Cover

Addicted to You

ADDICTED TO YOU

BY KRISTA & BECCA RITCHIE

ABOUT THE BOOK

ABOUT THE BOOK

ADDICTED TO YOU

She’s addicted to sex. He’s addicted to booze…the only way out is rock

bo om.

No one would suspect shy Lily Calloway’s biggest secret. While everyone is

dancing at college bars, Lily stays in the bathroom. To get laid. Her

compulsion leads her to one-night stands, steamy hookups and events she

shamefully regrets. The only person who knows her secret happens to have

one of his own.

Loren Hale’s best friend is his bo le of bourbon. Lily comes at a close

second. For three years, they’ve pretended to be in a real rela onship,

hiding their addic ons from their families. They’ve mastered the art of

concealing asks and random guys that lter in and out of their apartment.

But as they sink beneath the weight of their addic ons, they cling harder

to their destruc ve rela onship and wonder if a life together, for real, is

be er than a lie. Strangers and family begin to in ltrate their guarded lives,

and with new challenges, they realize they may not just be addicted to

alcohol and sex.

Their real vice may be each other.

PLAYLIST

PLAYLIST

Wildest Moments - Jessie Ware Trembling Hands - The Temper Trap Pasadena - Modern Skirts Lose Your Soul - Dead Man’s Bones Let It Go -Fossil Collec ve Two Fingers - Jake Bugg Lost in My Mind - The Head and the Heart Pleasant Street/You Keep Me Hanging On - Tim Buckley Animal -Miike Snow

Listen to the ADDICTED TO YOU playlist on Spo fy

Also nd individual character playlists on Spo fy

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

I WAKE UP. My shirt crumpled on a fuzzy carpet. My shorts astray on a dresser. And I think my underwear is lost for good. Somewhere between the folds of the sheets or maybe hidden by the doorway. I can’t remember when I took them o or if that was even my doing. Maybe he undressed me.

My neck heats as I take a quick peek at the sleeping beauty, some guy with golden hair and a scar along his hipbone. He turns a frac on, facing me and I freeze. His eyes stay shut, and he groggily clings to his pillow, prac cally kissing the white fabric. As he lets out breathy snores, his mouth open, the strong scent of alcohol and pepperoni pizza wa s right towards me.

I sure know how to choose ‘em.

I masterfully slip from the bed and ptoe around his apartment, yanking on my black shorts—sans pan es, another pair gone to a nameless guy. As I pick up my ripped gray tee, ta ered and prac cally in shreds, the foggy image of last night clears. I stepped through the threshold of his room and literally tore my clothes o like the raging Hulk. Was that even sexy? I cringe. Must have been sexy enough to sleep with me.

Desperate, I nd a discolored muscle tee on his oor and manage to tug it over my shoulder-length brown hair, the straight strands tangled and greasy. That’s when I nd my woolen hat. Bingo. I smack that baby on and hightail it out of his bedroom.

Empty beer cans sca er the narrow hallway, and I stumble over a bo le of Jack Daniels, lled with black spi le and what looks like a Jolly Rancher. A photo collage of inebriated college girls decorates the door to my le —thankfully not the room I exited. Somehow I was able to dodge that Kappa Phi Delta horn dog and nd a guy that doesn’t adver se his conquests.

I should know be er. I swore o frat houses a er my last encounter at Alpha Omega Zeta. The night I arrived at fraternity row, AOZ was hos ng a theme party. Unaware, I stepped through the four-story building’s archway to be met with buckets of water and guys chan ng for me to rip o my bra. It was like Spring Break gone awry. Not that I have much in the upstairs department to show o . Before I convulsed in embarrassment, I ducked underneath arms, wedged between torsos and found pleasure at other places and with other people.

Ones that didn’t make me feel like a cow being appraised.

Last night I broke a rule. Why? I have a problem. Well, I have many problems. But saying no happens to be one of them. When Kappa Phi Delta announced that Skrillex would be playing in their basement, I thought the crowd would be a mixture of sorority girls and regular college folk. Maybe I’d be able to land a normal guy who likes house music. Turns out, the demographic centered on frat guys. Lots of them. Preying on anyone with two boobs and a vagina.

And Skrillex never showed. It was just a lame DJ and a few amps. Go

gure.

Deep, male voices echo o the marble balusters on the balcony and staircase, and my feet cement by the wall. People are awake? Downstairs? Oh no.

The walk of shame is a venture I plan to avoid all four years of collegiate society. For one, I blush. Like intense tomato-red. No cute

ushed cheeks. Just rash-like patches that dot my neck and arms as if I’m

allergic to embarrassment.

The male laughter intensi es, and my stomach knots at the nightmarish image spinning in my mind. The one where I stumble down the stairs and all heads whip in my direc on. The look of surprise coats their faces, wondering what “brother” of theirs decided to hook up with a at-chested, gaunt girl. Maybe they’ll throw a chicken bone at me, teasing me to eat.

Sadly that happened in fourth grade.

Likely, I’ll spu er unintelligible words un l one of them takes pity on my aming red, leopard spots and shu es me out of their door like unwanted garbage.

This was such a mistake (the frat house, not the sex). Never again will I be forced to hoover tequila shots like a vacuum. Peer pressure. It’s a real thing.

My op ons are limited. One staircase. One fate. Unless I happen to grow a pair of wings and y out of the second- oor window, I’m about to face the walk of shame. I creep to the balcony and suddenly envy Veil from one of my newer comics. The young Avenger can vaporize into nothingness. A power I could surely use right now.

As soon as I reach the top step, the doorbell rings and I peek over the railing. About ten fraternity brothers are gathered on leather sofas, dressed in various versions of khaki shorts and collared shirts. The most lucid guy nominates himself for door-duty. He manages to stand on two feet, his brown hair swept back and his jaw in mida ngly squared. As he answers the door, my spirits li .

Yes! This is my one opportunity to dash out unseen.

I use the distrac on to glide down the steps undetected, channeling my inner-Veil. Halfway to the bo om, Squared-jaw leans on the door frame, blocking the entrance. “Party’s over, man.” The words sound co ony in his mouth. He lets the door swing shut in the person’s face.

I hop over two more stairs.

The bell rings again. For some reason, it sounds angrier.

Squared-jaw groans and yanks the knob hard. “What?”

Another frat guy laughs. “Just give him a beer and tell him to piss o .”

A few more steps. Maybe I can really do this. I’ve never been a par cularly lucky person, but I suppose I’m due for a dose.

Squared-jaw keeps his hand planted on the frame, s ll blocking the passage. “Speak.”

“First of all, does it look like I can’t read a clock or furthermore don’t know what day me looks like? No shit, there’s no party.” Holy…I know that voice.

I stay planted three-quarters down. Sunshine trickles through a ny space between the door frame and Squared-jaw’s tangerine-orange Polo. He clenches his teeth, about ready to slam the door back in the other guy’s face, but the intruder puts his hand on it and says, “I le something here last night.”

“I don’t remember you being here.”

“I was.” He pauses. “Brie y.”

“We have a lost and found,” Squared-jaw says curtly. “What is it?” He edges away from the door frame and nods to someone on the couch. They watch the scene like a reality rerun on MTV. “Jason, go grab the box.”

When I glance back, I no ce the guy outside. Eyes right on me.

“No need,” he says.

I sweep his features. Light brown hair, short on either side, full on top. Decently toned body hidden beneath a pair of faded Dockers and a black crew-neck tee. Cheekbones that cut like ice and eyes like liquid scotch. Loren Hale is an alcoholic beverage and he doesn’t even know it.

All six-foot-two of him lls the doorway.

As he stares at me, he wears a mixture of amusement and irrita on, the muscles in his jaw twitching with both. The frat guys follow his gaze and zero in on the target.

Me.

I may as well have reanimated from thin air.

“Found her,” Lo says with a ght, bi er smile.

Heat rises to my face, and I use my hands as human blinders, trying to cover my humilia on as I prac cally sprint to the door.

Squared-jaw laughs like he won their masculine showdown. “Your girlfriend is a skank, man.”

I hear no more. The brisk September air lls my lungs, and Lo bangs the door closed with more force than he probably intended. I cower in my hands, pressing them to my hot cheeks as the event replays in my head. Oh. My. God.

Lo swoops in behind me, his arms ying around my waist. He sets his chin on my shoulder, hunching over a li le to counter my short height with his tall. “He be er have been worth it,” Lo whispers, his hot breath ckling my neck.

“Worth what?” My heart lodges in my throat; his closeness confuses and tempts me. I never know where Lo’s true inten ons lie.

He guides me forward as we walk, my back s ll pressed against his chest. I can barely li up a foot, let alone think straight. “Your rst walk of shame in a frat house. How’d that feel?”

“Shameful.”

He plants a light kiss on my head and disentangles from me, walking forward. “Pick it up, Calloway. I le my drink in the car.”

My eyes begin to widen as I process what this means, gradually forge ng the horrors that just occurred. “You didn’t drive, did you?”

He ashes me a look like really, Lily? “Seeing as how my usual DD was unavailable”—he raises his eyebrows accusingly—“I called Nola.”

He called my personal driver, and I don’t begin to ask why he decided to forgo his own chau eur that would gladly cart him around Philadelphia. Anderson has loose lips. In ninth grade when Chloe Holbrook threw a rager, Lo and I may have been discussing illegal narco cs that were passed from hand to hand at her mother’s mansion. Backseat conversa ons should be considered private among all car-par cipants. Anderson must not have realized this unspoken rule because the next day, our rooms were raided for illegal paraphernalia. Luckily, the maid forgot to search in the fake

replace where I used to keep my X-rated box of toys.

We came away clean from the incident and learned a very important lesson. Never trust Anderson.

I prefer to not use my family’s car service and thus embed myself further in their grips, but some mes Nola is a necessity. Like now. When I’m slightly hungover and unable to drive the perpetually drunk Loren Hale.

He has knighted me as his personal sober driver and refuses to shell out money to any cab services a er we were almost mugged in one. We never told our parents what happened. Never explained to them how close we were to something horrible. Mostly because we spent that a ernoon at a bar with two fake IDs. Lo guzzled more whiskey than a grown man. And I had sex in a public bathroom for the very rst me. Our indecencies became our rituals, and our families didn’t need to know about them.

My black Escalade is parked on the curb of frat row. Mul -million dollar houses line up, each outdoing the next in column sizes. Red Solo cups li er the nearest yard, an overturned keg splaying sadly in the grass. Lo walks ahead of me.

“I didn’t think you were going to show,” I say and skirt past a puddle of barf in the road.

“I said I would.”

I snort. “That’s not always accurate.”

He halts by the car door, the windows too nted to see Nola wai ng in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, but this is Kappa Phi Delta. You screw one and they may all want a piece of your ass. I seriously had nightmares about it.”

I grimace. “About me ge ng raped?”

“That’s why they’re called nightmares, Lily. They’re not supposed to be pleasant.”

“Well this is probably my last expedi on into a frat house for another decade or at least un l I forget about this morning.”

The driver’s window rolls down. Nola’s deep black curls caress her heart-shaped face. “I have to pick up Miss Calloway from the airport in an hour.”

“We’ll be ready in a minute,” I tell her. The window slides up, blocking her from view.

“Which Miss Calloway?” Lo asks.

“Daisy. Fashion Week just ended in Paris.” My li le sister shot up overnight to a staggering ve-foot-eleven inches, and with her rail-like frame she t the mold for high fashion. My mother capitalized on Daisy’s beauty in an instant. Within the week of her fourteenth birthday, she was signed to IMG modeling agency.

Lo’s ngers twitch by his side. “She’s een and probably surrounded

by older models blowing lines in a bathroom.”

“I’m sure they sent someone with her.” I hate that I don’t know the details. Since I arrived at the University of Pennsylvania, I acquired the rude hobby of dodging phone calls and visits. Separa ng from the Calloway household became all too easy once I entered college. I suppose that has always been wri en for me. I used to push the boundaries of my curfew and spent li le me in the company of my mother and father.

Lo says, “I’m glad I don’t have siblings. Frankly, you have enough for me.”

I never considered having three sisters to be a big brood, but a family of six does garner some unique a en on.

He rubs his eyes wearily. “Okay, I need a drink and we need to go.”

I inhale a deep breath, about to ask a ques on we’ve both avoided thus far. “Are we pretending today?” With Nola so close, it’s always a tossup. On one hand, she’s never betrayed our trust. Not even in the tenth grade when I used the backseat of a limo to screw a senior soccer player. The privacy screen was up, blocking Nola’s view, but he grunted a li le too loud and I knocked into the door a li le too hard. Of course she heard, but she never ra ed me out.

There’s always the risk that one day she’ll betray us. Cash loosens lips, and unfortunately, our fathers are swimming in it.

I shouldn’t care. I’m twenty. Free to have sex. Free to party. You know, all the things expected of college-aged adults. But my laundry list of dirty (like really dirty) secrets could create a scandal within my family’s circle of friends. My father’s company would not appreciate that publicity one bit. If my mother knew my serious problem, she’d send me away for rehab and counseling un l I was xed up nicely. I don’t want to be xed. I just want to live and feed my appe te. It just so happens that my appe te is a sexual one.

Plus, my trust fund would magically vanish at the sight of my impropriety. I’m not ready to walk away from the money that pays my way through college. Lo’s family is equally unforgiving.

“We’ll pretend,” he tells me. “Come on, love.” He taps my ass. “Into the car.” I barely stumble on his frequent use of love. In middle school, I told him how I thought it was the sexiest term of endearment. And even though Bri sh guys have claimed stake to it, Lo took it as his own.

I scru nize him, and he breaks into a wide smile.

“Has the walk of shame crippled you?” he asks. “Do I need to carry you into the threshold of the Escalade too?”

“That’s unnecessary.”

His crooked grin makes it hard not to smile back. Lo purposefully leans in close to tease me, and he slips a hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “If you don’t unfreeze yourself from this state, I’m going to spin you around. Hard.”

My chest collapses. Oh my…I bite my lip, imagining what sex would be like with Loren Hale. The rst me was too long ago to remember well. I shake my head. Don’t go there. I turn around to open the door and climb in the Escalade, but a huge realiza on hits me.

“Nola drove to fraternity row…I’m dead. Ohmygod. I’m dead.” I run two hands through my hair and begin to breathe like a beached whale. I have no good excuse to be here other than I was searching for a guy to sleep with. And that’s the answer I’m trying to avoid. Especially since our parents think Lo and I are in a serious rela onship—one that changed his dangerous partying ways and reformed him into a young man that his father can be proud of.

This, picking me up from a frat party with the faint smell of whiskey on his breath, is not what his father has in mind for his son. It is not something he’d condone or even accept. In fact, he’d probably scream at Lo and threaten him with his trust fund. Unless we want to say goodbye to our luxuries from our inherited wealth, we have to pretend to be together. And pretend that we’re two perfectly func oning, perfectly well-kept human beings.

And we’re just not. We’re not. My arms shake.

“Whoa!” Lo places his hands on my shoulders. “Relax, Lil. I told Nola that your friend had a birthday brunch. You’re covered.”

My head s ll feels like it’ll oat away, but at least that’s be er than the truth. Hey Nola, we need to pick up Lily from frat row where she had a one-night stand with some loser. And then she’d look at Lo, wai ng for him to explode in jealousy. And he’d add: Oh yeah, I’m only her boyfriend when I need to be. Fooled you!

Lo senses my anxiety. “She’s not going to nd out.” He squeezes my shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says impa ently. He slides in the car, and I follow behind. Nola puts the Escalade in gear.

“Back to the Drake, Miss Calloway?” A er years of asking her to call me anything, even li le girl (for some reason, I thought that would en ce her to drop the whole act, but I think I only o ended her instead), I gave up the a empt. I swear my dad pays her extra for the formality.

“Yes,” I say, and she heads towards the Drake apartment complex.

Lo nurses a co ee thermos, and even though he takes big gulps, I’m certain that the ca einated beverage does not ll it. I nd a can of Diet Fizz in the center cooler-console and snap it open. The dark carbonated liquid soothes my restless stomach.

Lo drapes an arm across my shoulder, and I lean into his hard chest a

ny bit.

Nola glances in the rearview mirror. “Was Mr. Hale not invited to the birthday brunch?” she asks, being friendly. S ll, any me Nola goes into ques on-mode, it jostles my nerves and triggers paranoia.

“I’m not as popular as Lily,” Lo answers for me. He has always been a much be er liar. I blame it on the fact that he’s constantly inebriated. I’d be a far more con dent, self-assured Lily if I was downing bourbon all day.

Nola laughs, her plump belly hi ng the steering wheel with each chortle. “I’m sure you’re just as popular as Miss Calloway.”

Anyone (apparently Nola too) would assume that Lo has friends. On an a rac veness scale, he ranges right between a lead singer from a rock band you’d like to fuck and a runway model for Burberry and Calvin Klein. Although, he’s never been in a band, but a modeling agency did scout him once, wan ng him for a Burberry campaign. They retracted the o er a er seeing him drink straight from a nearly empty bo le of whiskey. The fashion industry has standards too.

Lo should have lots of friends. Mostly of the female kind. And usually they do come ocking. But not for long.

The car travels along another street, and I count the minutes in my head. Lo angles his body towards me while his ngers brush my bare shoulder, almost lovingly. I make brief eye contact, my neck burning as his deep gaze enters mine. I swallow hard and try not to break it. Since we’re supposed to be da ng, I shouldn’t be afraid of his amber eyes like an awkward, insecure girl.

Lo says, “Charlie is playing sax tonight at Eight Ball. He invited us to go watch him.”

“I don’t have plans.” Lie. A new club opened up downtown called The Blue Room. Literally, everything is said to be blue. Even the drinks. I’m not missing the opportunity to hook up in a blue bathroom. Hopefully with blue toilet seats.

“It’s a date.”

Silence (of the awkward variety) thickens a er his words die in the air. Normally, I’d be talking to him about The Blue Room and my nefarious inten ons tonight, making plans since I am his DD. But in the censored car, it’s more di cult to start R-rated conversa ons.

“Is the fridge stocked? I’m starving.”

“I just went to the grocery store,” he tells me. I narrow my eyes, ques oning whether he’s lying to play the part of a good boyfriend or if he really did make a Whole Foods run. My stomach growls. At least we all know I didn’t lie.

His jaw ghtens, pissed that I don’t know a b from a truth. Normally I do, but some mes when he’s so nonchalant, the lines blur. “I bought lemon meringue pie. Your favorite.”

I internally gag. “You shouldn’t have.” No, you really shouldn’t have. I hate lemon meringue. Obviously he wants Nola to think he’s an upstanding boyfriend, but the only girlfriend Loren Hale will ever treat well is his bo le of bourbon.

We stop at a tra c light, now only a few blocks from the apartment complex. I can taste freedom, and Lo’s arm begins to feel more like a weight than a comfor ng appendage across my shoulders.

“Was this a casual event, Miss Calloway?” Nola asks. What? Oh…shit. Her eyes plant on the muscle-tee I snatched from the frat guy’s oor. Stained and o -white with God knows what.

“Umm, I-I,” I stammer. Lo s ens next to me. He grips his thermos and

chugs the rest of his drink. “I-I spilled some orange juice on my top. It was really embarrassing.” Was that even a lie?

My face ames uncontrollably, and for the rst me, I welcome the rash-like patches. Nola gazes sympathe cally. She’s known me since I was too shy to say the Pledge of Allegiance in kindergarten. Age ve and mid. Pre y much sums up my rst years of existence.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she consoles.

The light ickers to green and she redirects her a en on to the road.

Unscathed, we make it to the Drake. A towering chestnut-brick structure juts up in the heart of the city. The historic 33-story complex boards thousands and teeters into a triangle at the apex. With Spanish Baroque in uences, it looks a cross between a Spaniard cathedral and a regular old Philly hotel.

I love it enough to call it home.

Nola o ers a goodbye and I tell her thanks before hopping from the Escalade. My feet no sooner hit the curb than Lo clasps his hand in mine. His other ngers run over the smoothness of my neck, and his eyes trail my collar. He sets his hands on the openings of my muscle shirt, touching the bareness of my ribs but also concealing my breasts from Philly pedestrians.

He observes me. Every li le movement. And my heart speeds. “Is she watching us?” I whisper, wondering why he suddenly looks like he wants to devour me. It’s part of our lie, I remind myself. This isn’t real.

But it feels real. His hands on me. His warmth on my so skin.

He licks his bo om lip and leans closer to whisper, “In this moment, I’m yours.” His hands run through the armholes of my shirt and he se les them on my bare shoulder blades.

I hold my breath and immobilize. I am a statue.

“And as your boyfriend,” he murmurs, “I really hate to share.” Then he playfully nibbles my neck, and I smack him on the arm but fall vic m to his teasing.

“Lo!” I shriek, my body squirming underneath his teeth that lightly pinches my skin. Suddenly, his lips close together, kissing, sucking the base of my neck, and trailing upward. My limbs tremble, and I hold ghtly to his belt loops. He smiles, in between each kiss, knowing the e ect he has on me. His lips press to my jaw…the corner of my mouth…he pauses. And I restrain from taking him in my arms and nishing the job.

Then he slips his tongue inside my mouth, and I forget about the fakeness of his ac ons and believe, for this moment, that he’s truly mine. I kiss back, a moan caught in my throat. The sound invigorates him, and he pushes closer, harder, rougher than before. Yes.

And then I open my eyes and see the absence of the Escalade on the curb. Nola’s gone. I don’t want this to end, but I know it must. So I break the kiss rst, touching my lips that swell.

His chest rises and falls heavily, and he stares at me for a long moment, not detaching.

“She’s gone,” I tell him. I hate what my body eagerly aches for. I could so easily hike a leg around his waist and slam him against the building. My heart u ers in excitement for it. I am not immune to those warm amber eyes, the ones that a func oning alcoholic like Lo carries. Endearing, glazed and powerful. The ones that constantly scream fuck me! That torture me from here un l eternity.

With my spoken words, his jaw hardens. Slowly, he peels his hands from me and then rubs his mouth. Tension stretches between us, and my very core says to jump, to pounce on him like a li le Bengal Tiger. But I can’t. Because he’s Loren Hale. Because we have a system that cannot be disrupted.

A er a long moment, something clicks in his head, horri ed. “Tell me you didn’t blow some guy.”

Oh my God. “I…uh…”

“Dammit, Lily.” He starts wiping his tongue with his ngers and drama cally takes what’s le of his ask and swishes it in his mouth, spi ng it out on the ground.

“I forgot,” I cringe. “I would have warned you…”

“I’m sure.”

“I didn’t know you were going to kiss me!” I try to defend. Or else I would have found toothpaste in that frat’s bathroom. Or some mouthwash.

“We’re together,” he says back. “Of course I’m going to fucking kiss you.” With this, he pockets his ask and aims his sights on the entrance to the Drake. “I’ll see you inside.” He spins around, walking backwards. “You know, in our apartment. That we share, as a couple.” He smiles that bi er smile. “Don’t be too long, love.” He winks. And part of me u erly and completely crumbles to mush. The other part is just plain confused.

Reading Lo’s inten ons hurts my head. I trail behind, trying to unmask his true feelings. Was that pretend? Or was that real?

I shake o my doubts. We’re in a three-year long fake rela onship. We live together. He’s heard me orgasm from one room over. I’ve seen him sleep in his own puke. And even though our parents believe we’re one small step from engagement, we’ll never have sex again. It happened once, and that has to be enough.

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

I INSPECT the refrigerator’s contents. Champagne and expensive brands of arum cram in most of the space. I open a drawer and discover a pathe c bag of carrot s cks. As a girl who frequently burns o thousands of calories by grinding on pelvises, I need my protein. I’ve heard enough mean comments about my emaciated gure to wish for meat on my ribs. Girls can be cruel.

“I can’t believe you lied about groceries,” I say, irritable. I slam the fridge closed and jump on the counter. For however historic the Drake claims to be, the inside looks more like a modern escape. White and silver appliances. White countertops. White ceilings and walls. If it wasn’t for our red and gray upholstered furniture and framed Warhol-inspired art décor, we’d be living in a hospital.

“If I knew I was going to make a pit stop at Douchebag Row, I would have bought you a bagel at Lucky’s.”

I glare. “You ate this morning?”

He gives me a duh look. “Breakfast burrito.” He pinches my chin, s ll taller than me even though I’m on the counters. “Don’t look so glum, dear. I could have always stayed at the diner while you found your own way home. Want me to rewind me?”

“Yes and while you’re leaving me to escape the frat house, you can go and pick up groceries like you told Nola.”

He sets his hands on either side of me, my breath hitching. “I change my mind. I don’t like that reality.” I want him to lean in, but instead, he edges back and starts gathering liquor bo les from the white cabinets. “Nola needs to think I feed you, Lil. You’re looking a bit skeletal. When you breathe, I think I can see your ribs.” Boys can be cruel. He pours whiskey into a square glass beside me.

I purse my lips and open a cabinet above his head. When I slam it, he

inches and spills whiskey all over his hands.

