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“Before Thanksgiving,” she says. “Holy shit. You really don’t remember do you? You had a ton of vodka.”

My stomach swoops and I lift my fingers to my lips.Shit.I thought maybe I’d kissed someone. A fucking student?Fucking fuckedy fuck.

“Don’t worry,” she says, correctly reading the panic on my face. “No one saw and I didn’t tell anyone. And I won’t.”

My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh, and I pick up my wine and take as large a gulp as I can without sloshing it down my front. “Thanks.”

“Relax,” she says, reaching out and squeezing my forearm.

It’s easy for her to say. She didn’t get blind drunk and make out with a student. “Did we—”

“Just kissing,” she says. “And maybe a bit of dance floor grinding.”

“Dance floor . . . Fuck. I must have been drunk.”

She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “You did okay.”

“Sorry,” I say, scraping my fingers through my beard. “I was on one.”

“On one?”

“On a mission,” I explain. “I was pissed off.”

She frowns slightly, her eyes looking at me in a way that makes me wonder what she sees. “What were you pissed about?”

“It wouldn’t be professional of me to say,” I admit, although the words sound laughable as they leave my lips. I’m the least professional person that ever professioned.

Joy smirks as though she’s thinking the same thing. “It’s Lane, isn’t it?”

I wince. “That obvious, huh?

“I mean, you’ve been doing a great job of hiding how much you hate him. What with all the sulking and frowning and arguing with him poolside.”

Groaning, I knock back the rest of my wine. “I really need to get my shit together. I really am sorry. About being unprofessional at practice and about the other night.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “It’s not like it was one sided.”

Her eyes widen a little, as though she hadn’t meant to admit it, and I swallow.

“So, what’s with the music course?” I ask. If in doubt, swerve in a different direction.

She huffs a sigh, her gaze fixing on the last mouthful of wine in her glass. “I want to be a music producer.”

“And this is making you sad because . . .?

“Because,” she lifts her beautiful eyes and stares at me as though she’s about to confess something earth shattering, “I don’t want to swim professionally after college.”

I blink.Is that it?“And?”

“And?” She stares at me, open-mouthed. “It’s a huge deal. You’ve met my parents. They want me with Olympic medals around my neck by this time next year.”

“Then they’re going to be sorely disappointed, because there’s no Olympics next year.”

Joy glares at me, and I shake my head.

“Look, at least your parents give a shit what you do.” I reach out and cover her hand with mine. “They love you. They’ll support you eventually, even if they find it hard to wrap their brains around at first. I’m certain of it.”

Joy nods, but I can see she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.

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