I step away from my dad. This is just awkward. For him mostly. "Okay, Pops. Run along."

Dad grins at me. He knows what I'm thinking. Then he points at me. "Really proud of this guy."

"You should be." Alexa takes Dad's arm, "accidentally" managing to press her chest against him. "He's a cute one."

"Well. Homework to do. Nice meeting you," I tell Alexa.

With a jaunty salute my way, Dad and Blondie leave.

Got to hand it to him. The guy's still got it.

Of course thinking about Dad and Alexa makes me think once more about Ally in that top and, abracadabra, I'm hard again.

I sigh and go take that cold shower.

An hour later, Ian is over and we're attempting to make dinner with whatever we find in the kitchen.

I'm filling Ian in on what happened with Ally, which is complicated by the fact that he's being a p.u.s.s.y and keeping his hands over his ears.

"Like a sister, mate," Ian says. "Don't want to hear this."

I hand him a chopping knife, forcing him to lower his hands. "How do you think I feel? I'm not supposed to get hard over her. It's Ally. My best friend since forever. She's not even a girl to me."

"Apparently she is," Ian shoots back, slicing cheese for the grilling of bread.

I get the mustard out of the fridge. "I feel like the creepy relative. There I was with one of the most raging-"

"Hey, Uncle Bad Touch. Shut it, already. Don't want to know."

"Over and over again," I groan. "Is this gonna happen every time I help her score guys? I'm gonna get turned on myself? I can't go there."

Ian shrugs. "Tell her she's on her own."

I throw some b.u.t.ter in a heated pan and watch it sizzle, thoughtful. "She's not ready to be on her own. All of this remains theoretical."

"Except the hot part," Ian adds unhelpfully.

"Yeah. Thanks." I stick the sandwiches in the pan. "Except that. Alright. Here's the plan. She'll get her first success and then I don't have to be around that part of her. She can go back to being regular Ally for me."

"She better. I have a knife and I'm not afraid to let Rachel use it," Ian says, pointing it toward my groin.

"If she doesn't, I'll use the d.a.m.n thing on myself."

Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled Ally cleaned up so well. But my entire life, I've sorted girls into two different categories: chicks I wanted to hook up with (the urges started young) and females that were just friends or teachers or people's moms or whatever.

And it has nothing to do with looks. I've slept with girls who wouldn't be considered conventionally pretty but who had a spark. Maybe they had a great laugh or s.e.xy walk, but whatever it was, there was an instant attraction.

Then there was Ally. More than just a friend. The friend. I couldn't remember her not being in my life and I couldn't see my life without her. She just is. A category all on her own.

So suddenly seeing her as not just female but spark-worthy is head tripping me big time. I don't want to sleep with her, because first and foremost she is still Ally, but my brain is identifying her as a female I should want to sleep with.

You can see how it can mess with a guy's mind.

It's like realizing your parents have s.e.x. You love them as your parents but you sure as h.e.l.l don't need to think of them getting it on. Certain categories are supposed to be set in stone.

"Sam!" Ian's sharp call brings me back in time to save our sandwiches from burning.

The kitten, who I kept because I couldn't risk her being put down if I took her to an animal shelter, jumps on the counter.

"There really was a cat," Ian muses.

I snap my fingers. "Attila, down."

Instead, she licks a corner of one sandwich.

"That's yours," Ian says, grossed out.

"You think?" I reply, setting the plate on the floor.

"Are cats supposed to eat that?" he asks.

I shrug. "No idea. This is new territory for me." I look at Attila, happily nibbling away at the grilled cheese, and pull out two slices of bread for my new sandwich. "As long as everyone's happy, I can't see the problem."

After dinner, I ask Ian if he wants to go out. There's always some kind of party happening in a rented club or warehouse.

But he'd rather be with Rachel, so I call Ally up and tell her to get dressed. No time like the present to kick that little bird out of the nest and let her fly. Or at least master controlling it. Get one step closer to the end of the insanity.

I head for this nondescript building that used to be a rave staple. The glow stick bunnies and oxygen-huffing boys have moved on but the s.p.a.ce has kept the great DJ's and lack of a liquor license.

Outside, musclehead bouncers get off on deciding which teen gets let into the s.k.a.n.ky box and who has to wait like a n.o.body.

Of course I get in, no problem. I'd like to think it's because of my cool charm that will pull girls into the club like a magnet, but the free movie vouchers I give the bouncer occasionally probably help.

The techno music is loud and ba.s.s-heavy but only a few people are dancing. More are chatting or, more specifically, scoping each other out, because the night is young. And the crowd is h.o.r.n.y.