“Jesus.” He nds a towel to dab up the puddle of alcohol. “Did Mr. Kappa Phi Delta not do his job?”

“He was just ne.”

“Just ne,” Lo says, his eyebrows rising. “What every guy loves to hear.”

Red welts surface on my exposed arms.

“Your elbows are blushing,” he tells me, a smile growing as he re-pours. “You’re like Violet from Willy Wonka, only you ate a magic cherry.”

I groan. “Don’t talk about food.”

He leans over, and I s en. Oh my… Instead of taking me in his arms— something I imagine in a momentary lapse of weakness—he brushes the bareness of my leg while grabbing his cell from the charging dock. I immobilize again. The touch barely fazes him, but my insides ripple in eagerness and want. If he was a no-named, redhead with splotchy acne, I may s ll feel this way. Maybe.

Maybe not.

My fantasy tangles: Lo keeping his ngers on my knee. Roughly leaning over me, trapping me beneath his weight. My back arching against the cabinets—

“I’ll order pizza if you go take a shower. You smell like sex, and I’m reaching my limit of inhaling foreign male stench.”

My stomach collapses, and my fantasy poofs into reality. I hate picturing Lo and me unchastely together because when I wake up, he stands inches from me, and I wonder if he can tell. Can he?

I scru nize him while he sips his whiskey. A er a lingering moment of silence, his brows scrunch and he looks at me like what the hell? “Am I going to have to repeat myself?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes and takes a large swig, not even grimacing as the sharpness of the alcohol slides its way down. “You, shower. Me, pizza. Tarzan eat Jane.” He bites my shoulder.

I ease back. “You mean Tarzan likes Jane?” I hop o the counter, about to go wash o the frat house from my skin.

Lo mockingly shakes his head. “Not this Tarzan.”

“Alcohol makes you mean,” I say casually.

He raises his glass in agreement while I pad down the hallway. Our spacious two bedroom apartment masquerades as our lover’s den. Pretending to be together for three years hasn’t been simple, especially since we started the ruse as seniors in high school. When we decided on the same college, our parents actually proposed our living situa on. They’re not very conserva ve, but even so, I doubt they’d understand or agree with my lifestyle, bedding more guys than is appropriate for a young girl.

My mother cited my eldest sister’s college experience as reason enough to share a space with my “boyfriend.” Poppy’s random roommate brought friends over at all hours, even during nals week, and she used to leave her dirty clothes (including pan es) on my sister’s desk chair. Her inconsiderate behavior was enough for my mother to se le on o -campus housing for me and push Lo right into my bedroom.

It’s worked out for the most part. I remember a weight rising o my chest once the doors shut and my family was gone. Leaving me alone. Le ng me be.

I step into the quaint-sized bathroom and shimmy o my clothes. Once in the steaming hot shower, I exhale. The water washes away the smell and grime, but my sins are here to stay. The memories don’t vanish, and I desperately try not to imagine this morning. Waking up. I love the sex. It’s the a er part that I haven’t quite gured out yet.

I squirt shampoo on my hand and lather it in my short brown locks. Some mes I picture the future. Loren Hale working for his father’s Fortune 500 company, dressed in a ght ng suit that chokes at the collar. He’s

sad. I never see him smile in my imagined futures. And I wouldn’t know how to rec fy it. What does Loren Hale love? Whiskey, bourbon, rum. What can he possibly do past college? …I see nothing.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not a fortune teller.

I’ll s ck to what I know. The past—where Jonathan Hale brought Lo to informal golf games with my father in a endance. Me by his side. They discussed what they always do. Stock, ventures and product placements for their respec ve trademarked brands. Lo and I played Star Wars with our golf clubs, and they chided us when I bruised Lo’s ribs, swinging my light saber too haphazardly and too hard.

Lo and I could have been friends or enemies. We always saw each other. At boring conference wai ng rooms. In o ces. At charity galas. In prep school. Now college. What could have turned into a coo e-driven rela onship with constant teasing transformed into something more clandes ne. We shared all secrets, forming a club with a two-person quota. Together, we discovered superheroes in a small comics shop in Philly. Something about Havok’s galac c adventures and Nathaniel Grey’s me-traveling plights connected with us. At mes, not even Cyclops or Emma Frost could x our troubles, but they’re s ll there, reminding us of more innocent mes. Ones where Lo wasn’t boozing and I wasn’t sleeping around. They allow us to revisit those warm, unadulterated moments, and I gladly return.

I nish scrubbing last night’s debauchery from my body and slip my arms in a terry cloth robe. I cinch it around my waist as I head into the kitchen.

“Pizza?” I ask sadly, no cing the bare counters. Technically they’re anything but bare, but I’ve become so desensi zed to Lo’s liquor bo les that they might as well be invisible or another kitchen appliance.

“It’s on its way,” he says. “Stop giving me those doe eyes. You look like you’re about to cry.” He leans against the fridge, and I subconsciously eye the zipper to his jeans. I imagine his gaze on the strap to my robe. I don’t look up to ruin the image. “When’s the last me you’ve eaten?”

“I’m not sure.” I have a one-track mind, and it doesn’t involve food.

“That’s discomfor ng, Lil.”

“I eat,” I defend poorly. I see him pulling my robe in my fantasy. Maybe I should drop it for him. NO! Don’t do it, Lily. I nally look up and he watches me so carefully that my face immediately begins to heat.

He smiles into a sip of his glass. When he brings it down, he licks his lips. “Do you want me to unbu on them, love, or should I wait for you to get on your knees rst?”

I gape, mor ed. He saw right through me. I’m so obvious!

With his free hand, he pushes his bu on through the hole and slowly unzips, showing the hem of his black ght boxer-briefs. He watches my breathing go in and out, jagged and sporadic. Then he takes his hands o his jeans and leans his elbows on the counter. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Stop,” I tell him, way too raspy. “You’re killing me.” Seriously, my en re body, not just my lungs, hyperven lates.

His cheekbones sharpen, his jaw locking. He sets his drink down and then zips up his jeans, shing the bu on back through.

I swallow hard and tensely hop on the gray wooden bar stool. With shaky ngers, I run them through my tangled, wet hair. To stop replaying the moment, I pretend it never happened and go back to our earlier conversa on. “It’s a li le di cult to constantly stu my face when we never have food here.” We eat out way too o en.

“I don’t think you have a problem stu ng your face,” he says, “just not with food.”

I bite my gums and ip him o . His words would hurt more from anyone else. But Lo has his own issue that rests in the palm of his hand. Everyone can see it, and as I glance between him and the drink, his crooked smile hardens. He presses the rim of the glass to his lips and turns his back on me.

I don’t talk to Lo about feelings. About how it makes him feel to watch me bring home a di erent guy every night. And he doesn’t ask me how it feels to watch him drown into oblivion. He s es his judgment and I

withhold mine, but our silence draws tension between us, inescapable. It pulls so taut that some mes I just want to scream. But I keep it inside. I hold back. Every comment that undercuts our addic ons fractures the system in place. The one where we both live being free to do as we please. Me, bedding any guy. Him, drinking all of the me.

The buzzer rings beside the door. Pizza?! I beam and head over to the speaker box in the foyer, pressing the bu on. “Hello?”

“Miss Calloway, you have a guest downstairs. Should I send her up?” says the female security a endant.

“Who?”

“Your sister, Rose.”

I internally groan. No pizza. Time to pretend with Lo again—even though he’s fond of keeping up the charade when no one’s around, just to taunt me. “Send her up.”

Lo goes into roadrunner mode and zips around the kitchen, shu ng liquor bo les into locked cabinets, pouring his drink into a nted blue cup. I click the remote and the at-screen TV blinks to an ac on ick. Lo plops on the gray-s tched sofa and kicks his feet onto the glass co ee table, ac ng like we’ve been immersed in the movie for the past half hour.

He pats his lap. “Come here.” His amber eyes swim with mischievousness.

“I’m not dressed,” I retort. And the spot between my legs already pulses too heavily to be in touching distance of him. The thought electri es my nerves.

“You’re wearing a robe,” Lo rebuts. “I’ve seen you naked plenty of

mes.”

“When we were kids,” I retort.

“And I’m sure your breasts haven’t grown since then.”

My mouth falls. “Oh, you are…” I nd a pillow on the nearby chair and start assaul ng him with it. I get two good hits in before he swoops his arms around my waist and pulls me on his lap.

“Lo,” I warn. He’s been teasing me all day, making it harder than normal to withstand him.

He stares at me deeply, and his hand moves past my kneecap, edging up the robe, and se ling on the inside of my thigh. He stops there, not making the next move. Fuck. I quake beneath him, needing his ac ons to go further. Not thinking, I place my hand on his and shi his ngers towards the throbbing spot. I push them inside of me. He s ens.

Holy… My toes curl, and I rest my forehead on his broad shoulder. I hold his hand in a strong vice, not allowing him to do anything without my permission. Just before I go to move his ngers in and out, a knock sounds on the door.

I jolt awake. What am I doing?! I can’t look at Lo, I let him reclaim his hand, and I scu le o him.

Lo hesitates. “Lil?”

“Don’t talk about it,” I say, mor ed.

Rose knocks louder.

I stand to answer, walking with more tension everywhere than before.

I hear Lo’s footsteps behind me, and then the creak of the faucet as he turns the handle. I glance back and see him rinsing his ngers with soap.

I’m an idiot. As I turn the knob, I inhale, trying to wipe my mind clean of the bad combo: sex and Loren Hale. Having him as my roommate is like dangling coke in front of a druggie. It’d be easier if I let myself at him, but I’d rather not turn our rela onship into friends with bene ts. He means more to me than the other guys I bed.

The door swings open, revealing Rose: two years older, two inches taller, and two mes pre er. She waltzes into the apartment, her Chanel handbag swinging on her arm like a weapon. Rose frightens children, pets, and even grown males with her icy eyes and chilling glares. And if anyone can unmask our false pretense, it will be my ercest sister.

Right now, I pale at even mee ng Lo’s gaze, let alone pretending to be in a rela onship with him. I don’t ask Rose why she’s arrived uninvited and unannounced. This is her rou ne. It’s as though she feels en tled to all places. Especially mine.

“Why haven’t you answered my calls?” Her voice layers with frost. She li s her large, round sunglasses to the top of her head.

“Umm…” In the foyer, I dig through a basket of keys that sits on a round table. It usually houses my runaway phone that has found every opportunity to jump ship from my person, and it doesn’t help that I don’t carry a purse—an issue Rose likes to reignite. But I have no use for an item that I’ll lose in a boy’s apartment or dorm. Then he may nd a way to return it, and I’ll have to interact with him a second me.

Rose hu s. “You lost it? Again?”

I resign the search, only nding a few dollar bills, bobby pins, and car keys. “I guess. Sorry.”

Rose turns her vulture eyes on Lo, who wipes his hands on a dish rag and tosses it aside. “What about you? Did you lose your phone too?”

“No. I just don’t like talking to you.”

Ouch, I cringe. Rose sucks in her cheeks as red heat ushes them. Her heels clap against the hardwood oors, nearing him in the kitchen.

His ngers whiten against the plas c blue cup that hides his liquor.

“I’m a guest in your apartment,” Rose snaps. “Treat me with some respect, Loren.”

“Respect is earned. Next me maybe you should call before you stop by, or maybe you should start with hey Lo, hey Lily, how was your day, not demanding things like a royal bitch.”

Rose whips her head to me. “Are you going to let him talk to me like this?”

I open my mouth but words are lost to uncertainty. Rose and Lo constantly bicker to the point of annoyance, and I never know which one to support: my sister, who can be so mean at mes that she’ll spew hate un l it hurts, even at me—or Lo, my best friend and my supposed boyfriend, my one constant.

“That’s mature,” Lo says with distaste, “make Lily choose sides like she’s a dog that has to pick a favorite parent.”

Rose’s nose ares in protest, but her yellow-green, cat-like eyes a empt to so en. “I’m sorry,” she tells me, surprisingly sounding apologe c. “I just get worried about you. We all do.” The Calloways do not understand the word “alone” or how someone could want privacy from their family. Instead of being the rich, neglec ul parents, mine happen to be all-consuming. We had a nanny when we were younger, but my mother immersed herself in every aspect of our lives—too involved at mes but also incredibly devoted and nurturing. I would love my family and their clinginess if I wasn’t so embarrassed about my daily (and nightly) ac vi es.

Some things need to be kept secret.

“Well, you see me. I’m ne,” I say, refusing to glance back at Lo. Two minutes ago, I was about ready to do anything and everything to him. That want to be pleased has not diminished, just my stupidity to do it with him has.

Her eyes narrow to slits and she gives me a long onceover. I ghten my robe, wondering if she can tell how my body feels by looking. Lo sure as hell can.

A er a short moment, she retracts her claws. “I didn’t come here for a

ght.” Right… “As you know, tomorrow is Sunday, and Daisy will be here for

the luncheon. You’ve claimed to miss the past few because of exams, but it would mean a lot to our sister if you could spare a couple of hours to welcome her home.”

My empty stomach clenches with guilt. “Yeah, sure, but I think Lo may have plans already, so he might not make it.” Good, at least I can bail him out of the obliga on.

Rose’s lips purse as she directs her irrita on at Lo. “What is more important than accompanying your girlfriend to a family event?”

Everything, I imagine him saying. His jaw twitches as he withholds a smartass retort. Probably dying to men on how this is a func on that happens every Sunday, regardless if Daisy a ends or not.

“I have racquetball scheduled with a friend,” he lies with ease. “I can cancel if it means that much to Greg and Samantha.” Lo knows that if Rose is fussing over the luncheon, then my parents will surely blow steam if I show up without him on my arm. They’ll draw unreasonable conclusions— like he’s chea ng on me, or heading down his old childhood past of partying too hard. He s ll does (maybe even more) but its best they not know that.

“It means the world to them,” Rose says, as if she has the power to speak for other people. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.” She stops by the door and eyes Lo’s jeans and plain black T-shirt. “And Loren, try to dress appropriately.”

She exits, her heels tapping in the distance.

I let out a long breath and reorient my mind. An impulse to nish what I started with Lo eats at me, and I know be er than to return.

“Lily—”

“I’ll be in my room. Don’t come in,” I order. I downloaded a new video yesterday called Master of You. I planned to watch it much later, but I’m going to shi my schedule.

“What about when the pizza arrives?” he asks, blocking my path into the hallway.

“I won’t be long.” I try to slide by, but he extends a hand to the wall.

His bicep exes at the movement, and I take a huge step backwards. No, no, no.

“You’re aroused,” he says, his eyes s ll on mine.

“And if you hadn’t teased me, I wouldn’t be in this posi on,” I say, fran c. “If I s ll can’t sa ate this, I’m going to have to spend my a ernoon traipsing around Philly for a guy wan ng an a ernoon quickie. Thanks a lot.”

Lo grimaces and drops his hands to his side. “Well now I’m stuck going to your family’s lunch, so I guess we’re even.” He turns his body, le ng me through.

“Don’t come in,” I warn him again, my eyes bugging. I’m more afraid of what I’ll do to him if he does.

“I never do,” he reminds me. With this, he heads to the kitchen and waves tersely, downing the rest of his whiskey.

AFTER MY SECOND shower and self-medica on in the form of porn stars and an expensive vibrator, I tug on actual clothes: a pair of jeans and a maroon V-neck.

Lo sits in the living room, ea ng pizza and ipping through channels. A new glass of whiskey balances on his leg.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly.

His eyes brie y icker to me before returning to the television. “For what?”

S cking your ngers in me. “For ge ng you involved in Sunday’s luncheon.” I uncertainly take a seat in a red recliner opposite the couch.

He watches me like he always does, assessing my current state. He swallows his bite of pizza. “Honestly, I don’t mind going.” He wipes his

ngers on a napkin and picks up his glass. “Be er your father than mine.”

I nod. So true. “So…are we okay?”

“Are you?” His eyebrows rise.

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumble and avoid eye contact by grabbing a slice of pizza and scurrying back to the safety of my chair. Safe distance, check.

“I’ll take that as a weak yes, considering you can’t so much as look at me right now.”

“It’s not you; it’s me,” I say through a mouthful, licking sauce o my

nger.

“Again, what every guy loves to hear.” I can feel his eyes grazing my body. “I’m not even coming on to you right now.”

“Don’t even start,” I warn, holding up a nger. “I swear, Lo.”

“Okay, okay.” He sighs. “You’re going to The Blue Room tonight, aren’t you?”

I jerk back in shock. “How’d you know?”

He looks at me like seriously. “You rarely go to the same club more than three or four mes. For a while, I thought we were going to have to move one city over so you could nd a place to…” He pauses, trying to nd the words. “…fuck.” He ashes that bi er smile.

“Very funny.” I pick a pepperoni o the cheese. “Do you need a sober driver tonight? I can drop you o somewhere before I leave.” I have no problem shooing away beer and hard liquor.

“No, I’m going to the club with you.”

I hold in my surprise. He only ventures out with me on selec ve nights, and they vary too o en for me to make sense of them. “You want to go to The Blue Room? You do realize this is a dance club and not some smoky hole-in-the-wall bar?”

He shoots me another look. “I’m well aware.” He swishes the ice cubes around in his glass, staring at the liquid. “Anyway, it’ll keep us from staying out too late and missing tomorrow’s luncheon.”

He has a point.

“You’re not going to care if I…” I can’t even nish the thought.

“If you leave me to go bang some guy?” he says, kicking his feet on the co ee table beside the pizza.

I open my mouth but lose my thoughts again.

“No, Lil,” he says, “I won’t get in the way of what you want.”

Some mes I wonder about his desires. Maybe he does want to be with me. Or maybe he’s s ll pretending.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

I REMEMBER the rst moment when I realized I was di erent from other kids. And it had nothing to do with boys or sexual fantasies and everything to do with my family. I sat in the back of my sixth grade English class, tugging down my plaid skirt required by all prep school kids. As the teacher le , a few boys scooted their desks to mine, and before I could form a reason for their closeness, they whipped out soda cans. Diet Fizz. Fizz Lite. Fizz Red. Just plain Fizz.

They took swigs and then le the cans sca ered on my desk. The last boy opened his can of Cherry Fizz and smiled mischievously. “Here,” he said, actually handing me the soda. “I popped your cherry.”

The boys snickered and I turned the color of Fizz Red that stained a ring on my notebook.

In retrospect, I should have thanked them for buying all the Fizzle products. Every soda bought from the vending machine would line my pockets one way or another. They were probably the sons and daughters of oil tycoons, not nearly as exci ng as being able to say that my father created the company that outperformed Pepsi last year. But I was too shy and mor ed to do anything but sink further in my desk and wish for

invisibility.

Lo can relate in some ways. He isn’t faced with his family fortune on billboards and in restaurants, but every would-be-mother knows a thing or two about Hale Co. products. Baby powder, oils, diapers, basically anything for a li le newborn is created by the company. So Fizzle drinks may appear all over the world, but at least the Calloway name isn’t scribbled on the label.

Only in my family’s ring of socialites and business investors do we have to worry about teasing and reputa ons. Everywhere else, we’re just two spoiled rich kids.

All throughout prep school, guys harassed Lo, calling him baby—not even close to being endearing. They even vandalized his gym locker by pouring Hale Co. rash powder on his clothes. Lo was an easy target. Not because he was skinny or short or shy like me. He had lean muscles to his name and even outran a soccer player. Lo chased him down the halls a er learning he keyed his new Mustang.

But Lo only had one friend throughout his adolescence. And without a male entourage, he became enemy number one for other guys. An outcast to be picked on.

I regret most of my ac ons, and high school is full of wrong choices and bad decisions. Sleeping with someone who tormented Lo was one of them. I didn’t care when it happened, but a erwards, I couldn’t be more ashamed. I s ll am, and I wear it like a thick scar.

College changed everything for the be er. Away from the small inclusive prep school, I no longer have to worry about gossip nding its way back to my parents. The freedom o ers me more opportuni es. Par es, clubs, and bars prac cally serve as a second home.

Tonight at The Blue Room, the ceiling glows with hundreds of glass bulbs. Midnight fabric drapes overhead, veiled as a night sky. True to its name, everything in the massive club is decked in a shade of blue. The dance oor blinks in teal and the upstairs furniture has navy velveteen chaises and bu oned chairs.

My black shorts s ck to my sweaty thighs, and my silver halter dips low in the back but sucks to my clammy skin—the result of cramming two bodies in a bathroom stall. Blue toilet seats? Check. I thought I’d be oa ng on a high a er having sex, but he barely sa ated my desires. Plus, the heat makes me feel gross.

I spot Lo at the bar, his jaw ghtening as he watches the bartender dart from one end to the other, the counter full of young patrons wai ng to be served. Lo looks more peeved than usual, and I no ce a blonde in a bandaged red dress si ng on a stool to his le , her long bare legs brushing up against his thigh. He acts oblivious to her advances, keeping his hardened gaze on the liquor bo les that tower behind the bartender.

“Come on, Lo,” I encourage under my breath.

Then a guy sidles up and grabs my waist, dancing behind me. I ignore him, but he tries to move my hips while he rubs his pelvis against me.

The blonde beside Lo bites her lip and runs a hand through her hair

irta ously. She leans in and says something to him, and I wish I was close

enough to hear.

Lo’s eyebrows bunch together, and I already see where the conversa on is headed. He replies back and the girl’s face twists in contempt. With venom in her eyes, she retorts something and departs with her blueberry mar ni in pinched ngers.

I curse and disentangle my dance partner from my backside. Quickly, I rush to the bar and replace the blonde. “What was that?” I ask.

“Go away. I’m busy and bodies are s ll here that you can fuck.” He takes a large swig of beer, washing down his statement.

I inhale strongly, trying to let his comment brush o my shoulders. Trying to ignore his sudden moodiness. Some days, he can be sexy. Others, he can crush you with a glare. I narrow my eyes at the deep royal bo le in his hand that says Berry Beer. “What the hell are you drinking?” It’s been months since Lo has ingested anything weaker than port wine.

“All their liquor is fucking blue,” he complains. “I’m not drinking blue whiskey. Or blueberry vodka.”

At least I found the source of his agita on. The bartender approaches and I shake my head at him since I s ll plan on being the sober driver. He takes an order from a couple of other girls by my side instead.

I lean an elbow on the counter, facing Lo. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“I’d o er you a sip, but I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

I glower. “I don’t want your Berry Beer anyway.”

“Good.”

He chugs the bo le and mo ons for another at a lady bartender. She pops the cap and slides it over.

I take a quick peek back at the electric blue dance oor, and my eyes meet with…

Oh no. I spin back and plant my gaze on the racks of liquor and then bury my head in my hands. Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe we didn’t make eye contact. Maybe it’s all in my mind!

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” He touches my shoulder. He’s touching my shoulder. I glimpse from my palm to steal a glance at Lo. He looks detached from the situa on, half his leg sliding o the stool, as though ready to go and give me space that he thinks I need.

“I didn’t get your name,” the guy adds. A redheaded girl beside me stands to leave, and I want to scream out for her to come back. Keep your bu in that seat! As she disappears, the guy scoots onto the stool, his body language open for me.

My luck has o cially been thrown in the toilet bowl.

I li my head, avoiding his bushy blond eyebrows and the stubble around his chin. Yep, he’s the guy I led to the bathroom. He’s the one who locked the stall, pulled down my pan es, grunted and heard me moan. At least he looks twenty-something, but I can’t discern his exact age. I don’t ask. In fact, I don’t ask anything. My con dence has spu ered out with my climax, and all I feel is the heat of shame blooming across my ears.

I manage to mumble an answer. “My name is Rose.” Albeit a lie.

Lo lets out a short laugh at this, and the guy puts an arm on the bar, leaning forward into my personal space to see my friend. “You two know each other?”

“You could say that,” Lo says, nishing o another beer. He mo ons to the lady bartender again.

“You’re not her ex or anything, are you?” the guy wonders, easing back just a li le. Oh yes, please go away.

Lo wraps a hand around his new Berry Beer. “She’s all yours man. Have at her.”

I am slowly dying inside.

The guy nods to me. “I’m Dillon.” I don’t care. Please go away. He extends his hand with a giddy grin, maybe expec ng a round two. Thing is, I don’t do round twos. Once I sleep with a guy, it ends there. Nothing more, ever again. It’s a personal rule that I’ve sustained thus far. I won’t break it, especially not for him.

I shake his hand, not knowing exactly how to shoo him o without being rude. Some girls have an easy me with saying no. Me on the other hand…

“What are you drinking?” He tries to ag down the male bartender who’s busy with serving a group of girls. One wears a ara and an I’m 21! sash.

“Nothing,” I say just as a lady bartender in cut-o shorts and a cropped blue top stops in front of us.

“What can I get you?” she asks over the music.

Before I can add, I don’t drink to the statement, Dillon says, “A rum and Fizz and a Blue Lagoon.”

“We only have blueberry rum,” she reminds him.

He nods. “That’s ne.”

She starts xing up our orders, and I squeak out, “I actually don’t drink.”

