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“Wait.” Caleb cocks his head from one side to the other. “What did I miss?”

“Only the boat, dude.” Jordan cracks a smile and takes his first bite of meat loaf. “This is great, Mrs. B. Thanks.” I suspect Jordan isn’t referring to the food.

Mom’s smile lights up the room. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

I shove my plate aside. “Did you make dessert?”

Elijah and Grant stop chewing and turn to me with horrified expressions.

“I stopped at the bakery on—”

The doorbell interrupts her, and I jump up to let the photographer in.

“Todd . . .” I open the door and step aside, refusing to formally greet him. He winks at me as he comes in dressed in something that looks like he stole it from Jack Sparrow’s footlocker.

“Kennedy.” He slides his little round glasses down his nose and grins. “I see the rest of the Breakfast-in-Bed Club is here, so let’s get started.”

I give him a stiff nod and slam the door behind him. He’s already snapping pictures of everyone around the table when I turn around.

“Kennedy, can you come sit so I can get you in the frame?”

“Sure.” I fall into my chair, forcing a smile. The more I cooperate, the faster he’ll finish.

Todd rearranges everyone until the boys are sitting in a row on one side of the table. “Did Kelly email you about the hotel room?”

I dart my eyes around, gauging everyone else’s reaction. Mom looks intrigued. Jordan looks uncomfortable. But the other guys are clueless.

“No? What about it?”

“Eve’s is paying for a deluxe hotel suite for the winning couple on the night of the formal.” He leans in to whisper, “It would seem you’ll be getting your cherry popped in style.”

My face flames until I’m positive I’m as red as said cherry. “That’s, uh . . . nice of them?”

“You know what you can do with your deluxe suite?” Jordan snaps.

Mom quietly lays a hand on his arm, instantly calming him. “That’s a lovely gesture.”

“Are you kidding? That’s sweet!” Caleb speaks up, still oblivious that he’ll never see the inside of either the room or me.

“Kelly will email you the details sometime during the week.” Todd clears his throat. “Are you ready to announce the finalists?”

I flit my gaze around the room again, my stomach twisting itself into knots. “I am.”

“Good. Let’s get one more photo with all four guys. Kennedy, you go stand in the back, and guys, I want you to look up at her as if she’s Helen of fucking Troy—the face that launched a thousand dicks.” He snickers.

Jordan smothers a groan at the cheesy pun.

Todd snaps his pictures then asks me to step out of the shot. “I wanna get their reactions,” he explains.

As I make the announcement, Jordan’s eyes meet mine. His intense expression brands my shattered heart, and I almost break apart all over again.

“The finalists are Elijah and . . .” I suck in a gulp of air and blurt the name before I pass out.

Grant’s name barely crosses my lips before Jordan jumps out of his chair and bolts from the house. Part of me wishes he’d make one last attempt to sway me. But do I want that . . . do I? I made my bed, as it were, so I guess it’s time for me to get laid in it.

32

When I walk out of Delta Sig house Monday morning, I find twisted blue-and-white streamers wrapped around every porch pillar, lamppost, and street sign on Greek row. The Greek committee used the spring formal as an excuse to go crazy, but if the whispers are any indication, the decorations are mostly for me.