Ally has texted me that she's already inside. I figure it's a good sign she got in on her own, because her old look would have had her waiting outside until she froze. I scope the room out for her.

Whoa. Where did she get that dress? It's red and there isn't very much of it. I see Rachel written all over the thing and curse her for getting involved.

Ally is perched unsteadily on a high stool at a small table, legs crossed, which look about ten miles long in her heels.

I take a deep swig of c.o.ke then hold it up to her as a sort of cheers.

She smiles and waves enthusiastically.

Take two. I shake my head and make my way over to her table, weaving through a giant clique of girls who have just started dancing.

I escape with only minor jostles and get to her, only to find to my shock and dismay that Etienne is there, chatting her up.

I have no problem interrupting. "You're not supposed to wave," I tell her. "You need the definition of *disinterest' tattooed on you?"

Ally makes a dismissive gesture, sure of herself as usual. "In my opinion, coy yet approachable will work better than disinterested."

"First, that wasn't coy," I tell her "and second, when you become the expert on pulling the opposite s.e.x, we can try it your way."

I face Etienne. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you."

Yeah, right.

He shrugs. "I called your house. Your father said where you were. This is your friend, Ally?"

He sounds genuinely surprised and I realize they've never actually met. "Ally, Etienne. There. Now bye-bye."

Big shocker, he ignores me. "She is loveliness incarnate. Why do you always speak of your friend "old" Ally? Sam, you are really a douche."

"*Old?'" Ally asks. "Is this how you get women? You insult them and they fall to your feet in a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic heap?"

"The roofies help," Etienne adds.

I elbow him sharply. "*Old friend,' a.s.shole. Not old. Etienne has a tenuous grip on the language," I explain to Ally. "And reality."

"Allow me to buy you a drink," Etienne charms. "Better yet..." He pulls a flask from his jacket and uncaps it.

"That's so sweet."

I can't believe her. I shoot her an incredulous glance and she gives me a "what?" shrug. I guess she's trying to stay with the program.

"No," I say. "It's disruptive." Could he be more annoying right now?

"Tequila?" Etienne motions at the flask. "The worm is especially potent."

"Actually," Ally says, "that's a myth. It would violate all kinds of laws in Mexico if there were really worms."

"I had one once," Etienne disagrees.

"No. What you probably had was a b.u.t.terfly larva found in some types of Oaxacan Mezcal. The worm in Mezcal isn't even a traditional element in-"

"Fascinating," I cut in. "Now try again. Like you actually mean it."

"I mean it," she protests.

"Because nothing says do me like *I've had worms.'"

Ally turns to Etienne, only to find him scoping out her chest.

"h.e.l.lo. My eyes are up here."

"I'm aware," he replies.

"The only interesting and environmentally appropriate trivia," I continue bringing her back on topic, "is the many ways Tab B fits into Slot A."

She ignores me some more. Doesn't matter. If she keeps going like this, she'll lose him soon enough and then we can focus.

Ally snaps her fingers under Etienne's nose. He finally looks up.

"There. That wasn't so hard was it?" She plasters on a fake smile that still makes her look annoyed.

Etienne shoots me a glance. "She's kidding, right?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

Etienne looks appalled. Some blond in a purple tutu pa.s.ses by and smiles at Etienne. He follows her.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Ally swears. "Fine. What now?"

"You scared off a Frenchman. I'm stymied."

She stares at me skeptically then points out an average-looking guy flailing around in a sad approximation of dancing. "Maybe I could start lower on the food chain."

"Your first time as *evolved owning your s.e.xuality' Ally does not involve bottom feeding. Nor does it involve accessing your inner Bill Nye."

Ally sticks her tongue out at me then surveys the room.

We see an uptight girl chat up some sour-looking Republican who looks bored and a ditzy looking trendazoid staring wide-eyed up at two frat boys, who seem to be doing all the talking. She touches them a lot and they're falling over themselves to impress her.

Neither approach is right for Ally, in my opinion, but she needs to figure some of this out on her own, so I leave her to her own devices and head back to the bar area to get a refill.

c.o.ke in hand, I sweep through the room like I own the place.

Given the flirty looks shot at me by girls, I do.

As I recognize some faces, I realize that not everyone here is a high school senior. There is, in fact, a pretty good representation of my favorite college delights.

Before I can pick out which morsel to go for, I accidentally b.u.mp into a pixie-like girl.

Choice made.

"Sam," she says, surprised.

s.h.i.t. "Hey gorgeous," I cover, having no clue what her name is. "Good to see you again."

I lean in and kiss her cheek.

"You too," she replies. "I haven't seen you since..."

She waits for me to finish. She's good.