His face drops. “You don’t drink?” The disbelief makes me ques on my normality. I guess a sober body in a club is hard to come by. “So…” He scratches his stubbly cheek. “You’re sober right now?”

I think I just died a second me. He thinks I’m a weirdo for having sober sex in a nightclub. My neck is turning violent red, and I want to s ck my head in a hole. Or an ice bucket. “I drink,” I mumble under my breath. “Just not tonight. I’m driving.”

The bartender sets the blue cocktail on a napkin, and Dillon pushes it towards me. “Go ahead. You can always get a cab.” Ulterior mo ves glimmer in his eyes. He’s imagining what I’ll do drunk, considering I wasn’t too prudish sober. But that was before. And this is now—when my hunger to get laid has diminished considerably. At least with him.

“She doesn’t want it,” Lo snaps, clenching his h beer so ghtly I think

it might sha er.

“I thought you told me I could ‘have at her?’” Dillon asks, using air quotes for e ect.

“That was before you started fucking with my ride home. I need her sober, so go nd another girl to buy blue volcanoes for.”

“Blue Lagoon,” I correct him.

“Whatever,” Lo says into his swig of beer.

Dillon’s eyes darken. “She has a mouth. Let her speak for herself.”

Wow, this took a turn.

Lo rotates his body towards Dillon for the rst me. “I bet you know all about that mouth, right?”

“Ohmygod,” I mu er unintelligibly.

“Hey, don’t fucking talk about her like that,” Dillon tries to defend my honor.

What is going on?!

Lo raises his brows. “So now you’re suddenly chivalrous, coming to her defense? You banged her in the bathroom. Don’t act like you’re the good guy in this situa on.”

“Stop, Lo.” I shoot him a warning look that may be lost beneath my

ushed cheeks. If he starts a ght, I’ll be barred from the club.

“Yeah, Lo…stop,” Dillon says in challenge. My face is so hot I think my skin might have second degree burns. Lo stares at Dillon for a long moment, unblinking.

“I’m not drunk enough for this shit,” Lo announces. He rises from the stool and closes out his bar tab quickly. While I wait, Dillon clasps my wrist and I try to peel away.

“Can I have your number?” he asks.

Lo tucks his wallet in his back pocket. “She doesn’t know how to say no. So I’m going to do it for her.” Thank you. But instead of actually saying anything, Lo ips him o .

I don’t look at Dillon. Lo. Or any other person in The Blue Room. I speed out of the club, wan ng nothing more than to evaporate from the moment and u er into the air.

A er sliding into my sporty BMW, Lo silently joins me. The car ride home stays that way except for the sound of Lo unscrewing his ask and chugging it like he’s been trapped in the Sahara desert for a week. We avoid talking or men oning the bad night un l we enter the apartment.

I throw my keys in the basket by the door, and Lo bolts for the locked liquor cabinets. My hand shakes, and I tuck a yaway hair behind my ear. I need a release.

The familiar sounds of clinking bo les ll the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” Lo asks, concentra ng on his concoc on.

“No. I’m going to call someone to come over. If they’re s ll here in the morning, can you do the usual?”

He hesitates, and the bo le of bourbon freezes above his glass. “I may be passed out. I’ve been drinking shi y beer all night.” Oh. He’s about to get wasted.

“We have the luncheon in the morning,” I say, my voice strained. Few things ins gate a true ght between us, but I sense one brewing.

“I know. I’ll be awake for it, but maybe not to help you. That’s all I’m saying.”

My chest heaves. “You’re the one who ruined my night. You didn’t have to come to the club with me and start an argument,” I vent. “Now I’m the one who has to su er because you didn’t want to drink blue fucking vodka.”

“Fine, go back to the club and be annoyed by that prick all night. I did you a favor, Lily.”

Irra onal anger surges through me and I push one of the stools hard. It knocks over and breaks a rung. I crawl back inside myself, instantly feeling bad about hur ng a piece of furniture.

“Whoa,” Lo snaps. “Don’t Hulk Smash the apartment.”

His addic on is screwing with my addic on. Alcohol trumps sex is this place, and that kills me. Or at least the part of me that needs a good lay, preferably one that lasts longer than ve minutes.

I stare at the broken stool and feel so dumb. I squat and right it up. Mood swings. Lo understands what it’s like to turn into a needy freak, but I s ll can’t look him in the eyes.

“You’re a big girl, Lil,” he says a er a moment of silence. I hear him s r ice into his drink. “If you want to hook up with someone then you should be the one to kick them out. I’m not stopping you from having sex.”

I don’t know why it feels like that or why his words upset me so much. I don’t move un l I feel Lo stealing my newly bought phone from my pocket. I frown as he scrolls through my contacts and lands on a number for a male escort service. He dials and presses the receiver to my ear while he sips his drink.

I take the phone from him and mouth, thanks.

He shrugs noncommi ally, but the muscles around his shoulders tense. Without another word, he leaves for his bedroom. My nerves se le and the an cipa on begins to build.

The line clicks. “Hello, how may we be of service?”

THE ALARM on my phone blares for the third me, an annoying harp melody that I seriously reconsider. I wiggle from my covers, careful not to hit the male body splayed out on the other side. I shouldn’t have let him spend the night, but I lost track of me. Even though these…well, gigolos are on the clock, excitement lls their eyes at the sight of a young client who isn’t middle-aged and obese. So some mes they prompt the over me, but this instance, it was my doing.

Will he want to stay for breakfast? I don’t know gigolo protocol that well or what to say or do a erwards. Usually I have Lo bang on my door and tell the guy to beat it. Much easier. The digital clock on my white nightstand glows red. Ten in the morning. I have an hour to primp and shower for lunch at the Villanova mansion.

Quickly, I toss on a T-shirt that stops at my thighs and stare at my roadblock: a well-built, thirty-something male with ta oos sprawling along his torso. His limbs are tangled in my purple sheets, passed out from all the sex. Shouldn’t he be used to it by now? You don’t see me ac ng like I downed a bo le of sleeping pills.

“Hey,” I say, mid. He barely s rs. Okay, Lily, get it together. If Lo believes I can do this, I surely can. Right?

I take a deep breath, ba ling the intense blush and nerves that threaten to rise. Please don’t start a conversa on with me.

“Hey!” I shake his legs and he lets out a long, bear-like groan. Yes! The gigolo rubs his eyes and props himself on his elbow.

“Wha meisit?” he slurs.

“Late. I need you to leave.”

He plops back on the ma ress with a long whining noise. What was that? Did he just die? “Let me wake up, will you?”

“I have to be somewhere soon. You have to go.”

He squints at me, the light too penetra ng for his lethargic eyes. “While you get dressed, I’ll make us some co ee. How’s that?”

“I didn’t pay you to hang around,” I say, nding some con dence. Why is this so di cult? Are my requests that unreasonable?

He shoots me an annoyed look, and I instantly feel like a bitch. I shrink back.

“Noted.” He stands to collect his jeans and bu on-down. Yes, he’s leaving. But then, he stops and eyes the length of my body. I go rigid. “For someone who was anything but reserved last night, you look incredibly uncomfortable right now.” He waits for me to explain.

I open my mouth and shut it, not sure what to say.

“Was the sex not up to your standards?”

I turn my head. “Can you just leave?”

“You’re embarrassed? I don’t understand…” Of course I’m embarrassed. I called a gigolo out of despera on, because it sounded nice, because I knew it would relieve something in me that ached for it. I wish I could be one of those girls who has the guts to do it because they’re exploring their sexuality, but with me, I needed him to ful ll a desire, one that does nothing but torment me. And he’s reminding me of everything I hate about myself. That I let my downstairs brain control my night. That I can’t be a normal girl and just forget about sex for one second. Just one.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, sounding concerned now.

“No,” I say quickly. “It was great. I’m just…” lost. “…thank you.”

My words spin his features into sadness. “If I leave, you aren’t going to do anything…” He thinks I’m suicidal?

I inhale deeply. “I need you to go so I can head to a family event.”

He nods, understanding. “Okay.” He bu ons the last of his shirt and adds, “You’re fantas c in bed by the way.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, stripping my sheets.

The door closes, and my muscles don’t relax like I thought they would. The conversa on replays, and I feel strangely about it. He saw through me. Not many people do.

I don’t have me to wallow in a self-depreca ng puddle. The luncheon starts in less than an hour. I trip over a pair of sneakers on my way to the shower. While I wash o last night, I contemplate waking Lo. I’d rather let him sleep o his drunken stupor than force him to interact with my family.

By the me I hop out of the shower and change into a mint green dress, I decide to check on Lo and make sure he’s sleeping on his side. He rarely pukes when he passes out, but it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Before I retreat from my room, I scour my closet for a rare purse. To avoid my mother’s ridicule, it’s best to be as normal as possible. I nd a white Chanel with a gold chain (a birthday gi from Rose) shoved beside a broken pair of heels.

I unclick the latch. My runaway phone has reappeared, which is pre y worthless considering I already transferred my number and contacts onto a new iPhone.

I scroll through the old missed calls and few text messages that were delivered before I purchased my new cell. My heart stops as I open a text from Rose. Sent about the same me she last le my apartment.

Jonathan Hale is coming to the luncheon. Tell Loren. – Rose

No, no, no. Lo maybe, possibly, could have stayed home today. I could have formed a weak “he’s sick” excuse. Ditching on my family is a minor infrac on. Ditching on his father is suicide.

Hurriedly, I toss the phone on my bed and head to his bedroom with less than half an hour to get ready. We’re cu ng this close.

I knock once and let myself in.

Unlike my bedroom, Lo’s walls and shelves are covered with personality. Penn paraphernalia ts in nooks and crannies, like a red and blue clock and a Quakers bobble head. Photographs of us hang almost everywhere. Mostly for appearance sake. On the dresser sits a framed portrait of Lo kissing my cheek. It looks forced to me, and li le things like this make my belly op, reminding me of our biggest lie.

My sisters believe I store my clothes in the guest bedroom closet for more space. In truth, I like staying in that minimalis c room. No photographs. Just brightly colored Leonid Afremov pain ngs of Paris. Though, some mes they make me dizzy.

Lo lies fully clothed on his champagne-colored duvet. He’s curled up on his side, and his light brown hair s cks in di erent direc ons. In his right hand, he cuddles an empty bo le of Macallan, a ten thousand-dollar whiskey.

Five more liquor bo les sca er the ground. Some half-full, others dry. But those have to be from other nights en rely. He has a high tolerance, but not that high. All of these bo les would knock out a whole football team and probably kill him. I try not to think about that.

I go to the bathroom and wet a hand cloth with warm water. Back in his room, I sidle to his low bed, the ma ress coming up to my legs. I bend over and press the towel to his forehead.

“Lo, me to get up,” I say so ly. He doesn’t s r. This isn’t the rst me I’ve tried to wake Lo up for something important.

I abandon him passed out on the bed and race around his room, sweeping empty bo les and locking away full ones. When all the alcohol disappears, I turn my a en on back on him. “Loren Hale!” I yell.

Nothing.

I try shaking his arms, his legs, his waist—anything that will make him rise to join the living.

Nothing.

He stays gone to the world and inside I’m cursing him for choosing this day to be so wasted. Time slips by, and my pulse heightens with every second. I can’t leave him. Lo wouldn’t do that to me, and if we go down, we go down together.

I unzip my dress and step out. In nothing but a pair of boy-short pan es and a plain bra. At least I know what to do in these situa ons from his past experiences. Hopefully it will work.

With the li le upper body strength I possess, I grab under his armpits and tug him o his bed. We both clamber to the oor, and he lets out a so groan.

“Lo?!”

He sinks back into unconsciousness, and I quickly spring to my feet and drag his heavy body towards the bathroom. “You. So. Owe. Me,” I say with each jerk. The words aren’t true. We’ve both banked enough favors that we no longer even count.

I kick open the glass door to the shower and pull him in with one last heave. His head lies in my lap, and even though I wear beige undies, I’m not too embarrassed. How can I be when he lies vulnerable in my arms? He may not even remember this in an hour. Be er my underwear soaking than my dress.

I stay on my knees, pan ng as I reach up for the faucet nozzle. I turn the water to the coldest cold.

It sprays down on the both of us, and within ten seconds, Lo spu ers awake, spi ng out water from his mouth like I’m drowning him. I turn the water to a warmer temperature, and he tries to right himself, li ing his torso o my lap. He slips when he a empts to simply lean on the led wall.

His eyes close and open sluggishly. He s ll hasn’t spoken a word.

“You have to bathe,” I tell him from my corner of the shower. “You s nk like booze.”

He makes an incoherent mumbling noise, ghtening his eyes shut. We don’t have me for this. I stand, grab the shampoo and soap, and return to his side while the water rains down on us.

“Come on,” I breathe so ly, remembering how he hates when I speak in my “normal” voice on bad mornings. Apparently it sounds like knives slaughtering baby pandas. His words, not mine.

He lets me pull his T-shirt over his head and barely helps me maneuver his arms through the holes. Water beads on the ridges of his abs, a runner’s build that usually stays hidden beneath clothes. No one would expect how t he is. Or that he does occasionally hit the gym. That’s the best kind—the surprise of something more underneath something already handsome. I envy all the girls who get to experience that feeling for the

rst me with him. I shake my head. Focus. I train my gaze o the curves of

his biceps and concentrate on his jeans. Without another thought, I unbu on them and yank down.

When the heavy, sopping denim s cks at his thighs, his eyelids u er open. I blush uncontrollably even though this isn’t the rst me I’ve undressed him.

He peers down at me. “Lil…” he mumbles, sounding lethargic.

Okay, we do not have me for this. I yank. Hard. And they nally surpass his damn muscular thighs and to his ankles where the denim is much easier to manage. Now soaked in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, I have to use all of my strength on the task at hand.

I take the soap and lather them into a loofa and wash across his lean torso, down his abs…umm…skipping that area…and to his thighs and legs. I don’t have much me to wash his back, but I don’t think it will be a problem.

The worst part is the smell. A bourbon scent emits from his pores, and a er trying di erent soaps and colognes, we found some that work to mask the repugnant odor.

His addic on scares me some mes. Alcoholism can destroy livers and kidneys, and one day, he may not wake up from a night of bingeing. But how can I tell him to stop? How can I judge him when I am nowhere near ready to let go of my crutch? So for right now, this is the best I can do.

I lather the shampoo into his hair while he keeps his eyes open, using his own strength to remain somewhat conscious. He’s coming to, but I’m not sure he realizes where we are yet. “Have fun?” I ask while my ngers basically give him a scalp massage.

He nods slowly, and his gaze lowers to my bra—beige and now pre y much see-through. Uh…

I pinch his arm, and he li s his head back to me. His eyes change, the amber color swimming and intensifying in the steam. He stares deeply, too intense. I hate when he looks at me like that. And he knows it. His hand rises and caresses the back of my neck. Whaaat…I shake out of my confusion and jerk away with a scowl. I don’t have me to deal with his hungover, delirious moves.

He gives me a smirk. “Just prac cing.”

“Do you know what me it is?” I grab a plas c cup, ll it with water, and dup it over his head, not caring as the shampoo burns his eyes. He squints and mumbles a curse, but he’s too red to actually rub it o .

When the soap suds zzle out, I drape his arm over my shoulder and lug his body to his bedroom. This me, he cooperates and helps me.

He collapses on the duvet, and I spend the next few minutes drying him o with a towel like he’s my pet dog. He stares at the ceiling, trans xed. I try to talk to him, needing him responsive for the luncheon.

“We stayed out really late last night for Charlie’s saxophone gig at Eight Ball,” I remind him as I search in the drawers for a suitable ou it.

He laughs lightly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Charlie,” he muses with bi erness. “My best friend.”

I swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying to keep it together. I can do this. I nd another pair of boxer-briefs, slacks and a powder blue bu on-down. I turn back to him, deba ng on whether or not I’ll have to see his junk.

His sopping underwear soaks his comforter, too wet to leave on with a pair of pants.

“Can you change yourself?” I ask. “I just want to limit the number of

mes I see your penis.”

He tries to prop his weight up and succeeds, holding himself upright on the bed. I’m impressed. And also, sort of, star ng to regret talking about his penis. Especially with the way he’s looking at me. He blinks a few mes before saying, “Leave them on the bed.” I set the stack of clothes beside him and grab my dress that’s slung over his desk chair.

Worry s ll beats in my chest. I enter my room and replace my soaked underwear before slipping into my dress. Is he going to be coherent enough to have a conversa on?

In prep school, his father used to ground Lo as he stumbled home from a late night of drinking or when he found his raided and drained liquor cabinet. When Lo’s grades started tanking, Mr. Hale threatened to ship his son to a military academy for young boys, thinking the structure would be bene cial for a rowdy teenager. I’m not even sure he connected the events and understood that Lo’s real problem was alcohol.

In re ec on, he needed AA or rehab, not a blue blood manufacturing camp. Instead, I gave him me: a scapegoat for his constant bingeing. That summer, we made the deal. And as soon as he told Jonathan that he started da ng Greg Calloway’s daughter, his slate wiped blank. Mr. Hale slapped him on the back, told Lo that I’d be good for him, and if I wasn’t, he’d nd a way to change his behavior. So we masked our lifestyles in order to con nue them.

Even though Lo hardly became a model ci zen in his early teenage years, my parents were overjoyed at the news of our rela onship. The sound of a Calloway-Hale union surpassed the quality of the man on my arm. As if it’s 1794 and our marriage will garner military power and land rights. Hello, we are not royalty.

With our new alliance, we lied for each other and hid our in deli es, playing the role of do ng boyfriend and girlfriend. The deeper we sink, the harder it is to crawl out. I fear the moment where neither of us can breathe again—when someone discovers our secrets. At any moment, everything can crumble beneath us. The dangerous game both excites and terri es me.

I return to Lo’s room and relax when I see him fully dressed, leaning his side wearily against the bedframe. His shirt is unbu oned and untucked.

At least he has pants on.

“Can you help me?” he asks casually. Without slurring!

I nod and take small steps towards him. I skim the hem of his bu on-down, and his hot, liquor breath prickles my skin. To avoid any bubbling feelings, I make a mental note to grab a pack of mints before we leave.

“I’ll be ne by the me we get there,” he assures me.

“I know.” I avoid eye contact as my ngers fumble with the bu on by his taut abs.

“I’m sorry,” he says so ly and then laughs. “At least I gave you something to ll your spank bank.”

I sigh heavily. I don’t purposefully fantasize about Loren Hale to get aroused. That would be way too awkward each me I meet his eyes. It’s already bad enough it happens on accident. “You’re not in my spank bank, Lo.” I think he might complain or laugh, but he looks confused and kind of hurt. I don’t have me to dig through the meaning.

“Sorry then,” he snaps, agitated. He feels bad, and I suddenly wish I just played along. He loses his foo ng in his drunk stupor and falls back into the ma ress. To catch myself from tumbling to the oor, I hold onto his arms

ghtly, but that sends me right into him. And when me starts to slow, I

realize that my hand is planted rmly on his chest; my legs are pressed against his, and the only thing that really separates us is his pants and my dress.

He breathes heavily, his muscles constric ng underneath my weight. Something deep pulses in me, something bad. His hands stay on the small of my back, on the dip above my ass. And as he licks his lips, watching me peruse his body with eager, wan ng eyes, I tap into the sensible part of my brain. I mu er, “Your dad is going to be at the luncheon.”

His face blanches, and he li s me up onto my feet like I weigh nothing. “We need to go,” he says, leaving the last few bu ons undone. He eyes the clock. “Now.” His worry clears most of his hangover, and I hope that it will be gone by the me we reach Villanova.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

WE’RE TEN MINUTES LATE, but we’re not the only ones.

My father missed his ight from New York back to Philly because his personal pilot had the u. He had to arrange a new one to y his private jet. The whole ordeal shouldn’t take long, but my father requires a background check on all his drivers. The new pilot will probably have to prove his competence with at least an hour of test ights. My mother always meets him when he lands, so she’s also MIA from this supposedly important luncheon.

But I’m not complaining. The extra me will help Lo become a bit more responsive. We sit on the pa o with a view of a large in nity pool and yellow rose bushes. The mid-morning sun glints against champagne glasses, lled with mimosas. Berries, cheeses, crackers and pe te

sandwiches systema cally line a white-linen tablecloth. Everything stays in its proper place, on ered pla ers or doilies.

My stomach gurgles, and thankfully no one waits for our parents to chow down. Jonathan Hale hasn’t arrived either, and he claims he’s caught in tra c, but I have a suspicion he’s wai ng in his car, not wan ng to be at the luncheon without my father present.

Lo keeps his arm on the back of my chair, se ling into the charade. His closeness makes my body tense, and I end up si ng on the edge of my seat, as far away from that hand as I can be. Hopefully my distance is not too obvious. I ache to be touched more sinfully, but I know I shouldn’t at this inappropriate me. And realize I should be near my supposed boyfriend. It’s all so complicated.

“Pass the book over here,” Poppy says, holding out her hand. Like the rest of the Calloway girls, my eldest sister stands out among crowds. A small mole on her upper lip screams Marilyn Monroe sexiness, and her skin looks far more tanned than the rest of ours, like a sun-kissed brune e. When I meet Poppy at malls or outlet stores, she turns heads. Some mes I do too, but I think it has more to do with my chicken legs—so skinny they could crack like a wishbone. Not a rac ve, I know, my mother usually reminds me.

Daisy slides her modeling book to Sam, who passes it to his wife. Poppy grins as she ips the pages. “These are gorgeous, Dais.”

The compliment doesn’t faze my youngest sister. She’s too busy munching on ny sandwiches like she hasn’t eaten in the past month.

“How was Fashion Week? Meet any cute boys?” I bat my lashes, trying to be funny but probably looking goofy and awkward.

Daisy snorts. “I think Mom ruined any kind of game I could have.” She

es her brown hair into a pony, making her unblemished skin and narrow

face look all the more striking.

“Wait? Mom went with you?” I shouldn’t be too surprised. Our mother tagged along to every single ballet rehearsal Rose had, even skipping family meals to watch her prac ce. She could have easily joined the cast of Dance Moms.

“Uh, yeah,” Daisy says. “I’m een, remember? Hell would freeze over

before she let me do Fashion Week by myself. How did you not know that?”

“I’m kind of out of the loop.”

“That is the understatement of the century,” Rose says.

Poppy smiles. “Don’t be mean, Rose. You’re going to scare Lily o for another two months.” We all know who the nice sister is. S ll, I can’t help but love Rose more. Maybe because we’re the closest in age or because she ac vely tries to be a part of my life. I see her more than I do anyone else.

Rose sips her mimosa with ght lips.

Daisy points an accusing nger at me. “You haven’t been to Sunday luncheon for two months?” She scru nizes me, as if searching for any visible wounds. “How are you not dead?”

“I ask the same ques on all the me,” Rose cuts in, “seeing as how I get cruci ed if I miss one.”

“The perks of da ng a Hale,” Poppy says, this me sounding bi er too.

Lo’s ngers ghten on the notch of my chair at the sound of his name.

My throat ghtens. Poppy spent years convincing our parents to accept her boyfriend and welcome him into the Calloway brood. Since Sam had barely six gures to his name, my parents feared he wanted Poppy for her inheritance. So my father hired him at Fizzle even though Sam only had a high school diploma and a resume with Dairy Queen as his sole employment. Eventually, my father learned Sam’s benevolent inten ons and approved of their marriage. And subsequently my mother did too.

Now a small munchkin with Sam’s dark hair and bright blue eyes runs somewhere around here. Poppy smiles o en and has more maternal a ec on than our own mother, but she won’t ever forget the judgment they cast on Sam or all the hassle, even if their intent was pure.

Her resent ricochets back to me since they swi ly embraced my rela onship with Lo.

“If I could change my name I would,” Lo says, the room blanke ng with even more uncomfortable tension.

Poppy says, “Which one?” And the mood begins to lighten. The girls laugh at Lo’s expense, but laughter is be er than taut muscles and fur ve glances. Lo has never been too keen on his full name. One reason why Rose always calls him Loren.

“When did you get so funny, Poppy?” Lo asks, tossing a grape in her lap. I’m surprised he chooses not to banter back with a ower insult, considering my mother named all four of us a er a plant. It’s only embarrassing when we’re all together in public, so I can deal.

“Resor ng to food ghts already, Loren?” Rose interjects. “The luncheon hasn’t even o cially begun.”

“Now you know why they don’t care if we bail for months,” he tells her. “Mystery solved.”

“Can I see Daisy’s book?” I ask Poppy.

She hands it to me across the table and it knocks into the stem of my champagne glass. I curse under my breath and jump up before the orange juice stains my dress.

Lo quickly grabs a napkin, standing with me. He rests a hand on my arm and dabs the spill around my chest, thinking nothing of it. I guess no one else would either because we’re together (not really), and my mind has begun a serious free-fall. A server enters with more towels, and I am burning too much to actually move.

“I’m sorry.” Who am I apologizing to? Myself for being clumsy?

“Ohh, Lily is turning into a rose,” Poppy teases.

