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“Nicole, right?” A blonde stepped into her path with a smile that, at first glance, seemed friendly enough.

Nicole stopped. “Yes?”

The girl’s hair fell sleek and straight past her shoulders, the ends curved neatly under, and she had the kind of high cheekbones that made a person look good from angles Nicole had to work for. A fitted white cardigan was buttoned over her jeans, and her pink lip gloss caught the light.

Where did she know this girl from?

“I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No. I’m Phallon.”

The name didn’t help. Neither did the way Phallon looked her over, blouse to skirt to shoes and back up again. Oh, for God’s sake. Trisha had given her that same inspection at the party. It didn’t matter, though, because Nicole knew she looked good. Her ivory blouse was pressed, the narrow burgundy tie lay exactly where she wanted it, and the pleats in her charcoal skirt had survived an entire interview without getting crushed under her. She’d even polished her black Mary Janes. This girl could look all she liked.

“How do you know my name?”

Phallon tipped her head. “We have someone in common.”

As she came a little closer, Nicole caught the sweet scent of Victoria’s Secret Rapture. The bookstore. She could see this girl throwing her arms around Drew’s neck as clearly as if she were standing in Waldenbooks again.

“Can you be more specific?” Nicole asked.

“Drew.”

“Okay. How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to meet the new girl in his life.” Her smile widened a little. “You know. While it lasts.”

Nicole let out a small laugh. “Oh, this is what we’re doing?”

Phallon’s lips parted, and she seemed to lose her place.

“Hey.” She gave a little laugh of her own. “I didn’t come over here to make trouble. Us girls have to stick together. These football players aren’t shit. They’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, and then when somebody new comes along, suddenly they don’t know your number.” Phallon reached out and rested a hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “I’m just saying, when it happens, you can talk to me. I’ve been there.”

Nicole looked down at the hand, and Phallon took it back.

“You done?” Nicole asked.

“Look, girlfriend, no offense.”

“Don’t call me that. Only Drew gets to call me that.”

Phallon’s smile disappeared. Nicole hadn’t meant to enjoy that quite as much as she did.

Phallon laughed again, though it sounded different this time. “Drew doesn’t belong to anybody. I hate to be the one to break that to you.”

Nicole hugged the canvases a little closer. She had places to be, people to call, and very good news to share. Standing here while this girl worked herself into a fit had not been on the agenda.

“Well, thank you for your concern. If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped to the side, but Phallon moved with her.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me. I was only trying to warn you. He’s not who you think he is. As soon as he’s done with you, sweetie⁠—”

“I’m not your sweetie.”

“Fine. Nicole.” She stretched the name out. “Good luck. He’ll never really be with you. Not the way you think.”

Nicole stopped trying to get around her. “And why is that?”

Phallon glanced toward the students passing them, then back at Nicole. “I’m not a racist, okay?”