"Jonathan!" Sable says.
"What? If they broke up, it would be because of that, not something Cassie did."
"Not helping at all," Sable groans, slapping him on the arm.
Tank clears his throat. "You know what, I'm going to just… go get something. Outside."
The door slams closed behind him.
"I should have just told him before, like you said," I say.
Sable sits beside me on the sofa, taking my hands in hers. She reaches up and wipes her thumb under my eye. "Your mascara is all over your face, honey," she says. "You told him about the thesis?"
I shake my head. "Worse. He found it," I say. "I left my notebook on my desk. It was a copy I printed out to proofread. I didn't even think about it. And he must have moved the notebook or dropped it on the floor or something, and I came out of the shower and he was just standing there."
"And he read it?" Sable asks. "Okay, that's not so bad. I read it. You're not ridiculing him or his sport or saying that football players are compensating for small penises or anything."
Even though I'm upset, I can't help but snort. "Yeah, I'm definitely not saying that."
"What did he say?"
"He only read part of it, the beginning of the literature review – you know, theories about aggression being compensation for a fragile masculine identity, and –"
Sable groans. "Okay, that part's not the greatest," she agrees. "So he thinks you're talking about him and you secretly have disdain for him."
"Yes, exactly."
"And that you've been secretly using him as an 'in' for insight into the mind of football players so you can write your thesis."
I nod.
"And that you knew that when you started tutoring him," she goes on. "And tutored him under false pretenses, which makes you a lying liar who lies. And then slept with him on top of that, which would just make you a ho-bag."
"I'm clear on my list of offenses, thanks, Sable," I state, my voice hard. Then it breaks, because my eyes tear up and I can't stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. "I'm an awful person."
Sable puts her arms around me. "Oh, sweetie, you're not at all," she says soothingly. "You just made a mistake. I'm sure he's going to think about it and realize that you're not any of the things he's assuming."
I shake my head. "It's the end of the summer anyhow. He's going to be playing and it was going to be over anyway. He so much as said that."
"Did he say that?"
"Basically."
"It wasn't just hooking up anymore, was it?"
"It was," I insist. "It is, I mean. It was just a fling. That's all it was supposed to be, so I don't know why I'm even upset. Something's wrong with me. It feels like someone punched me in the stomach and like I'm on the verge of throwing up, except I can't throw up and I just want to cry."
"I think that's maybe how you feel when you're in love," Sable says.
"Like you're going to vomit?"
"You're asking the wrong girl, but that's what I hear."
"Don't be ridiculous," I snap. "I'm not in love with him. I just like sleeping with him. A lot. More than I thought I could ever like anything. And I want to hang out with him…all the time. He's and he makes me laugh, and I want so much for him to be happy and –"
Oh God.
I stop short in the middle of vomiting up a torrent of words.
"It's only been a summer. And it was just supposed to be sex. I'm not in love with him. I can't be in love with him."
But as soon as I say the words out loud, I know it in my gut.
Sable just sits there looking at me. A faint knock on the door interrupts us and then the door swings open. Tank stands there with three shopping bags in his hands.
"Oh, God," I say, the realization washing over me. "I'm in love with Colton King. And I totally fucked it all up."
"Shit. Don't get mad," Tank says, a sheepish look on his face. "I'm interrupting, I know. I walked in at a really bad time. I just brought you something." He sets the bags on the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of tequila. "The good stuff," he promises. A couple of limes roll across the table, stopped by the bottle. "And snacks. Because, well, I don't know anything that doesn't feel better after tequila and snacks."
"Are those Oreos I see in there?" Sable asks.
"Two bags," Tank confirms. "Okay, one and a quarter. I got hungry on the walk home. I didn't know what snacks you liked, so I grabbed a whole bunch of different ones."
I sniffle. "I want to hug you right now."
Tank blushes and looks at Sable, who practically beams at him. "Thank you for that," Sable says, standing up. "So…why don't we get good and drunk?"
"You girls go ahead," Tank says. "I just came back to drop these bags off and run."
"You don't have to go, Tank," I say.
"Yeah, I do. Mrs. K is coming. She's making dinner. I need to get back to the house before she gets there. I'm going to kick Colton's ass for making you cry, and it's not cool to do it right in front of his mother."