Rose shoots her a glare at men oning her name within a slight insult, and I only redden further.

Lo sets the napkin on the table, and whispers in my ear, “Be cool, love. It’s just a li le spill.” He smiles in amusement and his breath ckles my skin. I prac cally ooze into his arms. He kisses me on the lips, so light, that a er his mouth has separated from mine, all I can think about are them returning.

The sta zips in and out of the pa o, cleaning the mess around us like worker bees.

When everyone se les and I rea ach my head to my body, I s y sit

back down, and ip open Daisy’s book. Lo leans into me to peek at the pictures, his thigh meshing against mine. The photos. Yes. I blink, focusing. In most of them, Daisy stands against a white backdrop without any makeup. Beauty shots, I suppose. I turn another page and my mouth falls.

She’s naked! Or nearly naked. She stands with ve-inch heels and wears a men’s suit jacket. Nothing else. The shot focuses on her long bare legs and the sides of her breasts. She has slicked-back hair into a ght ponytail, and her makeup makes her look twenty-seven, not een. Daisy’s hips

bend awkwardly in the pose, the only indica on that it’s high fashion and not Penthouse.

Lo whistles a long note, sounding as shocked as I feel.

“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, careening her head to try and see the photo.

“You’re not wearing anything.” I hold up the book so she can see which photo we’re discussing. She stays perfectly calm, not even embarrassed. “I have underwear on. It’s nude though.”

“Did Mom see this?”

“Yeah, she suggested I try to book mature photo shoots. It’ll increase my value.”

Her value. As though she’s a pig up for auc on. “Do you like modeling?”

“It’s ne. I’m good at it.” Okaaay. That is not the answer I wanted to hear, but I’m not her mother. I skip these weekly events for a reason, and a aching myself to situa ons won’t help me ease out of the Calloway household unseen.

Lo rubs his mouth, nding the right words. “You’re een, Daisy. You

shouldn’t be taking o your clothes for cameras.” His ngers brush against my shoulder, and he whispers in my ear, “You didn’t even do that.”

As if I’ve set the sexual standard. I gape and pinch his thigh. He cups my hand, intertwining my ngers in his, and even if I should pull away, I don’t want to.

Rose cuts in, “Don’t big brother her when you can’t even remember her birthday, Loren.”

Lo’s jaw locks, his cheekbones sharpening. He reaches for his mimosa and then grabs my purse, searching the handbag for his thin ask.

My mind goes suddenly blank as the sta starts shu ing inside. I tap Lo on the arm, and he follows my gaze, s ening to stone.

Our parents have arrived.

FOR THE PAST TWENTY MINUTES, Lo and I have avoided our parents’ focused a en on. My mother xates on Poppy’s toddler who busted her front tooth last Wednesday on the sidewalk. If I have to hear the words plas c surgeon one more me, I may need four mimosas and an a rac ve male server.

Jonathan Hale and my father whisper at the head of the table, enjoying their own private conversa on. If their isola on bothers my mother, she doesn’t let on. She ngers a string of pearls on her bony collar and listens intently to Poppy.

“How is Penn?”

I jolt at the ques on, immediately reanima ng from my stupor. Since Rose a ends Princeton, it’s safe to say my father is speaking to Lo and me.

“Hard, lots of studying,” Lo says brie y. His arm curls around my waist. I’m too nervous to be lus ng a er him.

“Same,” I murmur. In my family, I’m “the quiet one” so it’s easy to get away with monosyllabic answers.

My mother perks at the start of a new conversa on. “Lily, my li le pansy, how have you been?”

I grimace, glad she didn’t actually name me Pansy. I can’t believe that was even an op on. “Fine.”

“Are you two taking any classes together this semester?” She ngers her champagne glass, red lips ck staining the rim.

“Just one. Managerial Economics and Game Theory.” As Business Majors, Lo and I are bound to share some classes, but we try to sparse those as much as possible. There is such a thing as too much Loren Hale.

Jonathan sets down his glass of whiskey. The irony is not lost upon me. “How are you doing in it?” he cuts to the point, eyes right on his son. Both Jonathan and my father look dapper in Armani suits, their hair not yet grayed and their strong jaws cleanly shaven. The di erence lies in their features. Jonathan stares like he could rip out your heart. My father looks open enough to run in for a hug.

“I have an A,” Lo says. My brows shoot up in surprise. An A? I’m barely passing, but Lo’s naturally smart, almost never needing to study.

Jonathan glances at me, and I immediately start sinking in my chair—as though his pupils are too powerful to make contact with. “You look shocked. Is he lying?”

“What? No, I-I,” I spu er. “We don’t talk about grades…”

“You don’t believe me, Dad?” He touches his chest. “I’m wounded.”

Jonathan se les back in his chair. “Hmm.” Hmm? What does that even mean?!

My father tries to lighten the su oca ng atmosphere. “I’m sure Lily is keeping you focused on the important things.”

Lo grins. “Oh, she de nitely is.”

“Gross,” Rose deadpans. If only she knew he was talking about booze and not sex. My mother gives a circle of disapproving looks, full of the same ice that Rose inherited.

“Any gradua on plans yet?” my father asks.

I think about Lo’s future again, wearing a ght suit, working for his father, his lips pulled into a perpetual frown.

“We s ll have a year to decide,” Lo answers.

“You both need to start formula ng a plan,” my father says, sounding cri cal.

A plan. I’ve been so focused on Lo that I haven’t even begun to imagine my life past college. Where will I be? What will I be? White empty space

lls the void, unsure of what picture to paint.

“We just want to give school our full a en on. Grades are really important to us.” Yeah right.

My father folds his napkin on the table, about to switch topics. “Jonathan and I were discussing the upcoming Christmas Charity Gala sponsored by Fizzle and Hale Co. The press has been buzzing about the event for weeks, and it’s important that everyone is present to show support.”

“We’ll be there,” Lo says, raising his glass.

“Any news on a ring?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile.

“I’m s ll twenty,” I remind her, shrinking. My mother missed the opportunity to call me Violet.

“You don’t have any news?” Rose ques ons, her face sharpening.

I frown in confusion and shake my head. What is she ge ng on about?

Her lips ghten in a thin line and she whispers to Poppy, who quickly whispers back.

“Ladies,” my mother chides. “Don’t be rude.”

Rose straightens and sets her frosty gaze on me. “I think it’s odd that you’ve been drinking orange juice and water.”

“I’m driving,” I tell her. What is with everyone and my choice to be sober? When did it become abnormal to refuse alcohol at a meal?

My mother hu s. “That’s what Nola is for, Lily.”

“Anderson as well,” Jonathan adds.

Anderson the Nark. Never.

“Well, I have a reason to believe your choice of drink has nothing to do with driving,” Rose says. What?!

“What are you insinua ng?” My heart beats wildly. Please don’t let it be what I think. Please, please, please. Lo squeezes my hip to reassure me, but whatever is coming, is bad.

“Yes, Rose, what are you insinua ng?” My mother comes to my defense.

“I have a friend who goes to Penn. She saw Lily walking out of the pregnancy center last month.”

Last month…oh, jeez. I cover my eyes with a hand, and slouch so low in my seat, I’m prac cally eye-level with the table.

My father chokes on his drink, and Jonathan has gone very, very pale, a feat I didn’t think possible for his Irish skin.

“Is this true?” my mother asks.

Yes.

I open my mouth. I can’t say the real answer. Yeah, I went there. I visit the health clinic to check for STDs every couple days, okay? And I take pregnancy tests. I am safe and I know it. Most people can’t say that.

Or the whole truth, one a ernoon the pink plus sign actually haunted me. They sent me to the pregnancy center for an ultrasound. False alarm, thankfully.

“Lily, explain,” my mother nearly shrieks.

Lo stares at me for a long moment before he realizes I’m in no capacity to form words, let alone lies.

“It was just a scare,” he says and turns his a en on to Rose. “It’s funny how you choose now to bring this up when you’ve known for a whole month.”

“I was wai ng for Lily to tell me herself. I thought we were closer than this.”

My lungs collapse.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” my mother asks.

I swallow hard.

“Or me,” Poppy says.

Daisy raises her hand and points to herself. “Me too!”

I press my ngers to my eyes before waterworks kick in. “It-it was nothing.”

My mother’s nose ares. “Nothing? An unplanned pregnancy is not nothing.”

Dad cuts in, “You have your en re future ahead of you, and children will change the way your life works forever. You can’t undo that.” Yeah, I’m pre y posi ve a kid would hinder our lifestyles, a reason why I’ve been so careful thus far. I don’t have the heart or strength to tell them everything. That if the pink plus sign stuck around, the kid wouldn’t even belong to Lo.

I stand up quickly, my head pumping with helium. It oats but I s ll manage words. “I need some air.”

“We’re outside,” Rose says.

Lo rises from his seat. “Air that you don’t breathe.” He places his palm on the small of my back.

“Loren,” Jonathan growls.

“What?” he growls back, his gaze falling to his father’s whiskey, envy and bi erness clouding his amber irises.

“It’s been a long a ernoon,” my father says. “Lily looks pale. Take her inside, Loren.”

Before anyone changes their mind, Lo ushers me through the French glass doors and into the nearest bathroom. I collapse on the toilet seat.

“Why would she do that?” My chest constricts with each breath. I tug at the ght fabric of my dress that suc ons to my ribs. What if her friend saw me walk out of the sexual health clinic instead? How do I explain checking for STDs?

Lo kneels in front of me and presses a warm wash cloth to my forehead. A ashback hits me—of doing the same to him. In less than a few hours, we’ve switched places.

“Rose can be cruel,” Lo reminds me.

I shake my head. “She was hurt.” And this is how Rose Calloway retaliates against someone who’s a ected her. “She wanted me to tell her

rst.” I rub my eyes, trembling. How will Rose take the knowledge that I

sleep around? Will she hate me a erwards? I have no clue. Predic ng her reac on has caused restless nights, and so I decided it’s safe to just keep my nigh me ac vi es to myself. I thought it would be easier on everyone.

“Breathe, Lil,” he whispers. When I inhale and exhale in synchroniza on, he deserts the washcloth for his ask. A er a couple swigs, he wipes his mouth with his hand and rests against the sink cabinets.

“This is ge ng harder.” I stare at my hands, as though they hold my intangible lies.

“I know,” he breathes. I wait for him to say the words, I’m done pretending.

Instead, we eat the silence. The swish of his alcohol and my sni es are the only music to our misery.

Someone knocks on the door, and Lo stu s the ask back into my purse.

“Lily? Can I talk to you?” Poppy asks.

Lo glances at me for what to do. I nod. And he goes to the sink, pu ng his mouth underneath the faucet. He spits water back into the bowl and then opens the door.

Poppy gives him a warm, maternal smile. “Your father wants to talk with you. He’s wai ng in the parlor.”

Lo prac cally slams the door on his way out.

Poppy ddles with her ngers while I stare at the black marble oor. “I didn’t know Rose was going to say anything. She told me this morning, and I thought we’d have a chance to talk to you before announcing anything to Mom and Dad.”

I unclip my heels and set my toes on the cool marble, not strong enough for words.

Poppy lls the void. “Rose is going through a tough me. She sees Daisy with her modeling career, you have Loren, and I’m busy with my daughter.” She pauses. “You know Calloway Couture was just dropped by Saks?”

I frown deeply, not realizing.

Rose built Calloway Couture with our mother as a li le side business when she turned een. Years later, it’s grown into a pro table fashion line

that Rose can call her own. I never ask about her months or her life. Yet, she always nds the me to ask about mine.

“I’ve tried to call you,” Poppy con nues. “For two months, and you haven’t answered. Lo hasn’t answered. If Rose doesn’t stop by and assure me that you’re alive, some mes I wonder…” Her voice turns grave. “I can’t help but think you’ve eliminated us from your life.”

I don’t dare look at her. Tears prick my eyes, burning, but I hold them back. It’s easier this way, I remind myself. It’s easier if they know nothing. It’s easier to disappear.

“I was in college too, and I know your social life and studies can take precedent over family, but you don’t have to cut us out completely.” She pauses again. “Maria is three. I’d love for you to be a part of her life. You’re good with her—whenever you’re around.” She takes an unsure step forward and reaches out for me. “I’m here for you. I need you to know that.”

I rise on two shaky legs and let her wrap her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me ghtly. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. She sni s, her tears falling on my back. A er pulling away, I inhale. “Thanks, Poppy.”

Her words defeated me, tearing down any ounce of resilience. I have nothing le to give, no comfort to spare. I feel like a shell, wai ng for the hermit to return home.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

DAYS MOVE by in a sluggish haze lled with random bodies and carnal highs. I try to keep to my word and answer my sisters’ calls (I s ll screen my parents), but at mes, my runaway phone acts like an angst-ridden teen and goes missing. Usually, I’m too self-absorbed in bodily pursuits to care.

I also have one valid excuse to keep my phone o .

Class.

Business and economics courses at Penn hijack my me. Maybe I should’ve picked an easier major, but my talents start and stop at being able to woo a boy into bed. And most girls can easily succeed where I do.

Life would make more sense if I happened to be a prodigy in art or music. I’d have a direc on, a purpose. Then maybe my future wouldn’t look so blank.

Since my ar s c gi s peak at s ck gures and whistling, I’m stuck with sta s cs. At noon, I sit beside Lo in the very back auditorium row. Managerial Economics and Game Theory—it really does exist. And I understand about 1.111% of the professor’s dry lecture.

Lo kicks his feet on the empty chair below while I feverishly take notes on my laptop, my ngers pounding against the keys. A er a few minutes, I feel note-fa gue. It happens. So I pop up another window and search my favorite sites.

My eyes widen in glee. Kinkyme.net just uploaded a video featuring a pro soccer player (a porn star) and a fan (another porn star) in sultry posi ons. I lt my head as he caresses her neck and takes her in the gym shower. Ooh, steamy.

The footage rolls on mute, of course, but my breathing shallows as his muscles enclose the fan-girl into the corner, trapping her beside the hot, wet les.

Laughing erupts, and my head shoots up from the computer, my face

aming in retalia on.

No one stares at me.

In fact, eyes plant on the professor. He makes another joke about Ke$ha and gli er, a humorous digression. I swallow, okay, my mind is playing tricks on me. I minimize the porn and expand my notes again.

Lo gnaws on the end of his pen, not aware of the students or the professor. He reads the latest X-Men comic on his iPad and nurses a thermos in his other hand.

“You’re not borrowing my notes,” I remind him in a whisper.

“I don’t want them.” He takes a large swig of his alcoholic beverage. I think I saw him concoc ng an orange, lemon and whiskey mix this morning, something nausea ng.

My brows scrunch. “How do you plan on studying?”

“I’ll wing it.”

That’s what he always says. I hope he fails. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Sort of. While I’m saddled with anxiety, he leisurely relaxes in his seat.

“You really want to piss o your father?” I ask. At last week’s luncheon, Daisy told me his father took Lo aside and laid into him about grades and being safer with me. She said she saw “spit y,” which could be en rely true. I’ve seen Jonathan Hale grab the back of Lo’s neck like a pup, pinching so hard that Lo squirmed in pain un l his father released the hold. I don’t think he realized the amount of strength he was using or the hurt in Lo’s eyes.

“He’ll nd something to be angry about, Lil,” he whispers. “If it’s not school or you, it’s my future and Hale Co. He can’t send me to fucking boot camp if I unk, not when I’m an adult. So what is he going to do to me? Take away my trust fund? Then how will I support my future wife?”

I can’t see that future. The one where our lies go as far as marriage. And by his bi er tone, I doubt he pictures it too. I lick my dry lips and return my a en on back to the professor. I’ve missed a good chunk of informa on with that one conversa on, and I don’t have any friends in the class to ask for notes. I start typing hurriedly again.

A er a couple minutes, Lo sighs in boredom and nudges my side. “Have you had sex with anyone in this room?”

“Why do you care?” I try to mul -task and concentrate on the lecture too. The li le tab at the bo om of my screen also distracts: Pro Pleasures Fan, Watch Full Video HERE.

“I’m about to fall asleep.”

Huh? I concentrate on highligh ng a line in my notes. “Then why’d you even come?”

“A endance counts ten percent. I can actually control that part.” He leans his shoulder into me, his warmth entering my space, his hard bicep on my so . A breath dies in my chest. “You didn’t answer my ques on.”

My eyes dart around the hundred bodies compacted into the auditorium-styled room. I land on a short guy with a fedora, brown hair peeking beneath. Two years ago. His apartment. Missionary. I spot another with nearly black hair ed into a ny pony. Five months ago. His beat up VW. Reverse cow-girl. The moments bleed into my brain, replaying. My heart quickens at the images, but my stomach sinks at the answer to Lo’s ques on. In a hundred person class, I at least slept with two guys. What does that say about me? Slut, whore. I hear the condemna on.

Yet, I glance back at that li le tab on my computer, my chest u ering in excitement.

“So?” Lo presses.

“I don’t know,” I lie.

An eyebrow quirks. “You don’t know?” Before I can unmask his expression, he smiles with that familiar bi er amusement. “That’s hilarious.”

“You need to get laid,” I shoot back. Think about your nonexistent sex life for a change.

“And you need a drink.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“You started it.”

I bang on my keys and he edges out of my space, the weight of his arm gone. The warmth replaced by cold. I inhale strongly and try not to think about the emp ness in my belly or the spot between my legs.

My nger slips, hi ng a random bu on.

“Ahhh, baby, right there, right THERE!”

The en re room goes silent. And heads turn to the back, towards the source of the sexual noises, towards me.

Oh my God. My porn stays in the tab, but the sound heightens as the pro-athlete reaches his climax. Her moans. His groans. I click bu ons as fast as my nger will allow, but my computer expands the porn window and says Not Responding every me I try to exit out.

Lo presses his knuckles to his lips, trying desperately to hide his grin.

“Take me in the ass. Please, please!!! Ahhh!” the girl cries.

RESPOND!!! I internally shriek. No, my computer has decided to rebel against human intelligence. So I slam the screen shut and close my eyes, praying for my teleporta on power to kick in. I know it exists.

“aaaahhhhHHHH!”

I bury my head in my arms. Finally, the noise dies o , leaving the lecture hall in dead, awkward silence. I peek up from my arm-fort.

“I have a virus,” I mumble and cringe, too embarrassed to rephrase it to my computer has a virus.

The professor’s dark eyebrows draw into a hard line, not pleased at all. “See me a er class.”

People steal glances back at us, and the exposure sends my skin into red disgrace.

Lo leans in again, but his masculine presence no longer tempts me. I feel like I’ve been electrocuted. “I didn’t know you watched anal porn.”

He tries to cheer me up with the words, but I can’t even laugh. An army of re ants just crawled across my body. “I’m dead,” I mu er, and a horrifying thought hits me. “What if my parents nd out?”

“This isn’t high school, Lil.”

The words don’t make me feel much be er. I stare at my palms and retreat inside myself. My shoulders curving forward, my head slightly bent.

“Hey.” Lo gently turns my chin to meet his gaze, one full of understanding, narrowed with empathy. I begin to relax. “He’s not going to call your parents. You’re an adult.”

It’s hard to remember that when my parents cling to my future with such diligence and force.

“How o en do you do it in the ass?” Lo banters with a crooked grin.

I groan and bury my head into my arms once again, but my lips upturn in a small smile. I hide that as well.

A er another half hour of fearing my computer and producing paper notes at a snail’s pace, the class ends. People take the opportunity to glance my way as they stand to leave, like they want a full mental picture of The Girl Who Watches Porn (In Class).

I rise and my hands shake by my sides. Lo passes me my backpack, and I sling it over my shoulder. His palm brushes my waist, for a brief second, as he says, “I’ll see you later. Maybe we can grab lunch during your break.”

I nod, and he pulls away, leaving me to wonder whether that was real or fake. Whether he meant to really touch my hip or if it was an unconscious movement, trained from all these years of pretending.

The scary part, I almost hoped it was real.

I watch him disappear with an old JanSport backpack, nearly empty. No notebooks. No pens. No computer. Just an iPad, a phone and a thermos in his possession. He walks without worry or care, tapping the height of the door frame on his way out. Something about his self-assured nature, his unhurriedness, mesmerizes me.

“Name?”

I break out of my trance. The professor stands at his podium, wai ng for me.

“Your name?” he asks again, just as tersely. He slides his laptop into his briefcase. Students for the next period begin to lter in, and their instructor starts erasing the whiteboard that’s scrawled with economics problems.

I near the podium. “Lily Calloway.”

“Lily,” he says dryly, taking his briefcase from the table. “If you can’t bring a clean computer to class, then you need to take notes with a pen and paper. Next me this happens, I’ll be enforcing this on everyone. You don’t want to be the girl who ruins this privilege for the whole class.” No, I do not. I only have one friend, already isolated as it is, but that doesn’t mean I want to make any enemies.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He nods and walks o without another word.

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

THE CLOCK TICKS past midnight by the me I trudge into the Drake’s lobby, my heels clapping on the creamy marble oors. My muscles ache from being wedged in a coat closet at the ballet theatre. I stayed seated beside Rose and Poppy for a total of ten minutes. Then I disappeared in search of a guy who eyed me at the cket booth. A er the hookup, I returned to my seat and they hardly no ced that I bailed on our planned sister- me. I spent the rest of the ballet imagining the male dancers with me—taking them home a er the show ended. And when the curtains closed, a huge part of me wanted to go nd one, but I was with my sisters. I was si ng with them, thinking about sex. I was an idiot.

I enter the golden elevator and press the highest number, my back aching. Did he have to slam me into the hangers?

Before the elevator closes, a man rushes in, slipping his ngers between the doors. They bounce back at his touch.

He pants heavily, out of breath, and I watch as he runs a hand through his thick brown hair. He presses the bu on to the oor below mine, and the elevator rises.

I check for a ring. None. His charcoal suit looks expensive, his gold watch valida ng my suspicions. Late twen es, early thir es. Lawyer, I predict. But I don’t care much about it. Not when the shape of his body appears to be hard, toned and powerful.

This is the easy part. Not knowing him. Le ng my passions consume me for a single instant. This is what I do best. As my con dence soars, I shut my eyes, inhaling a deep, though ul breath.

With his hot gaze, he skims the length of my bare legs that peek beneath an elegant white, backless dress. I slowly peel o my black coat and shi sugges vely. He has a view of the very small of my back, the part bare and eager to be taken hold of.

I rest a hand on the elevator wall, my breath low and strained. And his body slides against me, those large palms on my slender hips. I lower one to my thigh, to the place between my legs. And he grows. A sound s cks to my throat, and I keep my hands on the wall. He nds his way into me. Yes.

His ngers ghten around my waist, cinching my dress, pulling it higher. One of his hands holds my shoulder to drive deeper. And with one last thrust—

Bing.

My eyes snap open, and I turn bright red from the fantasy I created. That guy has no idea that I pictured him unchastely with me. I stand by the wall, my hands bunched in my coat pockets, holding in that strained breath.

And the man—he doesn’t look back, doesn’t even acknowledge my existence—he slips out of the elevator doors that have burst open.

My fantasy built the tension, but it never released it. As the doors shut, I bang the back of head on the wall. Stupid, Lily.

I reach my oor and walk down the hall. Right now, I wish I could revert back to my high school self. Where I had sex maybe once a month. Most hours were lled with porn and my imagina on. Now, very li le excites me, and when I nd something that does, I think about it constantly. I can barely even last a whole day without being gra ed by a set of hands and a

male body thrumming against mine.

What’s wrong with me?

I throw my keys in the basket, hang up my coat and kick o my heels, trying not to think about what just happened. The smell of scotch lingers in the air. As I head to my door, I pass Lo’s and suddenly stop.

“Hey,” a girl giggles. “Don’t…” She moans. Moans.

What is he doing to her? The creepy thought loiters, and I bite my nails, picturing Lo.

His hands on my legs, my hands on his chest, his lips against mine, mine against his. Lily, he breathes, bringing me close, his hold so very ght. He looks at me with those amber eyes, narrowed with passion. And he knows just what to do to make me—

“Oh…God!” She starts screaming as he nds the right spot. He must be good in bed, and I nd myself wishing she’d go away. What does it ma er if he has a girl in the room? I told him he needed to have sex. And he’s having it. I should be happy he’s nally ge ng laid.

But I’m not swallowing a happy pill right now.

I bo le my feelings that begin to brew and confuse. I slip into my room, ready for a shower. My phone beeps, and I open the text.

Don’t forget, we’re dress shopping tomorrow. Thanks for coming

tonight. Love you. – Poppy

Dress shopping. Oh yeah. For the Christmas Charity Gala. Even months away, the girls want to nd perfect ou its for the event. Including jewelry, heels, and clutches. The whole ordeal will take hours, but I’ll be there.

Thump, thump, thump.

Lo’s headboard. Into my wall. A ball ghtens in my throat, and I scroll through my list of contacts, hesita ng on the escort service. A er the last gigolo turned a physical day into an emo onal one, I’ve avoided any interac on with paid-to-screw men.

