My heart nearly bursts through my chest as I read the text message: See you tomorrow, beautiful.

I bite my lower lip to keep from grinning like an idiot, shoving my phone into the couch cushions just as Cherish turns the corner from the kitchen, holding two margaritas like trophies.

She eyes me suspiciously, handing me one. “Here you go, love.”

“Thanks,” I say, casually—too casually—and grab the glass like I’m not freaking out inside.

She settles beside me, takes a long sip, and stares at me over the rim of her glass. “Okay,” she says slowly, “what’s got you all smile?”

I turn my face toward the TV, flushing, taking a sip of my drink to stall. It doesn’t work.

Cherish swats my arm. “Bitch, you better spill it!”

I snort. “Fine, fine.”

She sets her glass down and claps her hands, practically bouncing. “YAY! Tell me. Who was it?? I know you were texting someone!”

“Geez…” I roll my eyes, half-laughing. “Calm down. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is a big deal! You’ve been smiling at your phone for two weeks like you’re in a damn rom-com.”

I groan and finally give in. “His name’s Ronnie. Ronnie Phillips. We’ve been talking and texting, and we’re supposed to meet tomorrow night.”

For a second, I think she didn’t hear me. Her face freezes, margarita glass paused in midair.

Then she slowly sets it down. “Wait… Ronnie Phillips?”

I blink. “Yeah…? What’s wrong with that?” I inch back a little, chewing on my thumbnail, my stomach tightening. Her face changes in this weird, quiet way that makes my chest go cold.

Cherish stares into her glass and absently stirs the ice with her straw, eyes getting glassy. She doesn’t say anything.

“Dude,” I whisper. “What the hell? Tell me.”

She looks up at me, heartbroken and calm in a way that feels scarier than if she’d started screaming.

“You really don’t know?”

“No! I swear, I don’t know anything, girl!” My voice cracks, and my throat feels dry.

She lets out a small breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “He’s the guy that beat me up last summer. Put me in the hospital.”

My margarita nearly slips from my hand. My heart stops. “Oh my fucking God, Cherish…” I stare at her, eyes wide, barely able to breathe. “I had no idea.”

She shrugs, forcing a smile that crumbles at the edges. “It’s OK. You didn’t know. How could you? We’ve only known each other a couple months.”

I start to cry. “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other. If I were a real friend, I wouldn’t have been hiding who I was talking to. You would’ve known. Friends are supposed to tell each other that kind of stuff.”

Cherish wipes under her eyes and gives me a real smile this time, soft and sad. “I swear, it’s OK. I just don’t want you mixed up with someone who’s gonna hurt you.”

I shake my head, sniffling. “You really think I’d still be with him now that I know what he did to you? Girl, come on.”

She throws her arms around me, squeezing tight. I hug her back like I’m afraid to let go.

Then she pulls away, stands up, swipes at her face with both hands, and says, “I think we’re gonna need another margarita.”