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their aliases, making women believe they’re astronauts and brain surgeons, only to have their license to lie revoked once the FBI takes them down in a sting operation. Of course, by the time the Feds get involved there are already an entire bevy of dumbasses like me left in his wake.
    I take up two parking spaces and breeze inside like I’m going to hold up the place.
    Penelope waves at me from behind the counter. She’s a sophomore who sounds like a squirrel and perhaps the only natural blonde on the planet I know. In my haste to spew my disdain for all things testosterone I breeze past her. I’ll make it up to her later. She’s forever asking to swap hours and days, and no matter how hard management tries to shuffle her around, she’s never content with the schedule. And if they hadn’t cut my hours to nil I would never be in this psychotic mood to begin with. I completely blame last night’s fiasco on my supervisor. That entire default to one-night-stand mode was nothing short of her doing for forcing me to seek employment elsewhere.
    “Get over here, girl!” Lauren springs to her feet, and her hair bobs around her ears. She’s been my roommate for the past year and like a sister since I’ve been at Garrison— better than my actual sister because she’s never landed me as the not-so-star attraction of a peep show. Although unlike Tess, she doesn’t know every little bit about me. Not that I’m deliberately keeping anything from her, it’s just that I find some things unnecessary to bring up, like the truth about Ruby’s father, and my recent stint at Pretty Girls. God , if Lauren knew I bared my assets in front of dozens of inebriated sausage slingers, and that they all but saluted me with their swords of flesh—she’d fashion a noose out of her copy of The Feminine Mystique and kick out the chair herself. Nevertheless, I miss her as a roommate—especially since she’s taking her designer closet with her. Of course, Garrison offered to find me a replacement roommate come fall, but the truth is Lauren paid for the dorm in its entirety, so there’s that.
    I offer her a brief hug and do the same with Kendall. Kendall is far too gorgeous to comprehend with her dark hair and bionic-blue eyes—sort of like the douche I had the misfortune of sleeping with last night.
    “What happened?” Lauren coaxes me into the seat between them. “Is this about a boy?” She’s already ordered a drink for me, an iced hazelnut macchiato, soy, easy ice, no whipped cream. Only a true friend can order your drink just right.
    “Oh, I don’t think he qualifies.” I slump into my seat. “Tess gave me some advice,” I start heroically, and then think twice before revealing any more about my poor judgment last night. It’s not like I’m going to mention anything about Pretty Girls, or the fact that US currency changed hands at the end of a long disastrous night during which my questionable services were employed.
    “Tess gave you advice?” Lauren looks as if someone just swiped her Prada bag. “And you took it?”
    “She’s my sister.” Not that I’m proud at the moment. “It’s not my fault she’s prone to dicey advice.” Among other things.
    Lauren cuts me with a look that could slice steel cables. “Her stripper name is Fan-tessy and she runs a quasi-escort service.” She wastes no time filling Kendall in on all the fun little deets. Sure, they’re all true, but they sound so much worse coming from a pair of perfectly glossed Stila lips.
    Kendall’s mouth falls open and appropriately so because for one, she’s sane.
    “Anyway”—I clear my throat—“I met this guy…um, while visiting my sister.” I lower my lashes and my cheeks burn with heat. “It was stupid. He was far too gorgeous, which should have been my first red flag. But I didn’t stand a chance. I brought him back, and we did it. He left before I got up this morning. End of story.” It all sounds so vanilla now that I’ve pushed