I toss my phone on my purple comforter.

Thump, thump.

Shower, I try to remind myself. Yes. I head to my bathroom.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Good God.

I turn the nozzle to hot, shed my clothes, step in and shut my eyes— trying to think about anything other than sex. And Loren Hale.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

I SIT on a Victorian chaise in the dressing room lobby, surrounded by too many mirrors and too many racks of dresses, some cos ng more than bridal gowns.

While my sisters try on long, draping beau es in deep wintery colors, I protect the dozens of shopping bags from the jewelers and shoe stores. A er choosing a plum gown with lacy sleeves—my rst choice—I no longer have to agonize over what to wear to the Charity Gala. I happily sit outside, stealing glances at a cute guy one chaise over. He twists a ring on his nger and checks his watch, wai ng for his wife in a curtained dressing room to the le of Rose’s.

I am not a proponent of in delity, adultery, chea ng, you name it. I’ve never inten onally hooked up with a married man, and I don’t plan to now, but staring…that’s not against my rules.

Anyway, I can’t help it. His whole jaw is lined with scru , the kind you want to run your hands on. His light green eyes stay in his vicinity. For the best, I suppose, but a huge part of me wants him to look over. To stand up and come— “This is so ugly.”

I jump as Daisy emerges from her dressing room. She pads to the set of mirrors in the lobby and does a li le spin. I cringe. Yeah, the big bow situated on her bu is not helping. Neither is the puke-green color.

“It’s hideous,” Rose agrees, pushing back her curtains and joining us.

“Oh, I like yours,” Daisy exclaims.

Rose takes the me to check out her velvet blue dress in the mirror. The fabric cinches at the bust and hugs her slender frame perfectly. “What do you think, Lily?” We’ve made up since the “pregnancy” debacle at the luncheon. Rose apologized during breakfast one morning at my apartment. She brought over everything-bagels, my favorite, and subsequently, I said I was sorry too. For not being around more. That’s how our rela onship goes. I disappoint her. She forgives me, but never forgets, and we move on.

“It looks beau ful on you, but so did the last een.”

Poppy’s voice trickles from her dressing room. “Put your arm in here. Stop being so di cult.” She sighs exhaustedly. A er a couple seconds, she enters the lobby with a squirming li le brune e girl.

“Aw, Maria, you look so cute,” Daisy says, touching Maria’s lacy pink dress with white ghts. Poppy nally coaxes Maria against her hip, se ling down.

“What do you say?” Poppy tells her daughter.

“Thank you, aun e.” She puts her thumb in her mouth, and Poppy immediately takes it out.

“You’re too old for that.”

She’s three and in the Calloway clan, po y training, walking, reading, spelling, wri ng must all be achieved before the average age, lest we turn into normal people.

Rose inches closer to me, away from Maria who makes her grimace. Her hatred of children is actually amusing. I smile as she su ers, and when she no ces it, I suspect a wave of bitchiness headed my way.

“Who are you bringing?” she asks.

Oh. Not too bad. “Lo, of course.” My smile widens. “The be er ques on is who you are going to bring.” Rose constantly ghts for the right to go stag, since no guy can ever live up to her impossible standards. But our mother insists on dates, believing that if you arrive without a man, you look cheap and unwanted. Something that I disagree with—Rose even more vehemently than me. Figh ng our mother exhausts me, and for Rose to back down, my mother must have brought the waterworks. Rose hates tears almost as much as she dislikes children.

“I’m working on it.”

She usually takes Sebas an, her go-to arm candy, but apparently he’s ditching her this year for his boyfriend. I listened to her rant about it all last week, and I think she’s out of re to reignite the same conversa on.

Daisy chimes in, “I’ll probably bring Josh.”

I frown. “Who’s Josh?”

She pulls her brown hair into a pony. “My boyfriend. Of six months,” she emphasizes, her voice s ll light.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I just…” Am never home to see her. Or him. And I don’t listen well.

“It’s okay.”

I know it’s not.

She shrugs and disappears into her dressing room to take o the green monstrosity.

Rose shoots me a cold glare. “Who do you think she’s been tex ng all day?”

She’s been tex ng? “Dad?” I try.

Rose rolls her eyes drama cally.

Maria throws her ballet at at me. Jesus!

“Maria!” Poppy exclaims.

Rose laughs loudly. I think this is the rst me a child has made her smile. And it was by abusing me with a shoe!

“They’re stupid!”

I gape. Did she call me stupid? Is everyone really that mad at me? Even a child?

“Don’t use that word,” Poppy scolds. “Tell Lily you’re sorry.”

“I hate shoes!” Okay, good. At least someone s ll hasn’t fallen out of love with me. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“What about these.” I point to a box of gli ery silver ats with pink clips. Maria’s eyes widen and calms. I smile. “Are you sure she’s not Rose’s kid? Toss her some Prada and she shuts up.”

Rose’s laughter dies down. “Funny.”

Poppy says, “I’m going to take Maria to the bathroom.” She’s going to spank her. My mother used to threaten with a wooden spoon. Those hurt, you know. They’re pre y damn scary, and I learned to quiet in public places, fearing the wrath of my mother and the swat of a utensil. “Can you watch my dressing room, Lil? My purse is in there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Once she disappears from sight, Rose moves a few bags and nds a seat next to me. “Is it Loren?”

I frown. “What?”

Her yellow-green eyes meet mine. “Is he keeping you from us?”

My stomach churns with acid. Lo keeping me from them? I want to laugh or cry or scream, anything—maybe, just maybe, even shout the truth. I can’t t you into my schedule, not when it’s booked with sex, not when you wouldn’t understand.

“It’s not Lo. I’m just busy, some mes even too busy for him.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

I look at my hands, a small tell, but I doubt she’ll pick up on it. I shake my head. “No.”

A er lingering silence, she says, “I told Mom that Penn would be too hard for you. Of course she didn’t listen. You weren’t the model student at Dalton.”

I laugh, that’s an understatement. “My grades sucked.” Dalton Academy rode me hard, in many ways. Without my family’s achievements, I wouldn’t have been accepted to an Ivy League. That much is clear.

“I remember lling out your applica ons,” Rose says with pursed lips, but there’s a shimmer in her eyes, as though the moment is a fond one for her. I barely remember it. I must have been sur ng the internet, looking at porn. Thinking about sex.

“You did a good job,” I say. “I got in.”

“What did it ma er? You chose Penn, not Princeton.” She stands and pretends to admire herself in the mirror, but I can tell she’s trying to hide her real feelings. We fought a lot when I made the decision to go to college with Lo and not her. She never talked about being roommates with me, but Poppy later told me that Rose had already begun picking out dishware and furniture for an apartment o campus that she hoped we would share.

At the me, I blamed my choice on Lo, telling everyone that he hadn’t been accepted to Princeton. Of course, he was, but how could I enjoy my freedom and live in close proximity to Rose? I couldn’t. She would nd out about all the boys. She’d be repulsed by me and cut me from her life for good. I can’t take that rejec on or cri cism. Not from her. Not from someone I truly adore.

Very so ly, I say, “I’m sorry.” I feel like all I do is apologize.

Rose looks blank. Completely shut o . “It’s ne. I’m going to try on that black dress.” She slips into her curtained room, leaving me alone. Well not totally alone.

I glance back at the other Victorian chaise.

My heart sinks. Empty. He’s gone. Great, now I don’t even have someone to ogle.

My phone vibrates in my jeans. I pluck it out and frown at the unknown number. Hmm. I open the text.

Want to hang out? – 215-555-0177

Must be a guy I drunkenly gave my number to a er we hooked up. I usually keep personal informa on to myself, considering it provokes a achment and stalking.

My lips grow into a smile, wondering who could be on the other line. The excitement actually takes me by surprise. If I was drunk when we met, I probably won’t remember him. Anonymous. Technically, it’ll be like a rst encounter.

I make my choice.

Where do you want to meet?

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE NEXT MORNING, I wake to a spli ng headache and the spins. Turns out, I vaguely remembered the guy from my text, not enough to warrant a good mental picture. He likes booze and peer pressured me into doing tequila shots. But I s ll remember the thrum in my chest, the beat pulsing as I reached his door, as I knocked and waited for him to answer, to let me in and do it as many ways as his body would allow. Anonymous sex —not knowing what the guy will look like on the other side—hooked me so, so very much.

As I lie s ll, coming down from a serious high and le with a hellish hangover, I wonder about Lo. I haven’t seen him since my porn blared across the lecture hall. I spent my lunch break cramming for a quiz and couldn’t meet him on campus, and Saturday was lled with dresses, shoes and sisters. I don’t even know what he did or where he was, not uncommon. We’re not together all the me, anyway. We do separate on occasion. I think.

I drag my body from the bed, throw on a baggy T-shirt and jeans shorts. I want to ask him about that girl he brought home. Maybe he’ll tell me what he did to her. Would that be weird?

As I exit into the hallway, I stop at the sound of faint laughter, emana ng from the kitchen. Girl laughter.

My frown deepens. Is this the same girl? No, it can’t be. My stomach knots. Is it? Hesitantly, I move closer and then go s ll at the doorway.

“You’re a good cook,” the girl says, her voice familiar.

I don’t know why I assumed he would have a one-night stand like me. Why would I assume that? So she stayed the night. Friday and Saturday.

Lo mills around the kitchen, xing two bloody marys and scrambling eggs on the stove. I scru nize the girl who sits cross-legged on the bar stool, wearing his muscle Clash T-shirt. Her big breasts peek out on either side, and I can see her red pan es beneath the charcoal-gray fabric.

She’s a natural blonde, her hair wet like she just showered. And even without makeup, she resembles a girl next door, someone you’d bang and then take home to your parents.

I feel even more nauseous.

Lo scrapes the eggs onto two plates. When he looks up, he nally no ces me lingering like a creep. “Hey, Lily.” He points to the blonde. “This is Cassie.”

Cassie gives me a small wave. “Hi.”

I smile back, but I shrink inside like a wilted ower. She’s nice, too.

“Do you want breakfast?” Lo asks. He acts as though this is a normal rou ne. Him, bringing home a girl. On a rst name basis with her. Since when do we know the names of our guests? Never. Okay, well that’s more my rule, but I thought it would extend to Lo too. It has since we’ve been in college.

“No,” I mu er. I gesture to the hall behind me. “I’m going to…”—go shrivel in self-pity— “take a shower.” I dart into the depths of the hallway, retrea ng to the safety of my room. Okay, that was weird. I was weird. The whole situa on was extremely weird. Is that how Lo feels about me when I bring men home? I shake the thought o . Of course not. I don’t display the guys and test them out to see if they’re boyfriend material. I ditch them almost immediately.

Only one thing can take my mind o Lo. I change quickly into a black day dress and comb my hair that thankfully doesn’t look too greasy. A er spraying perfume and slipping into a pair of wedges, I grab my phone and let three texts, all anonymous numbers, guide my fate.

Unfortunately, I must enter the kitchen to reach the foyer and then the front door. I try to put invisible blinders up as I walk through, my target on the exit. Go, go, go!

“Where are you going?” Lo asks, his frown apparent in his voice.

“Out.” I grab a set of keys in the basket and then drop them back in. I don’t need to drive him anywhere since he has Malibu Barbie on his hip. So I’m ge ng drunk today. Maybe I’ll call a cab as well.

“Did I do something?” Cassie’s loud-whisper echoes from the kitchen before I leave.

I’m wai ng by the elevator when Lo appears around the bending hallway. I s ll can’t meet his eyes. I’m unjus ably angry, which makes

everything so much worse.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I push the glowing bu on three more mes.

“Lily, look at me.” Lo grabs my arm and thrusts my body towards him. I

nally take in his warm, amber eyes, full of confusion and scorn. “What the

hell is going on? You’re ac ng weird.”

“Are you da ng her?”

His brows furrow with hardness. Does he think I’m jealous? Am I? Oh jeez. “That’s what this is about? I’ve known her for two fucking days,” he says. “You’re the one who told me that I needed to get laid, remember?” Yeah, can I rip out that girl’s vocal cords?

“I remember, but I thought you’d have a one-night stand and be done with her.” Wow, that sounds bad.

“I’m not you.”

My chest constricts. Everything hurts more than it should. He’s said far truer and meaner things to me. I avoid his gaze once more, my eyes planted on my feet.

His hand goes to my shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry. Can you just talk to me, please?”

“I’m scared,” I say the rst thing I can think of. I don’t really know what I am. Confused, angry, upset. But excuses start tumbling from my lips, excuses that I’ve engrained in my head like a machine reading code. “What happens when she wants to meet your father? What happens if she starts telling people she’s da ng Loren Hale, and that person happens to be friends with Rose?” I don’t care about any of that. The charade can go to hell for what it’s worth. I just don’t like seeing him move on without me.

“I’m not da ng her,” he emphasizes.

“Does she know that? Because she seems to be very comfortable for only knowing you two days.” She’s wearing his shirt and si ng half-naked on my bar stool. I want to kick her out. I want to get Rose to kick her out because she’ll do a hell of a lot be er job than me.

I am being irra onal. And rude and so, so hypocri cal. I need to get out of here.

“She’s not moving in, Lily. She spent the night, that’s it.”

“Twice!” I shout. “And she’s ea ng breakfast with you. You made her breakfast.” He usually makes me breakfast. Not random girls.

“And not everyone acts like a scared li le mouse a er sex,” he says cruelly. My face twists in hurt, and he grimaces. “Wait, I didn’t mean…”

“Just stop,” I say, holding up my hand. The elevator dings and the doors slide open, but his ngers s ll wrap around my wrist, so I don’t leave just yet.

His voice lowers, the doors shu ng. “You’re a permanent xture in my life. You’re not going anywhere.” Why does he have to say it like that? Like I’m some chandelier hanging out while he slips a ring on another woman’s

nger.

I shove him o now. “I know we’re not together, okay?”

“Lil—”

“She’s going to ruin everything!” It hurts to see him with her, playing house. That’s our rou ne. I smack the bu on hard. Get me out of here.

“At least tell me where you’re going.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

I scoot into the elevator, and he s cks a hand on the frame, the doors refusing to close me in.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m not going to a club. I’m mee ng up with someone spontaneously. Probably at a motel or his place.”

“What?” His chest collapses and lines crease his forehead. “Since when do you do that?”

“Since yesterday.”

His jaw clenches in reproach. “Are you taking the car?”

The elevator buzzes angrily since he has the doors propped open for so long. I push his arm o and he takes a step back. “No,” I tell him. “It’s all yours. I plan on drinking.”

“Lily,” he says. “Don’t do this.”

The elevator doors begin to close.

“Lily!” He tries to s ck his hand in, but they shut before he can. “Dammit,” I hear him curse, leaving me with one last view of him inhaling a sharp breath. I should revel in the fact that I’m scaring him as much as he’s scaring me, but I can’t.

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

I TOOK THE CAR. Maybe Lo’s pleads bled into my brain, subconsciously a ec ng me. Or maybe I just really didn’t want to drink. Whatever the case, my BMW sits outside of a dingy apartment complex. Smoke wa s in a guy’s bedroom, lling my lungs whole. He kisses with rough, wet lips, his mouth sucking my neck. I want to be intoxicated by the moment. I wait for it to carry me away. He’s decent looking, in his late twen es, I suppose. Not

t, not toned. But he has cute eyes and dimpled cheeks.

The seven es shag carpet, dirt-orange walls and lava lamp distract me. As my knees dig into his hard ma ress, I stare o , my mind dri ing, his hands not doing their job and my head not staying in the game.

I think about Lo. I think about the past. I think about him with Cassie and why it hurts so much. And then a memory oats right into me.

Lo tossed me a blanket in his father’s den, and I wrapped myself in the fuzzy fabric while he loaded the rst season of Ba lestar Galac ca into the DVD player.

“Do you think we can nish the season before Monday?” I asked.

“Yeah, you can crash here if it takes that long. We have to nd out what happens to Starbuck.”

I was fourteen, and my parents s ll thought I cherished Lo like one would a coo e-ridden boy next door. I was far from that place, but I let them believe so anyway.

And then his father stopped by, standing in the crevice of the doorway with a crystal glass of whiskey in hand. The mood shi ed. The air sucked dry, and I could prac cally hear our hearts bea ng in panicked unison.

“I need to talk to you.” Jonathan Hale kept it short, running his tongue over his teeth.

Lo, fourteen and gangly, stood with ght eyes. “What?”

His father glanced at me, his cu ng gaze shriveling my body into the enormous leather couch. “Out here.” He clamped a hand on Lo’s shoulder, guiding him into the darkness.

Their tense voices reached my ears. “You’re failing ninth grade algebra.”

I don’t want to remember this. I try to concentrate on the guy in front of me. He lies on his back and brings me above him. Mechanically, I begin to unbu on his jeans.

“That’s not my report card.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

I want to forget, but there’s something about Jonathan Hale that s rs my mind, something o . And so I relive it. I remember. In their moments of silence, I pictured a stare-o between them. One that only fathers and sons with tempestuous rela onships can share. Full of hatred and unspoken truths.

“Fine, it’s mine,” Lo said, losing the advantage.

“Yeah?” his father sneered. Their shoes scu ed, and something slammed into the wall. “Don’t be so fucking ungrateful, Loren! You have everything.”

The image hurts, and I shut my eyes, pausing for a minute. I actually stop pulling down the guy’s pants.

Jonathan growled, “Say something, now’s your chance.”

“What does it ma er? Nothing’s good enough for you.”

“You know what I want? To be able to talk to my associates about you, to gloat and tell them how my son is be er than their li le shit. But I have to shut my fucking mouth when they bring up achievements and academics. Get your act together or I’ll nd a place that’ll make you the man you should be.”

The guy sits up. “Hey, you okay? You want to switch posi ons?”

I shake my head. “No, no. I’m ne.” I straddle his waist and run my

ngers along his chest, sliding down his boxers.

Jonathan Hale’s shoes clapped o in the distance, and Lo didn’t return to the den for what seemed like ten more minutes. When he nally came back in, his eyes looked red and swollen and pu y, and I stood up and walked towards him, le ng my emo ons guide me.

In the present, I sit up. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, sinking into myself. I grab my clothes, put them on as quickly as possible and high-tail it out of his place. He’s not the right guy. I need another. Something more.

He calls a er me, but I don’t listen. His door shuts on my way out, and the cold air rushes into my body, waking me up but sending me back at the same me. My car sits in the rear of the parking lot of his apartment complex. I walk quickly, but my pace doesn’t carry o the memories. They stay.

“Let’s watch the movie.” Lo didn’t look at me.

I only knew one way to make a person feel good, something I believed was be er. Impulsively, I reached for his hand. I held it, and he frowned, staring at me like I’d grown horns. But at the same me, his reddening eyes looked eager to take hold of something other than the pain that plagued him.

The parking lot. I yank open the door to my BMW and fumble with my phone, nding some numbers I haven’t exhausted yet. I set up a few random mee ng places. Yes. Yes. Yes. No.

I kissed Lo’s lips. So ly, gently. And then I led him to the couch where our hands roamed more hungrily, our bodies moved more passionately, needing to feed our tempta ons and close out everything else.

We had sex for the rst me. The only me.

A erwards, Lo drank himself to oblivion. And I sprawled out on the couch, making a promise with myself to never sleep with Loren Hale ever again. To never cross that line. Once was enough. It could have ruined our friendship, but we acted as though nothing transpired, as though the moment came with heightened spirits and unleveled heads.

I won’t make a mistake that can cost us what we have. So I pocket my phone, put my car in reverse, and make new plans. Ones that involve blank faces and unpainted canvases. Ones that don’t involve him.

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

THE NEXT FEW DAYS BLUR. I manage to avoid Lo each me I arrive and depart from the apartment. On the occasions that I sleep at the Drake, I wear earbuds to deafen Lo and Cassie’s love-making noises. Mostly, I spend the night somewhere else, any place that involves anonymous sex and the surprise of a mystery man.

My new discovery invades my waking hours. If I’m not scrolling through tons of unknown numbers, I research Craigslist for anyone willing to hookup. I have yet to use the online resource for a lay, but the allure brings me back. With only a screen name to go o of, I nd myself imagining the person on the other end. What they look like. What I could do to them in bed.

The more Lo pulls away, the more I turn to sex, the only thing I can reach for. It feels like he’s wedging a large space between us. He hasn’t asked me for a ride in a whole week, and we’ve stopped discussing our nightly plans together. I used to be able to draw up his schedule as uidly as my own. Now, I couldn’t tell you if he made it to bed last night without passing out.

I lie on my purple sheets, contempla ng my very small existence and staring at the sun. It crests the sky, shining bright rays through the slits in my blinds. An arm drapes across my bare back. I don’t want to wake him. Hopefully his eyes will u er open while I feign sleepiness. I’ve been up since ve in the morning, thinking and gazing at the same spot. The sun. The window. My life.

Bang! The noise from my door jolts me. “Lily!” Lo knocks again, his st slamming into the white wood.

My heart lodges in my throat. I put a pillow over my head, spinning and crashing in a post-drunk dal wave. The door clicks, and I curse the fact that Lo has a key.

My groggy male guest props himself up. “Who are you?” he asks with a yawn.

“Don’t talk so loud,” another voice groans. What?! I did not…Did I? There are two guys in my bed! I didn’t…I couldn’t have had sex with both of them. I search my memories, but I blank when I reach my anonymous “date” at a bar. Booze forgives all transgressions, but it doesn’t help with the morning a er.

My limbs have petri ed.

“Both of you, get the fuck out,” Lo sneers. “Now!”

Quickly, the two guys shu e for their clothes, pulling on ar cles while I disintegrate into my sheets and cower underneath another comforter. When they nally disappear, silence blankets the room.

Usually whenever Lo kicks a guy out in the morning, he’s so blasé about it. Some mes he even o ers the poor guy a cup of co ee before he leaves. This is not normal.

While I avoid his gaze, Lo paces, and I hear the crinkle of plas c. I peek from my sheet-cave.

He’s cleaning?

I use a part of the sheet to cover my chest and straighten up. “What are you doing?” My voice comes out small and choked. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stays focused on tossing the empty beer bo les into a black trash bag along with many ar cles of clothing. Boy clothing.

For the rst me in days, I actually look at my room. Layered in di erent underwear, spilled with bo les of booze and tainted with white powder on my vanity—it’s disgus ng. My oor hides beneath mounds of debauchery and sin. Half the sheets pile on the ground, and used condoms sca er my rug. It feels like I woke up in someone else’s bed.

“Stop,” I tell him, shame sending tears. “You don’t have to do that.”

He tosses an empty box of condoms into the bag before looking up at me. His expression remains inscrutable, scaring me even more. “Go take a shower. Get dressed, and then we’ll go.”

“Where?”

“Out.” He turns his back and con nues trashing my things. I’ve cleaned his room countless mes, but he was always unconscious to the world when I did it.

I wrap my purple sheet around my body and waddle towards the bathroom. A er I shampoo my hair and lather soap on every inch of skin, I step out and pull on a terry cloth robe with slippers. I pad back. A full garbage bag sits by the open door, and outside the archway, I hear the faucet running in the kitchen.

I change in the closet, throwing on a comfortable black co on dress, not knowing the proper a re for wherever we’re headed. I can’t make a guess on the des na on either. My head sits as numb and cold as my body.

When I enter my room again, Lo stands by the door, the trash bag gone. He gives me a quick onceover while I e my hair into a small pony, my

ngers trembling. “Ready?” he asks.

I nod and follow him out, grabbing the keys. As I walk, I no ce all my aches and pains. Blackish, yellow spots bruise my elbows and thighs, probably knocking into things last night and not remembering. My back hurts too, like I hit a doorknob or something. Tears prick my eyes, which stay nice and pink while I refuse to let the waterworks escape.

“Where are we going?” I ask again, sliding into the driver’s seat since Lo can’t.

“The health clinic. You need to get tested.”

My stomach caves. Right. Tested. “You don’t have to come.”

I watch him try to nd an appropriate answer, but he ends up mu ering, “Just drive.”

I put the car in gear and head down the familiar roads.

“When’s the last me you’ve been to class, Lil?” he asks so ly, staring out the window, watching the buildings blink by.

“Last Wednesday.” I think.

“Yesterday?” The spot between his eyebrows wrinkles.

“It’s Thursday?” I say, startled. Why did I think it was Saturday? My hands begin to tremble again, and I ghten them on the leather steering wheel. Hot tears scald on their way down, betraying me. “I just got a li le mixed up.” How did I even come to this place?

“I know.”

I inhale a strained breath and turn the car down a couple more streets before parallel parking. I lean over to open the door, but Lo puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Can we talk for a second?”

I tense back into the seat. My eyes glue to the unlit dashboard. Is this my ul mate low? I thought the pregnancy scare was the most terrifying moment of my life, but waking up in bed with two guys I don’t remember —that will haunt me. How can I be missing days? As if sex and liquor stole them from me…maybe drugs par cipated in the thievery too. I can’t even remember.

