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The song passes. Another goes, and another. Wyatt and Romy match each other shot for shot in their own little frat corner. Romy is now lying across the entire right side of the couch, and Wyatt is tucked into the left. Valeria and I have been moved to the middle.

“Is anyone down for Post Malone?” Wyatt asks, eyes intent on the songbook.

Valeria’s and my legs are still touching. There’s no songbook between us now. My stomach’s so tight I swear I’m getting a workout. What even is personal space? I mean, if our thighs are touching and that’s, like, less than a foot to our crotches touching, then what’s holding me back?

I lean over to Valeria, my breath in her ear. “How many Venmo processing fees do you think we’ve gotten?”

She chuckles. “Enough to buy many, many B.K. meals.”

I drop my head to her shoulder. My cheek is against her neck, which is hot and exposed because of the short haircut. “I really like your new hair.”

Romy has somehow gotten it to look even hotter than Sid did, before she decided to get wasted and do a solo rendition of “Hellfire,” which she’s shredding right now.

“I really like how you know every word to that Natalie Portman SNL rap,” she replies.

And as she speaks, her fingers run along the seam of my shorts, leaving a trail of goose bumps. She settles her hand on the exposed skin of my side, just above my hip. I can already imagine what it would feel like if she’d just move her feather touch down. It’s sending heat through my legs, thinking about everywhere I want her to go.

This is real. I can’t even pretend this is something platonic. She’s running her fingers along my side, for god’s sake. Fuck.

Romy’s song ends.

“What about Spice Girls?” Valeria asks the room like a true millennial.

Romy all but jumps up from her spot on the couch. “Fuck yeah, I do!” she slurs.

She then proceeds to crawl through the minefield of drinks on the table just to squeeze in between Wyatt and Valeria. We scoot over to accommodate Tweedle Dumb and Dumber, who, for all that they’ve been useless wingpeople, have been helping calm my nerves. I think. Or maybe that’s just the drugs.

We pick “Wannabe” like basic bitches.

More songs pass. The clock on our allotted time slides by. Bodies move across the room again. Wyatt’s stopped, but Romy’s still drinking. I shift from waves of concern to pinches of annoyance. Valeria might just think this is what Romy’s like, but doesn’t Romy know I know better? Of all the nights to get wasted, she chose this one? Maybe she didn’t mean to get this drunk, but I can’t shake the bad feeling.

“I think we’re out of here soon,” Wyatt says. “One more song.”

At this point, Romy’s all but gone. Her head is in Wyatt’s lap as she attempts to throw popcorn into her mouth, which is cool and all, but it’s nothing like having Valeria’s head in my lap right now, our hands lazily interlaced as she flips through the book one more time.

“Any suggestions, birthday girl?” Valeria asks me, smiling.

“It’s your birth—?” Romy says before Wyatt covers her mouth.

“Do you want some water, Rom?” he asks.

“How about a Beatles number, scholar?” I say.

“Which one?” Valeria says. “ ‘Happiness Is a Warm Gun’? ‘She Came in through the Bathroom Window’?”

I select “Come Together” and make sure Valeria doesn’t see my choice. She sits up, slides next to me so we’re back to side-body contact, her hand in my lap. One look at the screen and she starts laughing.

When the song starts, it’s like the world truly does fall away—Romy’s mysterious decision to get drunk, Wyatt’s random outbursts of Hollywood networking sleaze, everything else that’s ever been on my mind. All that’s left is the reflection of the colored lights off Valeria’s eyes and the buzzed air between us. The buzzed air and my buzzed heart, all sending buzz to every bone in my body. It’s never been like this before. Part of me thought it never would.

And when Valeria sings, “Got to be good-looking ’cause she’s so hard to see,” I want to write poetry about it.

I take her hand. Not as a tease, not as an uncertainty, not as a question. As an answer. I like you, and you like me back. She wraps her fingers around mine. We finish the last lines of the song, and my body sways, like my sense of balance has gone out the window. I lean back against the sofa, and Valeria leans back with me. Her arm snakes around my shoulders.

I catch only a glimpse of Romy looking at me, but there’s a certain stiffness in her posture, a set to her lips that makes her seem more sober than I know she is.

She turns to Wyatt. “Hey, I think we should go. I have an early day tomorrow.”

My stomach flips. Our code. I take a deep breath. This is really happening.