They slid into quick familiarity, and she simply enjoyed it without analysis. It was nice to have a friend who was a guy, and even better that Nick didn't add any of the unnecessary complications.

It didn't matter to him that she always visited wearing track pants and sweatshirts and no makeup. He looked her in the eye and ordered the pizza: half Hawaiian (for her), half Supreme (for him). He didn't give her any strange looks when she wiped her greasy fingers on her pants and rested her bare feet in his lap, stretched out across the ratty old couch like a contented cat. And then sometimes they'd meet at the gym and work out together, her spotting him at the weight bench and him rubbing out the kinks in her neck after a long workout with large, warm hands.

It was just the best sort of friendship to have, she thought. He had seen her sweaty, or drunk and in tears. She had seen him bruised up after a game, and wearing cartoon character boxers. She listened to him rant about rival football teams and he listened to her wax vitriolic about research papers and MLA-format bibliographies.

She didn't talk about her parents with him, but that didn't matter... because when they were together, she didn't think about them.

It was almost better this way.

Lita never quite realized how close they were getting until she found herself gossiping with Raye about his roommate Zach's ongoing flirtation with renouned brainiac Amy Anderson. Just as she visited Nick every Thursday, it seemed that his roommate, one flirtatious smart-ass by the name of Zach Wittington, spent his Thursday nights at organic chemistry study group, and not because he had any passing interest in benzene rings and aromatic compounds.

"And Nick says that they might very well come to the football game against Brentwood U," she chattered as she finished her chicken dinner in Beverley Hall's dining room. "I think it would be hilarious to watch that pretty boy whore try to play smooth talker with the exact sort of girl that would never..." She suddenly trailed off as she noticed Raye's expression. "Raye, why are you looking at me like I just told you that I intended to dance wearing nothing but Christmas lights on top of the psychology building?"

"Thanks for THAT mental image," Raye rolled her eyes, before resuming the raised-eyebrow look of incredulity at her roommate. "As for my expression... don't you listen to yourself a bit?"

"What do you mean?" Lita looked at her strangely.

Raye took one final sip of her lemonade, slowly set the cup down, and crossed her arms. "Obviously not... You're either being aggravating on purpose-- by the way, how is it my fault that we're out of toothpaste?-- or you're really that dense. I guess I'll just have to ask you straight-out, either way."

"Then why don't you?" Lita frowned. Raye never spoke in riddles. This was more than slightly irritating.

Raye scoffed, before fixing her sharp, piercing dark-eyed stare upon her face. "Are you dating Nick Steller or not?"