I wish I was Lo. I don’t think that o en, but right now, I envy his ability to be a “func oning” alcoholic, one that doesn’t get aggressive or physical or lose memories. He drinks all day and all night, only su ering the repercussions when he surpasses his tolerance and blacks out.

He keeps his narrowed gaze on me and lets out a heavy breath. “You remember when we rst arrived at Penn and we both went to that freshman pajama party?” Ah, yes, the Pajama Jam. The blistering memory brings a heavy frown to both of us. “You found me blacked out on the oor in the morning.”

He censors the image. Where his cheek was covered with vomit. Where I li ed him in my arms and thought, for the most horrifying moment, that my best friend had nally succumbed to his greatest aw.

Lo’s voice deepens. “All I can recall is waking up in the hospital, feeling like a fucking twenty-ton truck ran me over.”

“You just had your stomach pumped,” I remind him.

Lo nods. “I could hear you arguing with the nurse about calling my father. You insisted that she keep the ma er private since I was eighteen.”

I had to pretend to be his sister just to enter his hospital room. So stupid. Everything. That whole night. Right now. But to rec fy what’s been done, what we’ve solidi ed, is beyond my power. Part of me will always believe that we’re past change. Maybe we’ve already accepted that this is how we’ll live and this is how we’ll come to die.

My eyes burn at the thought of the two guys in my bed. But I don’t want this to happen again. That, I do know.

“We made a deal a er that, remember?” he con nues, carefully choosing his words. “We said that if this is going to work—you and me, Lo and Lily doing whatever we want, being who we are—then I’d have to know my limits and never exceed them. I honestly never thought…I never thought it would be a problem for you too.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know that sex addicts could have limits, Lily, but somewhere…somewhere you crossed a line. And you’re scaring the shit out of me. I haven’t been able to get ahold of you in days. When I pass out, you’re not home. When I wake up, you’re usually gone. This was the rst me I’ve seen you, and…” He rubs his mouth and looks away.

My heart beats so fast. I don’t know what to do or say. Tension stretches between us, not the good kind, and it hurts to touch it.

His voice lowers while I press my palms to my hot tears. “I don’t have any right to tell you to stop. That’s not what I’m trying to say, but for this arrangement to work, you have to know your limit. This, hooking up with guys in motels, not answering my calls, and…” he stumbles on the words again, “fucking…two guys. That has to end. What if they hurt you?”

I close my eyes, the tears spilling out the creases. “I don’t remember them.”

“You were drunk,” he realizes, his features darkening. “What’s a er this? Orgies? Sexual humilia on?”

“Stop.” I rub my eyes, cringing at the images.

“Where’s your head at?” he murmurs.

I can’t do this again. “I’ll stop, not the sex, but the motels, the unknown texts, Craigslist—”

“Craigslist?!” he yells. “What the fuck, Lily? You know who solicits for sex on those things? Child molesters and perverts, not to men on it’s fucking illegal.”

“I didn’t use it!” I shout back, my cheeks aming. “I was just looking.”

He holds his hands out, takes a deep, medita ve breath, and balls them into sts. “Did you feel like you couldn’t talk to me?”

I’ve never had a problem unburdening myself on Lo. It’s what we’re both good at, but turning to anonymous sex felt like a natural progression once our dynamic started to shi . “Things were changing,” I mu er so so ly that I think he’s missed the words.

When he doesn’t ask what I said, I suspect he heard. “I know I can be a royal asshole. But I love you. You’re my best friend and the only person I’ve ever told that I have a problem. It doesn’t ma er if we’re in a fucking fake rela onship. We’re supposed to talk to each other. Come to me before you go o the deep end, okay?”

I wipe the last of my tears and sni . “How’s Cassie?”

“She hasn’t been in the apartment in days, Lily,” he says, reminding me of all the me I lost in my hazy state.

“What happened?” My chest lightens, and I hate that I’m taking pleasure in his aloneness.

“There’s this girl who ran out of my apartment.” He pauses. “She looked like a bat out of hell. She barely combed her hair, not unusual for her”—he shrugs—“but she seemed pissed, and the only di erence in our rela onship had been this new blonde girl on a bar stool. So I dumped her,

gured it may solve a problem or two.” He waits, l ng his head at me

while I process what he just said.

My chest swells.

“Did it?” he asks.

I should be the be er person and say no, let him have a normal life with a beau ful blonde bombshell. But I’ve never been good at the morality bit. “Maybe.”

He actually smiles and rests a hand on my neck. He kisses my forehead before I can form thoughts, and when he pulls away, his lips brush my ear. “I’m here for you. Always.”

I take a deep breath, his words enough to guide me into the clinic with my head upright and my shoulders back. I’m going to be okay. Whatever happens, at least Lo will stay by my side.

AFTER THE HEALTH CLINIC, Lo mixes himself a drink at the counter while I make plans to study for an upcoming exam, popping open my laptop and spreading out my notes on the bar. Once I nd two weeks of neglected prac ce problems for economics, I realize how far behind I truly am.

There is an upside. I’m clean. Free of diseases and complicated decisions. Like rehab or abor on clinics. I choked Lo to death when the test came back, hugging the life from him as I cried in relief. I don’t know what I would have done if he didn’t know my secret—if I was alone with the knowledge of my problem.

Long before we started our fake rela onship, I helped hide Lo’s addic on on every occasion. I would smuggle him into one of my guest bedrooms at Villanova un l he slept o a hangover. I’d kick bo les of Jim Beam and Maker’s Mark underneath his bed before the maid lurked around and his father inspected the stateliness of his son’s things.

Back then, he would lie to my sisters about my weekend plans. Most were spent at par es hosted by public school kids. Screwing boys from di erent schools helped diminish rumors about me at Dalton. I was calculated in the selec on.

Then one chilly night in October, I crawled through Lo’s window. With Jonathan Hale at a conference in New York, I could have used the door, but ever since I watched Dawson’s Creek I believed there was only one way to make a proper entrance.

I was seventeen and tear-streaked, and I just had sex. Lo sat on the hardwood oor, his phone in one palm and a Glencairn whiskey glass in the other. He jumped to his feet as soon as he saw my ma ed hair and smudged mascara.

“Who was it? Did he hurt you?!” Lo fran cally scanned my body, looking for wounds.

“No,” I said with a grimace. “He didn’t…it’s not him.”

Leaving Lo confused, I walked to his desk and picked up the bo le of Maker’s Mark. He grabbed it from my hand before I could even uncap it. “This is mine,” he said.

“So now you don’t share?”

“I never do.”

I rubbed my arms, feeling empty and cold. He kept staring at me as if his intrusive gaze would open me up. I guess it kind of did.

“The party was pre y lame,” I mu ered under my breath.

“Apparently enough to make you cry,” Lo said bi erly. He cringed at the sound of his own voice and took a swig from the bo le. Then he stepped forward, eyes so ening as he rubbed his mouth. “You know you can tell me anything, Lil. I’m not going anywhere.”

Lo knew most of my dirty secrets by then. The sex. The porn. The constant self-love. But telling him about this had been the hardest part of our friendship. It felt like admi ance to something unnatural.

I sank down on the ma ress while Lo stood holding the bo le by the waxy red neck, wai ng for me to start.

“It was ne. The sex was ne.”

Lo rubbed his temple in distress. “Lily. Spit it the fuck out. You’re driving me crazy.”

I stared down at the oorboards, unable to meet his eyes, and said, “A erwards, I thought it would be the same. But as I was grabbing my clothes, he stopped me.”

I glanced up and Lo’s cheekbones looked like sharp glass. I con nued quickly before he cut me o with a slew of vulgari es. “He didn’t hurt me. He just asked me a ques on.”

I took a shallow breath and twisted the bo om of my shirt in my hands. Then I opened my mouth and struggled to produce the rest, ea ng air.

“Should I guess?” Lo asked. His chest rose and fell with hurried concern. Before I could respond he was pacing the length of the room and spou ng o ques ons. “Were you a virgin? Have you done this o en? Do you want to do it again?” He stopped and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What the hell did he ask?!”

“Want to fuck my friend?” I said in barely a whisper.

Lo dropped the bo le and it landed in a loud thunk on the hardwood

oor.

“I thought it would be fun. He le and his friend came in. And that was that…” My bo om lip quivered as the shame wedged a crevice in my heart. “Lo,” I choked his name. “What’s wrong with me?”

He came closer and bent down to my height on the bed. Carefully, he cupped the back of my head, his ngers intertwining in my brown locks. His deep amber eyes lled mine. “Nothing is wrong with you,” he said. He brought my head to the crook in his shoulder, his arm encasing me in a comfor ng hold, and held me for a while.

When he pulled away, he brushed my hair behind my ear and asked, “Are you scared of ge ng hurt?”

“Some mes. But it doesn’t stop me.” I blinked back tears. “Do you think…do you think I’m like you?”

We had never openly acknowledged his dependence on alcohol before, or how he abused the drink more than any average teenage boy.

He slowly ran his nger over the lines in my palm before he looked up at me with haunted eyes. One kiss on the head and then he straightened up. With a ght voice, he said, “I found my old Amazing Spider-Man edi on the other day. We should have a reading marathon.” I watched him tensely walk to his cedar chest, unclasping the brass locks.

That night, he never truly answered me.

But I got it anyway.

That was the rst me I realized I wasn’t just another promiscuous girl in school. I didn’t just have sex for fun or because it made me feel empowered. I liked the high, the rush, and how it seemed to ll an emp ness that kept growing inside of me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AT NIGHT, I return to clubs and bars, my regular dwellings, without formula ng anonymous mee ngs. Surprisingly, Lo accompanies me most of the me, drinking at the bar while I sneak to the backrooms or toilet seats to hook up. S ll, I crave the adrenaline rush and thrill of day me anonymity. I fear these past weeks pushing my addic on to a new extreme has ruined me a li le.

I try though. I’ve deleted all my unknown numbers and any me the urge to log into Craigslist surfaces, I think about the terrible morning waking up in bed with two faceless men. It helps.

I zip up a black nigh me romper when my phone buzzes. Normally, I would chuck it at my pillow and let the ring die out, but this is Lily 2.0.

So I press the green bu on. “Hey, Daisy.”

“Lily!” She sounds as shocked as I am that I answered.

“What’s up?”

“I need a favor,” she hesitates to con nue.

I guess I’m not really the go-to sister for favors. Rose would be the rst one to call, literally willing to drop her en re day’s plan if we need her to. Then Poppy, almost as sisterly, but she has a daughter that eats her me and blocks out her schedule. I’m the least reliable, least available, least everything-sister.

“So,” she eases in, “Mom and Dad are going at it. They’ve been screaming about the decora on budget for the Christmas Charity Gala. I know Mom’s going to come up and start rehashing their argument to me, and I’d rather not be involved.” She pauses. “Do you think I can come over and stay the night in the guest bedroom?”

I frown, wondering if she already asked Rose, or even Poppy and Sam who have plenty of extra space. Will it be rude to ques on? I think it will, especially if she’s reaching out to me. I take a trained breath. “Sure.”

She squeals. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I’ll be over in a half hour.” That soon? The line clicks, and I glance at my room…the guest bedroom. Where she’ll be sleeping. Shit.

“LO! LO!” I scream, fran c.

Ten seconds later, he runs into the room, eyes suddenly sober. “What’s wrong?” he says, panic-stricken.

“Daisy is coming over.”

His muscles slightly relax, and he combs shaking ngers through his hair. “Jesus, Lil. I thought you were hurt. Don’t call my name like that unless you’re bleeding.”

“Did you hear me?” I say. “Daisy is coming over. And she’s spending the night.”

His eyes darken. “Why didn’t you ask me rst?”

My cheeks heat. “I-I didn’t think. She asked and I said yes.” Oops, I forgot about Lo. I also forgot that everyone thinks I sleep with him, which is so not the case. “It was a subconscious reac on, and I didn’t want to be rude.”

With a sigh, he rubs his eyes and then scans my room. “Strip your bed, throw the sheets in the washer, and hide all of your porn. I’ll lock up the booze.”

We split up and focus on our speci c tasks. Twenty minutes later, the guest room turns clean and presentable for Daisy. Trying to sh out the pan es under the bed ate up most of the me. The doorbell rings, and I close the washing machine and start the cycle.

When I enter the kitchen, Lo and Daisy are already talking. My presence breaks their chit-chat, and I smile. “Hey, Dais.” I give her a hug.

“Thanks again for le ng me crash here,” she says, taking o her designer tote bag and se ng it on the bar stool.

“It’s no problem.”

“Do you want anything to drink?” Lo asks, his eyes gli ering with mischief. He always o ers a guest a drink so when he pours himself a glass of alcohol it doesn’t seem too suspicious. He glances at me with a crooked grin, knowing I’m in on the secret.

“Water is good,” she says. “Is it weird not having sta ?”

“You mean serving yourself?” Lo calls from the fridge. “It’s back breaking pain.” He grabs a thermos from the shelf and slides Daisy a water bo le.

“Don’t be an ass,” I tell him.

Lo snakes an arm around my waist, drawing me to his chest. His lips

ckle my ear. “Never,” he breathes, his eyes drinking me in.

My en re chest constricts. This is not real. He’s playing a part. That’s all.

“So this is your apartment,” Daisy says, and I break from Lo. She wanders away from the bar and scans the living room to the le and the hallway to the right. Not much else. She inspects pictures that line a bookshelf towards the living room. I forgot Daisy has never been here before. I talk to her the least, mostly because she’s the youngest and not very involved in my life. I guess the only way to be close to me is to inject yourself in my world because I won’t make the move to enter yours. That’s horrible, isn’t it?

“If you two have kids, you so have to burn this one,” Daisy says with a laugh. She holds up a photo of Lo s cking his tongue in my ear while I shriek in disgust. Out of all the pictures—she’s chosen one of the few that wasn’t staged. We were sixteen, a me before we started our fake rela onship.

“Have you not heard of a wet willy?” Lo asks, taking a large swig from his thermos. He sets it down on the counter and approaches Daisy, taking the photo from her. His smile widens, lling up his face into something beau ful.

“You’re supposed to lick your nger,” Daisy protests like he’s a moron, “not put your tongue in her ear.”

“I agree,” I say, even though I don’t, not really. My body heats at the image of Lo so close to me, the whole ordeal sexier than I’ll let on.

“Oh, you do?” Lo says, with the lt of his head, an eyebrow quirks up, unbelieving. “If I recall, you were not complaining that day.” He stalks towards me. “You were all ushed.”

“I’m always ushed,” I retort, my breath hitching as he nears, his lips pulling in that playful smile. I point a threatening nger at him. “Don’t.”

My back hits the counters, trapped in the corner, and I wonder if this is real or if I’m lost in my head, fantasizing. I don’t want to nd a way to escape his hold, and I forget about my sister who remains near the living room, scoping out years of history—fake and real—on shelves and tables.

“Take it back,” he demands. “You liked it.”

“I did…not,” I breathe. He sets a hand on either side of the counter, on either side of me, blocking me in with his build.

I blink. I’m dreaming. I know am. This isn’t real. Lo looks me over, undressing me with his intrusive gaze, and when his eyes meet mine, I feel as though he knows I’m confused about his true inten ons. And that makes this game all the more fun for him. At least right now he seems to be enjoying it.

Suddenly, he kisses me. Deep, hard. Oh…this can’t be just in my mind.

My back digs into the counter, but he wraps an arm around me, bringing me to his chest, tugging me closer than close. His body melds against my legs and torso, and I succumb to his tongue that nds mine. His large hand caresses my neck, and I submit to our eagerness as he drives closer, to the re that ignites us both.

And then he pulls away, and his tongue slips into my ear. I squeal, awakening, and shove him o .

He laughs, full-bellied laughs, and turns his back on me to pick up his thermos. His lips are red and mine s ng and pu from that intense kiss. All to prove me wrong, I suppose.

“That was not necessary,” I tell him.

“Now you’re going to tell me you didn’t love my tongue in your mouth? I know you’d like way more than that. Maybe my tongue licking your—”

“Stop,” I say, my body ghtening. I glance over at Daisy who ips through a photo album in the living room. When I turn back to Lo, my jaw has o cially unhinged. He purposefully wipes his sweaty brow with the hem of his black tee, just so I’ll catch a peek of the prominent ridges in his abs. My breath deepens, hot and bothered, but I would be this way if anyone did that to me…I think.

He edges over again and loops a nger in the hem of my pants, tugging me to him. “Relax, love,” he whispers, playing into the performance. “I can

nish you o later.” He sucks hard on my neck, and a sound catches in my

throat.

Okay, this is too much. I shove him o , too hot to even shoot him a warning glare about taking the charade too far—about teasing me again. Lo is too good at hi ng my tender spots. And then I remember Cassie, her cries, as though Lo is more masterful than he’s ever admi ed. Is he really that good in bed? Don’t go there, Lily. There’s no coming back once you do.

My nerves s ll thrum from the a ermath, and he subconsciously licks his bo om lip, leaning against the counter as he watches me grow redder. Even that pulses the place between my legs, making me crave something more. Something further than just kisses and fondling. Oh God.

Daisy returns from the living room with an uncomfortable look. I sincerely hope she didn’t witness any of that. I’m an awful sister. Truly horrible. “I actually don’t want to be in your way,” she confesses. “I’ll just stay in the guest room and watch TV if that’s all right?”

“That’s ne, Dais.” I show her to the guest bedroom, pressing a nger to my ngling lips on the way. She disappears inside and throws her bag on the bed. I close the door as I exit, and Lo stands right there in the hallway with a foot against the wall. He nods to his room—the one we’re supposed to share every night.

I follow and he turns the lock once inside.

On the dresser, I dock my iPod and put the speaker on a low tune but loud enough that I ease at the idea of speaking freely. These walls can be thin. Case in point, the thump thump thump of Lo’s sexual adventures with Cassie.

Tinted glass cabinets engulf an en re wall. Seven of the twenty have secret locks that only open with a magne c key. I would say he’s paranoid, but last winter, I had to explain to Rose why a dozen quarter- lled tequila bo les were shoved underneath the sink. One of Lo’s worst weeks, and I haphazardly tried cleaning up a er him. Not well enough, apparently.

Rose didn’t ques on my story, only complained that I hadn’t invited her to our Mexican themed blowout. I should laugh at the ludicrous lie—that we actually have friends to call—but I sadden at the thought of Lo drinking enough alcohol in one week to sa ate an en re house party.

He pulls out a glass and a bo le of an amber-colored liquid.

I climb onto his bed, my heart racing from earlier. It shouldn’t. This is Lo. We’re supposed to be together. We’re supposed to be a ec onate, but yet, I can’t stop replaying what happened. I can’t stop blushing or hea ng or wishing he’d just take me right here. No, no, no. Don’t go there.

I rest my back against his oak headboard. “Can you make me something?” I ask, my voice raspy. I clear my throat. Jeez, what is wrong with me? I’m usually not this uncomfortable with Lo, but this situa on mounts my anxiety and my desires. I cross my legs and swallow hard.

His eyes icker to me brie y, and he tries to hide a knowing grin. He clinks another crystal glass to his and sets them on his desk. I watch as he unlocks a second cabinet with the mini-fridge hidden inside. He scoops out ice and e ortlessly pours the liquor without pause or spillage. When he

nishes, he walks around to my side of the bed, not si ng next to me.

Instead, he hovers with both glasses in hand.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks huskily, and part of me wonders if he’s talking about more than just the drink. Yes, I want all of it. I blink, no, he has to be talking about the alcohol. Stop fantasizing, Lily.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He licks his lips. Stop doing that. I hold in a breath. “It’s strong,” he says, watching me closely. Too close.

“I can handle it.”

Lo puts the glass in my palm and stays towering over me, the authority something new, something I’m not used to. I kind of want to stand and take control of the situa on, but Lo blocks me from se ng my feet on the ground.

He tosses back half his glass in one gulp, the liquid sliding down easily. He waits for me to taste mine before he nishes o his own. “What are you wai ng for?”

My heart to stop pounding. I take a small sip and cough. Holy hell. I choke into my st.

“Hey, go easy,” he tells me. “Do you need some water?”

I shake my head and stupidly take another sip to try and help the burn. Instead, that goes down just as rough.

He takes the alcohol from my hand and sets it on his nightstand. “No more for you.”

I keep hacking into my st and curse myself for trying to relax with alcohol. I should have known Lo would concoct something semi-toxic, too potent for any normal, sane human being.

When I se le down, I inhale a deep breath and slouch. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Why does it ma er whether I sit or stand?” he asks, not moving one bit.

“You make me nervous.”

“Scared I’ll jump you?” he wonders with a devious smile, s ll drinking. He nishes o his and has already started on my drink.

Yes. “No.”

“Then I don’t see a problem with me standing here.” His eyes do that thing again, the one where they scan the length of me, as though imagining what I look like bare and wan ng.

To ignore him, I examine all of his memorabilia tacked on the walls and set on the shelves. The only me I venture in here is to help wake him up or to make certain he’s not passed out in vomit. I hardly pay a en on to the decora ons. Some of them only stay here to assemble our mountain of lies.

Framed comics line the wall directly in front of me, hanging above his desk. All Marvel: Avengers, Spider-Man, X-Men, Cable and Thor. The bo om corners are signed from our numerous trips to Comic-Con in San Diego.

Last year, we stopped a ending the comic book conven on when I slept with Chewbacca, or at least a fan dressed as the Star Wars character —one of my more embarrassing conquests. Lo didn’t have a splendid me either. He drank something Captain America gave him. Turns out the Cap imposter wasn’t too noble, having spiked his booze with roo es. Nerds can be vicious too.

“You remember when you slept with Chewbacca?” Lo must have followed my gaze to the same poster. He heads to his desk to make another glass.

I shoot him a look. “At least I didn’t accept drinks from every masked superhero that approached me.”

“Yeah? Well at least I’m not into bes ality.”

My eyes narrow and I grab a pillow o the bed, chucking it at him with all my might. I would never be into something like that. Gross, gross, gross.

Lo dodges the pillow but it collides with a bo le of bourbon, knocking it over like a bowling pin and toppling it to the oor. Lo’s face darkens in contempt. “Watch it, Lily.” He picks up the bo le, unbroken, and reacts as though I hit his child.

I don’t say I’m sorry. It’s just alcohol. And he has plenty more. When my eyes plant on a shelf by his head, my heart nearly drops. “How long has that photo been there?” I spring from the bed. He should have burned it!

He carefully returns his bo les to a safe loca on and cranes his neck to see what I’m fussing over. I’m so embarrassed by the photo that I shove him from the desk and spread my arms out, failing at blocking his view since the picture sits above me and he far surpasses my height.

He laughs at my lame a empt and plucks the frame o the shelf with ease. I try to reach for it, but he hoists it high above, teasing me further.

“Toss it out,” I demand, my hands ying to my hips, just so he knows I mean it.

“It goes with the posters,” he muses, his eyes twinkling at the memory that’s encapsulated within the frame.

“Lo,” I whine. He’s right that the photo ts in with the others. Also at Comic-Con, Lo and I stand beside cutouts of Cyclops and Professor X. I adorn nothing more than a pair of latex pants, a shiny black bra, and long plas c blades from my knuckles. I look more con dent than I let on, mostly because Lo begged me to stop hiding behind his back. It was his fault I was scan ly-clad in the rst place. He insisted I join him as his favorite X-Men’s love interest. So he dressed up as Hellion—the young New Mutant with telekinesis—in a spandex, red and black suit, and like a good friend, I played the part of X-23 for the day, the female clone of Wolverine.

I hate that the photo is in a room with dozens of empty memories. A few frames over, we’re holding hands underneath the Ei el Tower during a family trip to France. Fake. Another, he kisses me in a gazebo. Fake. I sit on his lap during a boa ng trip in Greece. Faker. Why do we have to tarnish the real memories in our friendship by placing them with phony ones from our pretend rela onship?

“Please,” I beg.

“Where am I going to get be er proof that we’re a couple?” he protests, inching towards me just to make this even more awkward. My back hits his desk, and I hope to God we’re not reenac ng the earlier kitchen scene. But then I kinda do.

“Technically…” I say, eyes on his chest. “…this is my room too.”

“Yeah?” He sets the photo back on the shelf above me, and before I can turn and snatch it, he clasps my wrists in a ght hold. He stretches my arms behind my back. Oh my God.

“Lo,” I warn.

“If this is your room, then make me believe it.”

“Shut up,” I say instantly. I don’t even know why.

“That’s not very convincing.”

Is he being serious? “This is my room,” I say adamantly, wondering if that’s enough.

“It is?” he plays along, edging closer. “You don’t seem so sure.”

I try to reclaim my hands, but his grip ghtens and he widens his stance so his feet trap me against the desk. Yes, this is just like the kitchen, only worse (or be er) because I am not in control without my arms. Not one bit.

“Step back,” I try to sound forceful, but it comes o too raspy and too wan ng.

“Why do you think this is your room?” he asks. “You don’t sleep here. You don’t fuck here. You don’t eat or drink here. What makes this yours as much as it is mine?”

