiculous butler book still in my lap. The gesture spoke for itself.

"Are you sure?" Hanna asked, rummaging around in the backpack on her bed for her wallet and keys. "You could come with us, if you wanted. Anna said it doesn't matter if you don't have ID."

She must've known what I would say, but it was nice to be asked all the same.

"That's okay," I said. "You know it's not really my kind of thing."

"I know. But you could text Josh, ask him if he wants to tag along."

I shook my head, glad that she couldn't tell that was all it took to start the fluttering in my stomach. "Too soon, Hanna. We haven't even seen each other outside of volunteering yet."

As if on cue, there was another vibration of a phone on a surface. Initially, it seemed like Devon's continued insistence that Hanna hurry up, since that had been coming in solid for five minutes now—but we realized in the same beat it wasn't her phone. It was mine.

"Who's that?"

I was asking myself the same question. Reaching over, I snatched up the phone from my bedside table.

Hanna's eyes didn't leave me as I read the message onscreen. Which is how she noticed the slight curl to my lip, even if it felt insignificant enough to be invisible.

"I knew it," she declared, before I even said anything.

The message was only a couple of lines long, but my eyes were glued to the screen like I was reading an essay. The amount of times I read it over made it feel that way. But each one caused my stomach to flip over one more time, in a nervous bout of exhilaration, and once it stopped feeling unfamiliar it became addictive instead.

JOSH: It's probably a bit late for the coffee I offered, but... what are you doing tonight?

I looked up, meeting Hanna's expectant gaze.

"He's asking what I'm doing tonight."

There was a beat of silence: long enough to make me wonder if I'd overestimated how she was going to react. Maybe she was going to be calm and collected after all.

But then she let out a squeal that sounded exactly like the noise in my own head.

"I knew it!" she said again, punching the air as if it were her personal victory. "What did I tell you? I know how guys' minds work, Morgan."

"I wasn't expecting to go out tonight," I said. "Should I tell him I'm busy?"

"Absolutely not." Hanna looked like she was going to march over and snatch the phone off me if I made one sudden move. "This is perfect, Morgan. This is your chance to get to know him. You're going, and you're going to enjoy yourself. So text him back. The only thing I need to figure out is what you're going to wear."

"Isn't Devon waiting for you downstairs?"

She grabbed her phone and started tapping furiously, her fingers like lightning across the keyboard. "I'll tell her to go ahead without me, and I'll meet them there," she said. "Because right now, this is way more important."

I looked back at my own phone. The message was still glaring like a beacon of light below me.

No plans, I tapped back after a couple of seconds' thought. What do you have in mind?

--------------------

Hi, guys! It feels like a long time since I've posted regular updates, and it has. But even more so because the world has changed beyond recognition.

I'd love to say lockdown has given me endless free time to write, but unfortunately that's not the case. I'm still working (now from home) and this weird writer's block I've had for months hasn't miraculously shifted. However, the last few days I've found myself wanting to sit down with my laptop and work on this story, which feels like a huge milestone. I think committing to uploads on a certain day is a stretch right now, but I'm going to make every effort to keep this story moving along.

I say it a lot, but if you're still reading, please please leave a comment (even a short one!) below to let me know what you think. I do write because I enjoy it, but my motivation does waver slightly when I get an empty comments section in response. Your words mean more than you probably imagine.

Thanks so much for sticking with me, and I hope the story allows you some escape from these strange times. Even if only for a while.

- Leigh