“You know why,” I breathe. We’re pretending, aren’t we? I’m so confused. What is he to me right now? Friend, boyfriend, something else en rely?

“Once you stepped through that threshold,” Lo says, “you entered my place.” His hot, bourbon-scented breath hits my neck. “Everything in here belongs to me.”

My head lulls dizzily. I hate that I haven’t had sex today. I hate that my body wants Loren Hale. And maybe even my mind too.

I try to concentrate. I have to. “Take it down,” I say again.

“No, I like that photo and it’s staying there.”

Why does he care so much about that stupid picture?!

Before I ask, he spins me around and leans my stomach against his desk but keeps my wrists in his hands, pinning my arms to my back. I try to wiggle out of the hold, but he presses his body to mine, in a posi on that I’ve fantasized so many mes. Just like this (maybe not the submissive part), but with him behind me, his pelvis grinding into my backside. I gape, internally dying. Luckily he can’t see my open-mouthed expression.

I draw in a ght breath. “You’re being mean,” I tell him. He knows I haven’t had sex. When we were eighteen, he asked me what it felt like to go without climaxing for a day, and I told him it feels like someone is burying my head under the sand and pulling my limbs so ght they become taut rubber bands, wai ng to be snapped and released. The cravings feel like drowning and being lit on re at the same me.

He said he could relate to the paradox.

“I know you’re enjoying this.”

Yes, very much so. “Lo,” I breathe. “If you’re not going to have sex with me, you need to back away. Please.” Because I don’t think I can say no. My body wants him so badly that it trembles beneath his weight, but my head has become far more resilient. He’s just teasing me. That’s it. And I don’t want to wake up feeling ashamed about not stopping. He doesn’t like me like that. He couldn’t want someone like me.

He lets go and takes three steps back. I massage my wrists and set them on the desk, not facing him just yet. I collect my bearings—the places inside of me way too tempted right now. When I muster the courage, I spin around, my eyes livid. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He can’t use sex against me, not like that.

His jaw locks, and he spends a great deal of me pouring his next drink. He takes two large swigs and re lls it before even beginning to answer me. “Don’t be so serious,” he says lowly. “I was just playing around.”

His words send arrows into my chest. It hurts. I know it shouldn’t. I wanted him to say, it was all real. I meant it. Let’s be together. I know that now, even if being together will bring a whole new set of complica ons. Instead, he reinforced our façade. It’s all a lie.

“You want to play around?” My body thrums with heat. I storm over to his liquor cabinets, nd the magne c key and open them up quickly.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Lo shouts. I barely pull out two bo les before he has his hand on my wrist, knowing I’m either about to trash them or chuck ‘em out of the window. I haven’t decided which yet.

“Lily,” he growls my name like it’s the most profane word in the dic onary. We’re both furious, and I feel jus ed in it. I don’t look away.

His face sharpens, and I can almost see the gears cranking in his head.

“Let’s talk, Lo,” I say ghtly, not moving yet. “How is what I’m doing any di erent than what you just did to me?”

He inhales a deep breath, eyes narrowing. As always, he calculates each word before speaking. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry that you can’t handle being touched by me. I’m sorry that the very thought of fucking me disgusts you. I’m sorry that every me you’re horny, I’m here.”

And there goes my breath. I don’t understand what he’s trying to tell me. Does he want me or is he pissed that I’m a sex addict? I carefully set the bo les down on the desk and disentangle from his grasp. I slip into his bathroom and lock the door just as he nears it.

“Lily,” he calls.

I lie on the cold les and close my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I’m star ng to wonder how much I can take of this—of not knowing the truth of our ac ons, of our rela onship. It’s driving me insane.

My body shudders, a small withdrawal from the lack of s mula on today. I keep my eyes shut and try to sleep it o , but the knob jiggles with the click of the lock. The door opens and Lo pockets a bump key.

I don’t move from my res ng place, and I train my gaze on the white ceiling.

Lo sits next to me and leans against the Jacuzzi tub. “You shouldn’t be worried if Daisy heard us. Normal couples ght.”

Right, the charade. Silence thickens, and I’m proud of making him su er a li le.

He shi s on the ground and pulls his knees up, arms loosely wrapping around them. “When I was seven, my father took me into his o ce and pulled out this small silver handgun,” he says and pauses, rubbing his mouth with a small, dry laugh.

I keep my expression blank, even if the story interests me.

Lo con nues, “He put it in my palm, and he asked me how it felt to hold it. You know what I said?” He glances at me. “I told him that I was scared. He smacked me on the back of the head and said, ‘You’re holding a fucking gun. The only people who should be scared are the ones on the other end of it.’” He shakes his head. “…I don’t know why I just thought of that, but I keep remembering all of it. The way the gun felt heavy and cold in my hand, how I was so terri ed of the trigger or of dropping it. And there he was…disappointed.”

I sit up and scoot back on the other wall to face him. He looks visibly upset, and that’s enough of an apology from Loren Hale than I’ll ever need. “You never told me that story before.”

“I don’t like the memory,” he admits. “As a kid, I felt this overwhelming sense of admira on towards the guy, and now it makes me nauseous thinking about it.”

I don’t know what to say, and I don’t think he wants me to reply anyway. So the quiet passes once again. A shudder runs through me, even as I try to suppress it.

“Are you withdrawing?” Lo asks, his eyes heavy with worry. “Do you need something? Like a vibrator?” That’s not awkward…

I shake my head and clench my eyes closed as the pain in my extremi es intensi es from being riled up without release. They pull ght and sharp. I’m a rubber band that can’t snap.

“Can you talk to me?” he says, irritated.

“A vibrator isn’t going to help,” I say, opening my eyes.

“Why not? Are you out of ba eries?”

I return the smile, even though I’m not in the mood. “It’s just…not enough.” He gives me a weird look. “It’s like keg beer.”

His nose crinkles. “Copy that.” He scans my body, and I look away from the intrusiveness of it, his gaze hea ng me quickly.

“I’m going to just…withstand it for tonight.”

“You could go out,” Lo suggests. “If Daisy wakes up and looks for you, I can tell her that you had…an emergency study group since you’re failing econ.”

“I don’t even believe that. It’s ne, Lo.”

“I’ve been a jerk, so I want to help you,” he says in a breathless tone. “And there’s only one obvious solu on.”

My forehead hurts from frowning so hard. Is he really going there? Does he want to have sex with me? For real?

“We can get you wasted so you won’t care about having sex. Then you’ll pass out and Daisy will be long gone tomorrow.”

The sugges on takes me aback because it’s not what I expected or kind of wanted to hear. I would have liked him to say, sleep with me, I want to be with you, for real. Hell yes, I would have replied. Even if monogamy scares me more than anything, I would try it. For the whole purpose of having Loren Hale. I think I’ve always wanted it. With him. But I’m not so sure he feels the same. This is a letdown, but at least it’s a solu on. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” Does he seem bummed out by my sudden acceptance of it? I can’t tell. “Well, good thing I know someone who’s an expert in the eld of alcohol. He can set you up real nice.”

“Just tell this guy not to make me so drunk that I puke,” I warn.

“Bar ng is unacceptable, got it.” We rise from the oor and reenter the bedroom, and I lose my shakiness to a smidge of excitement at something new—with him mostly. I usually don’t drink at all throughout the night. Lo’s never told me outright, but I can tell he likes me be er when I’m sober. Maybe so I can drive and help him regain consciousness, but some mes, I think it’s more than that.

I sit on the edge of his bed and cross my ankles. “Are you going to make me something that I can actually drink?”

“I think I have avored rum somewhere. It’ll be easier going down.” He spends a few minutes concoc ng a very large drink, lled in an over-sized, super-wide water bo le.

“Ugh…” I hold the cold concoc on. “Am I going to die?”

“There’s more Diet Fizz in there than rum, I promise.”

I take a tenta ve sip, and when it doesn’t burn, I take a much larger one.

His smile grows. “Good?”

“Tastes like coconut.”

“That’s the rum.” He plops on the bed beside me, and he has a much smaller glass of whiskey in hand, being economic on his sips. In a ma er of minutes, I down the whole drink but barely feel a thing. Maybe it hasn’t kicked in yet.

I glance at Lo. The way he watches me with rapt a en on sets my whole body a ame. I just want him on me. In me. Dear God. “More,” I tell him. “Maybe I should take some shots.”

“I don’t know your limit,” he says, standing. “And the whole point of this isn’t to get you sick.” He xes another mild drink. I can barely look at him without imagining his body on mine.

I join him by the desk and grab a shot glass. “I need something with a higher alcohol content.” Before he can protest, I pour some of his whiskey into a shot.

“A whiskey shot?” he says with raised eyebrows. “Really? You’re going to fucking gag, Lily.”

I narrow my eyes in challenge, and then throw back the liquor in my throat.

I gag. But I do manage to swallow it down without spi ng it back up.

He cocks his head to the side like told you so.

I touch my neck. “That was horrible. I think my insides are burning.” I try to clear my throat.

“Now you’re just being drama c.”

He pours me a shot of something clear and then something else and holds both of them up. “Vodka. Cranberry juice.”

I nod and drink the rst and wash it down with the second. Ah, much be er.

He shakes his head at me. “You done?”

I run my eyes over his abs, and the spot between my legs clenches. No, no, no. “Another.”

I barely hear him mu er, “This is stupid.” Hey, it was his idea, but I can tell he’s rethinking it. A lot. An hour later, one more drink and a few more shots, I head to the bed and the whole world sways. Whoa.

I think it’s hi ng me.

I fall backwards onto the ma ress. I can’t see my feet. Everything swirls, and I no longer…even a li le…care about sex. Hell, I don’t think my body is capable of moving on its own accord right now.

I lie supine on the bed and stare at Lo as he shambles about the room, cleaning up spills and shu ng away bo les.

“Lo…ren,” I say his name that feels funny on my tongue. “Ren…lo.” I smile stupidly.

“I’m glad you nd my name as amusing as the rest of your sisters,” he says, locking the last of his cabinets. Then he sits beside me while I shut my eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Spinning,” I murmur.

“Don’t think about it,” he instructs. “You think you can crawl underneath the covers?”

“Hmm?”

Everything starts fading. And I dri into the blackness.

I DON’T KNOW what me it is. All I know is that there’s a monster rumbling in my stomach, and it wants out. I’m underneath Lo’s comforter. I don’t remember even ge ng here or pu ng my head on his pillow. Lo sleeps on the other side, facing towards me, but he keeps his hands to himself.

I debate whether I’m really sick or not. The e ort to walk to the bathroom sounds strenuous and painful and way too taxing on my head and body. But I am past nauseous right now. And then my stomach contents start rising.

I have to get up.

Hurriedly, I race to the bathroom and pull open the toilet seat. Everything I drank appears in the bowl like a magic trick.

“Lily?” Lo ips on the bathroom lights. “Shit.” He runs a wash cloth underneath the faucet and then kneels behind me.

I can’t stop vomi ng, but each me I do, I start to feel somewhat be er.

He rubs my back and pulls strands of hair out of my face. A er a few minutes, I start dry heaving, no longer actually puking anymore. He ushes the toilet and wipes my mouth for me with the cloth.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, about to set my cheek on the toilet seat. Instead, he gently leans me into his chest, and I rest my head against him.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, sounding pained.

“Lo?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Please…don’t move, okay?” The thought of standing or shi ing my body at all may just send me back to the toilet.

“I won’t.” He wraps his arms around me, keeping me warm on the cold

le. We stay like that for quite some me. And I start to fall back asleep,

my eyes heavy. And then I hear his voice, so so , that I think I’ve made up the words.

“I should have just had sex with you.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE MORNING SUNSHINE burns my vision. I squint and scoot up, trying to right my world. Where am I? is the rst, scary thought that I process. I take in the champagne comforter, my two legs underneath it, my hair pulled back into a nice pony, and li le ashes of last night course through me.

Lo carried me from the bathroom to the bed, tucking me in and keeping my nasty hair out of my mouth. Last night, I think I snatched a bo le of whiskey right from his hands. Even as he protested, I guzzled the liquor like an idiot. I’m that kind of drunk.

I let out a red, mor ed groan. When an antagonizing voice doesn’t

make fun of my bear-like noise, I frown and glance at the right side of the bed. Empty, except for an unmistakable bu print. He has a good ass. I stu my face in the pillow and groan louder. I hate that I think that.

I try not to dwell on whatever stupid things I said or may have done while intoxicated. I rub my eyes and sit up, but a piece of paper safety-pinned to my shirt, which is actually his shirt, distracts me. He changed my clothes? I think at rst. Must have puked on the other tee.

My cheeks rose as I pluck the paper o and scan it. The le er is scrawled so fast it looks half in cursive. My eyes widen in horror.

“What the hell?”

Parents are here. Get the fuck up.

What are my parents doing here? Do they know Lo and I aren’t really together? Do they think Lo’s an alcoholic? Are they going to send him to rehab?

I stand on two quaking feet and nd a glass of water and four aspirin on the desk. Gratefully, I pop them and begin to search for clothes I can wear. His closet doesn’t have a wide selec on, but I store a few emergency ou its just in case of the worst.

I hop into a lavender day dress that will impress my mother, considering my greasy hair will dock me a couple of points. A er brushing my teeth four mes, rolling a s ck of deodorant on, and pinching my cheeks for natural blush, I gain the courage to leave the sanctuary of Lo’s bedroom.

I take a sharp breath, voices echoing o the hallway walls from the living room.

“Where is she, Loren? The morning is almost gone,” my mother complains. I wish he could use the “she’s ill” excuse, but for the Calloways, ill requires a hospital visit and an extended stay. Otherwise, you’re t to enter the world of the living.

“I’ll go check on her,” Lo says, voice ght.

I step into the living room as he rises from the gray couch. “Ah, there she is,” my father exclaims with a bright smile. My mother and Daisy sit on the gray-s tched couch, both spor ng pre y oral dresses. Everyone stands as I enter, as though I’m a queen or something. But then I spot the Hermes suitcases and luggage bags leaning against the wall. They’re a matching set. Lo’s and mine.

What the hell is going on? They know, don’t they? They’re sending us away! Maybe to a far o rehabilita on center. We’ll be apart. Alone. For real.

Just as I put a shaking hand to my mouth, seconds from puking again, Lo rushes to my side and speaks. “It’s your father’s birthday weekend.”

I try to breathe. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

My mother ngers her pearls that choke her bony neck. “For goodness sake, Lily, I’ve been reminding you for months. We’re taking the yacht to the Bahamas to celebrate.”

I’ve never been good with dates or other peoples’ schedules. I turn to Daisy who seems to be looking everywhere but at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lo’s cheekbones sharpen, his jaw clenching, and I realize I’ve missed something. Daisy clears her throat, but her eyes train on the carpet. “I knew you would have made some sort of excuse…and we all agreed…” she trials o .

It hits me. She lied. She didn’t want to be here last night. I wasn’t really on her list of sisters to call for help. This was a set up.

“We knew you would forget,” my mother clari es. “This is an important trip for your father. He’s been working hard, and we want our en re family present. If that meant having Daisy spend the night so you can’t run o in the morning, then so be it. But now you’re awake and we have to go. Rose and Poppy are already wai ng at the plane.” I assume we have to y to Florida in order to take the yacht to the Bahamas.

My head spins, excuses res ng on the p of my tongue, anything to avoid a family event. Even if it is my father’s birthday, they should have never tricked me into going.

Lo runs his hand along my arm. “You okay?” he whispers so only I can hear. Maybe he thinks I’m going to throw up again.

I nod even though the news slapped me in the face.

He says, “Put on a smile. You look horri ed, Lil.”

I do as he requests, o ering my mother a small one. Her shoulders stay tense, but her lips twitch in acceptance. Good enough.

It isn’t un l we leave the apartment that it dawns on me. I haven’t had sex in over twenty-four hours, and Lo hasn’t consumed his usual amount of alcohol since he watched me all night. And we’re about to be sequestered on a boat. With my family.

This just got a whole hell of a lot worse.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I TRY thousands of excuses before boarding the yacht. Lo and I planned a double date with Charlie and Stacey. I’m failing economics (true) and I need to cram for the upcoming exam (truer). None s ck.

A er I puke over the side of the boat, I admit to being hungover and layer on the “drank-too-much-wine-last-night” defense. My mother looks less than thrilled by my behavior, but it gives me free reign to openly sip Lo’s hangover brew. I never ask what’s in the brown liquid, lest I barf again.

He nurses a glass of Fizz in his right hand. I accompanied him earlier when he slipped the bartender ve hundred bucks to serve him three- hs

bourbon whenever he orders soda. That also covers the liquor bo les he requested to be sent down to our cabin. He’s a stealthy one.

I admire the tenacity, but I’m not feeling incredibly suppor ve. I lie on the yacht’s sun deck with a nauseous belly and a pounding migraine. I put a towel over my head to block the radia ng sun from my tender eyes and pull a corner up so I can vaguely see my surroundings. The rays beat on my fair skin. Even a er applying SPF 15, I know I’ll roast in the heat. And I secretly hope I’ll burn. Maybe it’ll get me o this fucking boat.

“Feeling be er?” Poppy asks, dragging a lounge chair next to Lo’s. I make a great e ort to not stare at his abs and toned body that bakes in the sun. He probably won’t get much of a tan because he has on SPF 90.

Poppy spreads out her Ralph Lauren towel and puts on large, engul ng sunglasses and a oppy hat before si ng down.

“No,” I tell her. “Where’s everyone else?”

“S ll ea ng lunch inside. Are you sure you don’t want anything? I can bring you a sandwich.”

I groan at the thought of potent smells.

“That’s a de nite no then.”

I nod. “De nitely no.”

Rose and Daisy have both earned o cial Brutus badges for tricking me when Rose announced my “pregnancy” scare secret, and my mother keeps shoo ng me sharp looks. She probably hopes I’ll turn to stone.

“Do you think they’ll no ce if I jump overboard?” I ask, si ng up and plugging my nose before taking a much larger swig of the hangover drink. I s e a gag. Gross.

Lo doesn’t say a word because he’s fast asleep, his Fizz-bourbon s ll wrapped in his ngers. I wonder if he stayed up all last night, taking care of me. I gently pry the glass from his clutch so it doesn’t spill all over him.

“It’s not so bad here,” Poppy says, cracking open a hardback. She relaxes, and if I was her, able to enjoy the sunshine, to read, to stare o and dri and dream about anything, I’d think this was pre y lovely too. But as I gaze at the wide, vast and endless ocean, I imagine my body rocking on someone else’s. I recreate the blissful feeling of reaching the highest peak in my mind. The elevator. The man in a suit. Thrus ng. It’s all planted there, telling me to feel a familiar sensa on again and again and again.

But I can’t. Not here. And so I’m le craving something that will never come.

The sliding door whooshes open, and Rose walks out with a tequila sunrise. She spends a great deal of me bringing the lounge chair in front of everyone’s, the legs scraping against the hard oor. When it’s just right, she spreads out a light blue towel and sits, facing me.

“Do you want me to get you one?” she quips, raising her alcoholic drink.

“Very funny,” I say, my stomach gurgling, s ll unse led.

Lo could have easily downed fruity drinks all night without too much suspicion, but he hates sweet mixes. And he’d rather not draw any a en on to himself. He puts away drinks too quickly that people are bound to be suspicious or worried that he’s returning to those old, inebriated, party- lled years before we got together. Of course they never really ended, maybe the prep school par es, but not the drinking. No one knows that though.

“Did he get you drunk?” Rose wonders, eyeing Lo’s sleeping body like she could s ck him with voodoo needles.

“No,” I lie. “He actually tried to get me to stop.” Semi-true.

Rose looks doub ul and she kicks his lounge chair, waking Lo up from his nap.

He jolts, startled. “What the hell?”

“Rose,” I say with the shake of my head. “He was red.”

“Really? I hadn’t no ced.”

Lo pushes his hair back with his hand and mu ers a few insults under his breath. Then he raises his lounge chair to a si ng posi on. “Look what the wind blew in.”

“What?” Rose snaps.

Lo’s eyebrow rises, confused. “What what?”

“What did the wind blow in? Finish what you were saying if you have the balls.”

“You’re right, I’ve lost my balls. You win.” Lo scans around his area for his drink. I hand it to him, and he looks apprecia ve that I kept it safe. He chugs down half.

He doesn’t need to nish his statement. I’m almost posi ve he meant to call her a bitch, or at least implied it in the vaguest way possible.

Poppy says, “I think you’re ge ng burned, Lily.”

Oh great. My plan to burn alive has been ruined by Poppy’s maternal worry.

She tosses me a bo le of suntan lo on.

“I’m ne, really. I burn and then tan. And I need the color.” I push my aviators further up my nose.

Rose snorts. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

“That’s not true,” I retort. “I’m pre y sure Maria said something about the color of the sky actually being orange. And you were there.”

“I’m excluding children from this.”

Lo smiles. “Ooh, Rose, showing favori sm towards children. What is the world coming to?”

She glares at me. “I s ll hate that you brought him. Poppy had enough sense to leave her husband and child at home.”

Lo nishes o his drink. “I’m right here, you know.”

Rose ignores, wai ng for me to respond.

“It’s not like I have a child that Lo needs to look a er. If Maria wasn’t born, Sam would be here, right Poppy?”

Poppy looks impassive. “I’m not ge ng into this.” Some mes, being Switzerland during family s is super annoying for everyone else.

Lo sets down his drink and then picks up the suntan lo on. I think he’s going to apply more to his Irish skin, but he stands and then pushes my legs up to my chest. He straddles my lounge chair, not no cing how his movements cause my chest to cave, my breathing to shallow and my heart to race.

With only a thin bathing suit on, I feel ready for something more. The sun soaks my skin, the heat intoxica ng, dizzying my thoughts, a headiness I dri in. My toes curl inward as I try to suppress my feelings that will surely volcano sooner or later. I need him. I need to release all of this, but I don’t know how to ask without it being awkward. This is so di erent than supplying him with scotch and rum. I’m asking for his body. That’s not okay.

“I can do it,” I say, my breath ragged as he pops the lid.

Rose adds, “This doesn’t make me like you any be er, Loren.”

“I know,” Lo says, his back to her. “And frankly, I don’t really care, Rose.” Yeah, emphasizing her name does not have the same e ect. Lo squirts lo on in his hand, and I recoil.

“Really, I can do it myself.”

His eyes widen like we’re supposed to be together, ding bat. Oh right. “Let me get your shoulders.” He scoots forward and takes my arm in his large hand. His ngers knead into my tender skin.

My eyes shut while he rubs the lo on lower on my ribs, li ing a side of my bandeau black bikini top to apply beneath the hem. He can feel the way my chest rises in and out, my breathing heavy and strained.

He turns my body around and leans my stomach on the lounge chair. Then he hovers forward and starts spreading lo on along my shoulder blades and lower back. He unclips my bandeau, and I fade away with his touch. Holy…

The sliding door whooshes again. “Can I help any of you?” a server asks. He wears a white collared shirt and black pants, the yacht service uniform. In his late twen es, he has golden hair and an angular face, making him too angelic, too handsome, and too desirous for my throbbing body.

“I’ll take a drink,” Poppy says. No. Make him leave! “What do you have?”

While he starts lis ng o the expansive menu, Lo presses his thumbs down in a massage pa ern. Oh…that feels good.

I grip the towel underneath my head, my body star ng to build towards something bad. I want to tell Lo to stop, but I’m not sure I can say the words without being breathless.

I clench my teeth as his ngers dig deep and then lightly u er over my skin, playing with my needs. I hate him right now. I hate how I want this so, so badly.

My gaze nds the a rac ve server, and I lose it. I keep my back from arching, my body from bucking, and I snap my eyes closed before they roll back. A mu ed noise escapes, and I think my sisters have missed it as I begin to come down. But when I open my eyes again, more than embarrassed, the server brie y meets them, scanning the length of me. Knowing.

I bury my face in my towel. Disappear, I order.

“You,” I hear Lo’s voice.

The server’s shoes clank on the oor, coming towards us. Oh my God?! What is Lo doing? “What would you like?”

“Stop staring at my fucking girlfriend,” Lo says, topping it o with a bi er smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Lo!” Poppy shrieks.

Rose is actually laughing. The world has gone mad. And I refuse to look at it, hiding underneath the covers, topless, my chest s ll pressed on the lounge chair.

“I wasn’t staring,” the server refutes with a tense voice, unmasking his emo ons. “If you want something, I’ll gladly get it for you. If not, I’m going.”

“Great,” Lo says. “I’ll take a Fizz.”

“You mean a bourbon and Fizz?” he retorts in challenge. Oh shit.

“No, I mean a regular Fizz.”

The server says, “But you’ve been drinking bourbon all day, Mr. Hale. Are you sure you don’t want another one?”

“You’ve been drinking hard liquor all day?” Rose says, her voice suddenly at.

“No,” I refute before Lo can. I peek from underneath my towel and glare at the server, nding some internal con dence for Lo’s bene t. “You must be mistaken. I’ve tasted his drink.”

The server eyes me for a long me, trying to read my expression, and I try to so en my gaze, as though telling him it will be worth his while. Or something. Anything. I mean, I moaned while watching him spout o menu items. And he saw it. That’s all I have to go on.

“Right,” the server says. He glances back at Lo with a knowing, sa s ed look, thinking he’ll bed me later and really show up this rich prick. I don’t want him to, and I fear that he actually will. And I’ll let him. “I’ll get your drink—”

“Don’t,” Lo says, clipping my bandeau back. “I’d rather not drink spit with my Fizz, and we all fucking know that’s where this is headed. So leave.”

Poppy says. “You can cancel my order. I think it’s for the best if you stay inside.”

The server nods and disappears at her wish.

I stand immediately. “I’m going to the bathroom and maybe to the pool.” The words sound sta c and hurried, but no one ques ons them, except Lo. He collects his things and follows me indoors and to our cabin.

I don’t look at him. I head to the ny, ny bathroom and turn the one-person shower to freezing cold.

I hear clinking, and I glance back just as he gulps straight whiskey from the bo le. He licks his lips and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pissed. When his eyes meet mine, he nally says, “Did you orgasm?”

My en re body ushes. “Not really,” I mumble.

He nods to himself, staring dazedly at the ground. “Did you get aroused from me or him?”

I frown. “Does it ma er?” I already feel awful about the whole event. “You shouldn’t have been teasing me like that, Lo. I’m already tense as it is.”

“I was trying to help,” he snaps.

“By making me want to have sex on the sun deck?!” I shout. “That’s not helping. You made the situa on worse.”

His face twists in anger and hurt. He plops on the edge of the double bed and puts the bo le to his lips again. Then he says, “If you have sex with that fucking asshole, we’re done.”

I hesitate by the bathroom. “What?” My voice goes small. For some reason, I think he’s talking about our friendship. His glazed, reddened eyes tell me so.

He lets his words hang in the air while I internally freak out, imagining a world without him. So very alone.

“What do you mean, Lo?” My heart hammers.

“We’re done,” he says. “You really think your family will accept the fact that you cheated on me with the sta ? No, we’ll have to break up.”

Our fake rela onship, that’s what he’s talking about. I exhale. “I’ll be careful.”

His eyes narrow, heated. “So you’re going to sleep with him?”

I shrug. “I don’t have much of a choice.”

He shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable.” He stands up and takes his bo le with him, turning his back on me.

“You don’t understand,” I start, quickly trying to defend what my body craves. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Lo. My legs are shaking. My hands are shaking. I feel like I’m being set in a blender. I just need someone…”

“Stop.” His voice sounds pained again. “Just…stop.”

I’m so confused. “What do you want me to do? I can’t go without it. You’re drinking!” It’s so unfair. “Why can’t I have sex?”

“Because we’re supposed to be together!” he yells. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.” Before I can ask him to elaborate, he goes to the door, purposefully trying to avoid my ques ons. “I’ll be at the pool.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I SPEND most of the day shivering in a shower, trying to force myself to forget Lo and the male server and body parts. Self-love does nothing but frustrate me, and I sink to the cold les, crying the pain away.

Lo confuses me. Does he want to be with me? Or is he just afraid I’m going to ruin our lie? I can’t nd the meaning to his words, no ma er how hard I repeat them.

I skip dinner, but Rose barges in my room and knocks on the door. “What are you doing in there?”

I shut o the faucet and wrap a towel around my wet, wrinkly skin. When I step out of the bathroom, she appraises my state. I mu er, “We had a ght.”

“You and Lo?” Her eyes harden. “What’d he do?”

I shake my head. “I’m not even sure.” Tears build again.

“That asshole,” she says before going to my suitcase. “I knew something was wrong at dinner.” Did he look trashed? My heart sinks at the thought of Lo drinking himself into oblivion because of me.

“How so?” I ask.

She nds my charcoal bathing suit and hands it to me. “He was really quiet,” she says, actually not making a snide remark. “He excused himself early, and I saw him sit on the deck and watch the sunset.”

“Oh,” I say so ly. I nger the bathing suit. “What’s this for?”

“Poppy, Daisy and I are going to the hot tub. I thought you should join.”

“I don’t feel well—”

“I know, but maybe being surrounded by other people who love you will help.”

I’m not talking about my broken heart. My hands tremble even as I hold the cloth, and I don’t know how much more I can take without having sex. I need to nd the server, but Lo’s expression stops me from making a move. I don’t want to betray him, and if there’s something there—just a chance that it exists—I don’t want to ruin it. Not for anything. But I worry that I may.

I don’t have the strength to argue with Rose. So I begin to dress in the bathing suit, dropping my towel.

“Is the ght serious?” she asks, si ng on the bed with crossed legs.

I shoot her a look. “Don’t act so happy about it.”

“What? I’m not enjoying your sadness, but I’m not going to pretend to be upset if you two break up.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” I e straps around my neck.

“I don’t hate him,” she refutes. “He annoys me, but I don’t hate him. Maybe dislike.” She runs her ngers over the nau cal bedspread. “I don’t think he’s good for you. Is it so bad that I think you can do be er?”

“No,” I whisper, fully dressed now. “But Lo and I…” I try to nd the words. “We may not be good for each other, but some mes I feel like he’s the only guy who could ever love me.” And that’s the truth. Because who would love this? A girl who sleeps around. A whore. A slut. Trash to be disposed. That’s what everyone sees.

“You think too lowly of yourself,” Rose says, standing. “If you don’t love yourself, Lily, how can anyone love you back?” She wraps an arm around my shoulder. “And you don’t need a guy to ful ll you. I wish you would remember that.”

And I wish that were true.

THE STARS twinkle overhead as all of my sisters soak in the warm, bubbling hot tub at the bow of the yacht. For this quiet hour, it seems like we’re the only ones who exist.

Thirty minutes in and I already know this is a bad idea. The jet behind my backside does nothing but lead my fantasies to dark, sensual places. And my mind has dri ed so frequently that I’m surprised I haven’t fallen asleep and been a icted with a hot sex dream.

All that keeps me present are my sisters’ numerous games like “Never Have I Ever”—in which I learned that Rose and Daisy are s ll virgins. Good for them. Thankfully Rose steers the conversa on away from Lo and rela onships. Mostly, I listen to Daisy talk about her week in Paris and the cute models, which also does not help my cause.

Then, I hear the clap of shoes across the wooden boards. I glance over my shoulder, and I try not to audibly sigh or moan or do anything at the sight of the a rac ve server. He sets down four towels for us and makes eye contact with me, clearly a signal, before he departs.

So this is it. I want to say no, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t have sex. And Lo hasn’t o ered. So…

Here I go. I fake yawn. “I’m going to head to bed, girls,” I tell them, climbing out.

Rose watches me. “You’ll be okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. I need to talk to Lo anyway.”

“If you need backup, I’m happy to lend my nails,” she says with a smile.

I share it easily. “I’ll be sure to call you if I need them.”

That’s all it takes. I slip inside the yacht where the server lingers by the bar, talking so ly to the older bartender. He gives me a onceover and then I head downstairs, looking back to make sure he follows me.

He does.

Each step down towards the cabin rooms, I sense my looming fate. Am I going to ruin our fake rela onship? Lo’s paranoia ekes into my brain. What if I ruin our friendship over this? Or any possibility of a future, of something more together? I shake it o . This is like any other day. Lo will be happy that I feel be er, and he’ll be glad that I did it unseen. Nothing will change. Nothing will change, I repeat.

And then I freeze at the bo om. Lo sits outside our room, empty-handed. His head hangs low, and when he sees me, he jumps to his feet. I fossilize and feel the server’s body-heat right behind me.

Lo doesn’t even look at him. He keeps his hard gaze right on me. “I need to talk to you.”

Talk. I don’t need talking. I need something else. “I’m busy.” Just say it! Tell Lo you want him and end this.

I’m a coward.

His nose ares. “Please.”

I glance back at the server, who seems to be piecing together our rela onship, trying to gure out what kind it is. Very, very unconven onal, that’s what.

I am awful at saying no. So even though my body protests with all its might, I nod and slip into my cabin, Lo shu ng out the server behind us.

I feel like I have to jus fy my ac ons again. “Lo, I really need this. I’m sorry. I am.” I inhale a strained breath. “I just don’t know what else to do.” I keep talking, afraid of what he has to say, so my words tumble out. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I know it won’t stop un l it happens.”

“Sex or sex with him?” He points to the door. “If you really want him, Lily, then go. Have at him. Make him come, make him scream, if that’s what makes you feel be er, then do it.”

“Wait,” I say, my head spinning. “Wait, that’s not. No…” I swallow. “It’s not him. It’s just the sex.” I ddle with my ngers, much more nervous than I’ve ever been with him. This is not pretend. What we’re saying to each other—this is very real. “I’ll start shaking if I don’t nd a way to sa ate this. It’s like…it’s like there’s something wrong in my head, and the only way to be at ease is to do it. You understand…don’t you?”

He rubs his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

I inhale, thinking he’s going to let me go without the added guilt. “So we’re okay then?”

He blinks in confusion. “What?” And then he realizes what I’m asking. “Fuck no, Lily. I’m not saying it’s okay for you to have sex with him.”

My eyes glass. “Why are you doing this to me?!” I scream. “I’ve never once ripped a glass out of your hands. I’m sorry you hate this guy, but there’s no one else. You want me to sleep with the old bartender? He’s my father’s age!” I do have some standards.

He scowls darkly and then touches his chest. “I’m clearly an op on, and yet you s ll can’t ask me. I don’t fucking get it. Am I that revol ng to you? You would rather go through withdrawals and bang some asshole than sleep with me?”

I gape, choked for a response. He wants to sleep with me? “I’m not going to use you like I do these other guys,” I murmur.

“Goddammit, Lily,” he curses. “I am standing here telling you that I want to have sex with you, and you s ll can’t accept it. Was it that terrible the rst me, is that it?”

“What? No…” The rst me was wrong, impetuous and rushed. Back then, we were just kids trying to make each other feel be er. If we have a second me together, I don’t want it to be like that. “You shouldn’t have sex with me just because I’m withdrawing. We’re friends,” I tell him. “You’re not going to be another name on my list of guys for the week. Okay?”

His nose ares, breathing heavily. And he starts closing the distance between us.

“Lo,” I warn.

“Have you ever thought about it?”

I watch his feet near, my pulse racing.

“Have you ever thought about me inside you?”

I almost stumble back, but he hooks an arm around my waist.

“Have you ever thought about us together?”

I can hardly breathe. “Together?”

“Where I don’t share you with any other man.”

All the me. “Yes.” I keep expec ng to wake up.

“If I could be enough to ll you, would you let me?”

I look at him. “Yes.”

“Then let me try,” he says, his hand cupping my face. “Let me try to be enough for you.”

“That’s a big undertaking,” I tell him, my body swelling.

His lips brush mine as he whispers. “I’m big enough to take it.” Oh… “Let me. Help you.” He places my palm over his swim trunks, right on his crotch. Yes.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…you never said anything,” I stumble. My lungs struggle for air, three years of tension burs ng.

With a shu ed step, he draws me even closer and then guides me backwards to the bed. “How the hell could you not know?”

“I’m dirty,” I refute, hot tears brimming. “You don’t want me.”

His face twists in pain. “I don’t think that. Neither should you.” His lips graze my neck and then nd my ear. “Lil, I want you to ask me. I need you to.”

He presses his forehead to my temple, gently edging me closer to the ma ress, his hands ght on my hips. I con nue to struggle for breath. I know what he wants now.

He wants this to be real.

So do I.

“Help me,” I say, breathlessly.

He grips the back of my neck, hard, plunging his tongue in my mouth. My legs hit the ma ress, and my back slams into the bed. He li s me up, all while keeping his lips hungrily on mine.

Bo les cla er to the oor, and Lo doesn’t pull away to retrieve them. His hand kneads my breast, my top coming o . I grip his bare back, clutching for support. I try to ip over so I can be on top, but he refuses my demands, keeping my body trapped beneath his weight.

I succumb to his hardness and the way his rough movements dominate my bones. He li s my leg around his hip but keeps my other on the bed.

I usually take control, pouncing on my prey, but here, every ac on has equal intensity. My ngers run through his so hair, and his mouth sucks on my nipple, his tongue swirling around while I buck against him. Oh…

“Lo,” I moan. I can’t do this much longer. He’s too far away. There’s too much distance. “Closer.”

He pulls my arms above my head, stretching me, and I cry out, my toes curling. “I need you. Please…ahh…” I’m in my zone.

He sheds his shorts, and I try to climb on him again, but he returns to my arms, pulling them once again. He stares deeply into my eyes, his body melding perfectly into mine. “I’m not one of your conquests,” he says in a throaty voice. “I know what you want, and you don’t need to take it. I can give it to you.”

His ngers slide beneath my bikini bo oms, nding the sensi ve place. They slip in and out quickly—so fast. I shudder and moan and try to speak but words don’t come. I’ve reverted to caveman talk in grunts and groans and shrieks.

“Stay s ll,” he orders, stepping o the bed, which rises without his weight. He walks across the room, completely naked, and shes out a few condoms from his suitcase. I drink in his whole body. Even his cock…wow. That has de nitely grown since the last I saw it.

He rips open the condom, climbing back on the bed. Unbearable seconds ck by, and I squirm, impa ent.

He smiles and kisses me again, long and hard. Ah…I shudder. And then he lls me. His hips grind against mine, and he presses down with each thrust, ge ng as close as possible. I shut my eyes and turn my head, a natural reac on as I oat away with the overwhelming sensa on.

He grips my chin, s ll moving against me, and turns my face to his. “Look at me.”

My eyes snap open, and his words send my body in a tailspin. I cry out. “Lo…” I grip his back ghtly for support. “More.”

He pumps, and his amber eyes stay on mine, driving in and out. In and out. Deeper and deeper. I am lost to his scotch-colored irises. To the way he stares into me. No one has ever looked at me like this.

Everything bursts.

I’m ying into the most blissful feeling in the world.

I never want to come down.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MOST NIGHTS, I pass out a er sex, willing on sleep to avoid any communica on with the other guy. As this bliss seeps away, I can’t close my eyes. My head spins from the event, desperately trying to quan fy what just happened.

Lo silently climbs o the bed and tugs on a pair of black boxer-briefs over his bare ass. He rescues a fallen bo le of bourbon and a glass from the counter. I ghten the navy sheets to my chest, and he hops on the bed, the ma ress bucking underneath me.

More gently, he takes a seat at the foot.

He wants to talk. I suppose I do too. I think it may be where we went wrong the rst me.

“Thanks,” I say rst.

His eyes icker from the dark liquid to me. “I didn’t do it all for you, you know?”

“I know.”

He licks his lips. “Where is your head at?”

“I’m confused,” I say truthfully. “I think I’ve been confused for a long

me. I haven’t known if you’ve been playing into our lie or if you really

mean to touch me the way you do.” Saying that feels really good.

He looks at me deeply. “I’ve wanted to have sex with you again since the rst me,” he admits. “But you had all these rules, and I didn’t want to be the clichéd horny guy trying to abuse your addic on. So I was wai ng for you to ask me to do it again.”

I frown. Why didn’t I? “I thought it was part of the lie. I thought you were just pretending.” How could I know that he wanted more?

His jaw locks and he shakes his head. “I’ve never pretended, Lil. We’ve been together, even if you thought it was some fucking lie. We just weren’t having sex.” He stares at his glass. “On bad days, I’d touch you more than I should, I admit. Like when Daisy spent the night, but I was hoping you’d

nally open your eyes and realize that I was there. You didn’t have to su er

or go be ful lled by some other guy. I was right in front of you.”

“I just thought you were teasing me.”

He nods. “I know. It didn’t work how I planned.” He swishes the alcohol in his glass, staring. “I understand your addic on, and I’m only bothered by the other guys when I tempt you to that place. I blame myself for making you aroused, hoping that you’ll nish with me. But you never do, and in the end, some lucky bastard gets what I want. I had everything with you, the good and bad parts of a real rela onship, except the sex.” He inhales deeply. “I wanted it, but on your terms.”

“You’ve been wai ng around for six years,” I say, staring o . Six years of miscommunica on. One of us could have opened up. Instead we let the tension build between us, growing a lie.

“The worst part was hearing you.” He shakes his head. “You know, I’d stay awake, listening to you, wondering if your cries would turn terri ed, wondering if some guy decided to take advantage or hurt you. But I can’t…” He pauses on the words.

But I know. “You can’t tell me to stop.” Because it’s hypocri cal. He won’t quit drinking, not for me, not for anything.

“Yeah.” He inspects me from a distance, taking in my body language a er sex. “How was it for you?”

Amazing. “Do you want a ra ng or something?” I try to lighten the mood.

His face sharpens, all hard lines, all ice, all Loren Hale. “I’m open to cri cism.” He nishes o his drink.

I can’t rate him. He’s literally not quan able on any chart. I have never

trusted someone to take control and to do it so passionately. “You’re enough,” I tell him, my voice small, “but I can’t lie to you. I worry that in the future, you won’t be. And then what? I’ve never been commi ed to one guy, Lo. For you, I’d try, but…what if I fail?”

“You’ll s ll be having sex,” he says. “You’ll just be having crazy, mind-numbing sex with me. Every day. On your terms. And if you slip up, it’s okay.”

“No,” I immediately refute. “No, it’s not. If we’re together for real, I can’t cheat on you. That’s not okay.” I realize I have to try. No ma er what, I have to try to make this work and to nd everything I need within Lo. I think it’s possible, but it may be hard some mes. “I’m going to need you, do you understand?”

Lo nods. “Of course, Lil.”

“So on the days that you drink yourself to sleep before eight o’clock, what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re making a compromise, and it’s only fair that I do the same. We’ll work out our schedules.” He rests his hand on my ankle, sending shivers up my spine. “I want to love you more than I love this”—he waves his bo le—“and I don’t know how else to do it unless there’s something to lose.” The stakes have become much greater. If I fail, that means I cheat on him. If he fails, that means he may drive me to cheat. Either way, we’ll be alone and empty. We’ve never entertained the idea of being together, in part because we were never ready to make small sacri ces, like less drinking, no more one-night stands. I’ll need to nd the thrill elsewhere.

Three years later and drowning in lies, we’re suddenly prepared to lose everything for the chance at something real.

“So this is it then.” I skim his features, the rmness of his chest, the darkness in his expression, and the wan ng in his eyes. “We wake up tomorrow and become an actual couple. No pretenses. I stay monogamous to you, and you cut back on the drinking to help me. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s no going back. If we break up…” Everything will change.

“Lily.” He sets his glass aside and scoots closer. He cups my face in his hands. His closeness s ll makes my heart u er like I’ve never been touched by him before. That’s a good sign. “We’re terrible at so many things—remembering important dates, college, making friends—but the one thing we’ve always been halfway decent at is being together. We owe it to ourselves to try.”

“Okay,” I say in a small breath.

His smile grows and he kisses me hard, cemen ng our new deal—or breaking our old one. He directs my back into the nau cal comforter, and I happily wrap my arms around him, holding on ght, and never le ng go.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE REST OF THE TRIP, I no longer ques on the validity when Lo reaches out for my hand or when he slips his arm around my waist. It’s all one-hundred percent, real a ec on that I can enjoy without constant confusion.

Back in Philadelphia, the clouds replace the sun and the most tropical it gets here are the li le umbrellas in fruity drinks. Reality sets in along with the fall season, exams looming as close as the Christmas Charity Gala. Now that I’m back to the land of male bodies, I try to train my mind on Lo and no one else. Not the hot dog vendor on the street or the lawyers entering and exi ng the apartment complex.

I can’t cheat on Lo, but some mes the cannots turn into maybes which become okays. And I’m at a loss of how to control that kind of cascade once it begins. Good thing economics steals my thoughts o Lo and even sex.

I slam my head against the fat textbook. “Die, numbers, die.”

Alcohol bo les clink in the kitchen, a familiar sound that now drives me insane. I blame college. “Lo,” I call from the living room. “Have you done this homework yet? Can you help me?” I must be desperate if I’m reques ng his support.

He laughs but doesn’t bother to answer me. Just lovely. I’m going to fail. Like I need another reason for my parents to hound me. The world lies to you. They say that you become this independent, self-su cient creature when you turn eighteen, severing the familial es once you enter collegiate society. But in our economy, nine mes out of ten, you’re nancially dependent on them un l you join the real workforce. Even me—daughter of a mul -billionaire tycoon—has to rely on family for support. There’s something vitally wrong with this system, and I don’t have to be fucking good at economics to know it.

I bite my ngernails to the beds and smack my book closed. I watch Lo lean two hands on the counter, his shirt riding up and his eyes narrowed at his computer screen. He clicks some bu ons, staring intently at a webpage.

I start to picture him, walking towards me, eyeing me the way he did while at sea. He knows me well enough to take the lead. And he does, willingly, spreading my legs open…

Lo straightens up and shuts the laptop, his movement waking me from my fantasy. Okay, I can’t concentrate on pro t margins when all I can think about is something a li le more nefarious.

Quietly, I pad over to the kitchen where Lo mixes a drink. He cuts back on quan ty, not quality. Bourbon and whiskey, his favorite dark-colored liquors, spread across the counters in droves.

I hover by the fruit bowl and lamely act like I’m examining the apples. In the past two weeks since we’ve been back in the city, I haven’t gured out how to approach Lo without feeling weird. I’m not the type to come out and say: Hey, Lo, can you please sleep with me? The thought of u ering those words sends red spots to my skin. Doing it with strangers is di erent. I never have to see them again, and I rarely use words. I give them a deep, sultry look, and they follow me wherever I go. Using that Venus y trap technique with Lo feels cheap and overwrought. So instead, I stand here awkwardly.

I don’t want to ask for sex like I’m ordering something from a bar. Why can’t this be easier?

I try to avoid the uncomfortable conversa on with a ques on. “You do realize we have a test in a week? Are you going to even study?”

“I’ll wing it.” Relaxed, he sips his drink and leans his elbows on the counter. He lts his head, watching me closely.

Maybe that was a bad ques on to ask. Now I feel nervous for the both of us.

About this me, I’d be spor ng a gli ery tank top and heading for a club, even if it’s only the evening. Now that I’m monogamous, I only have one op on, and he happens to be ful lling his own obsession by downing a bo le of bourbon.

Should I even pull him away from that? Does it make me the needy, sel sh person in the rela onship?

“Lily.”

His voice cuts into my thoughts. I stop pacing. Holy shit, when did I start pacing?

“You okay?”

“I’m ne.” I go back to the fruit.

“You seem awfully fascinated by those apples.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, enough.” He sets down his glass and edges close to me. “Ever since we returned from the Bahamas, you’ve been nervous and ji ery whenever you obviously need sex. You do realize you used to tell me when and where you would have sex every night?”

“That was before it was with you,” I defend.

“So this should be easier,” he says, perplexed.

“It’s not. I don’t like asking for it. The guys I bed want to have sex with me.” I cringe. That didn’t come out right. “What I mean is,” I say hurriedly as my arms ush, “they’re ac vely looking for a hook up too. Not relaxing on the couch or sur ng the internet. I don’t want this to be a chore or for my problems to invade your personal life.”

“I assure you, having sex is not a chore, especially not with you. As for your problems, well, that’s what being in a rela onship is about, Lil. Your problem is now my problem. In fact, it’s almost always been my problem. Now I just get the reward instead of watching some douchebag take it.”

“But you don’t need me to drink. You don’t have to ask me to x a whiskey sour. Your addic on doesn’t in ltrate my life like mine does yours.”

“Yes it does, just in other ways. And do you really think I walked into this blind?” He twirls a piece of my hair in his nger. “I know how much sex you have. I know that when you’re not having it, you’re browsing porn. I’m not an idiot, Lil. I’ve been your best friend for years, and I haven’t lost that knowledge now that I’m your boyfriend.”

He makes solid points. “Okay, but I s ll feel weird asking for it.”

Lo hooks his ngers in the waist of my jeans, eyeing the sliver of skin that peeks beneath my blouse. “Then don’t,” he tells me, his hand spindling across the small of my back. “If you want me to choose when we do it, I can. But I didn’t want to take that from you.”

His hand rises up my spine and he skillfully unclasps my bra. I stagger back in surprise, heat blooming on every part of me. He hooks his arm underneath mine, pu ng me in a lock so I can’t squirm away. Our bodies touch from top to bo om, his hard chest against my so . I can barely breathe.

Lo presses his lips to my temple and then he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

I swallow hard, trying to focus. Do I trust him? “Yes,” I say. “But…you can’t wait too long.” My words tumble out, more fran c than I an cipated. “It has to be more than two mes and spaced out. When I get stressed, I may need more and—”

His lips nd mine, shu ng me up. My shoulders droop and I melt almost instantly. He loosens his hold so my arms can y around his neck. We’re dancing. And yet, our feet don’t move, but I feel lighter than air, suspended above the clouds while performing the waltz Beauty and the Beast style.

Gradually, he breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead to mine. I sway from the a ere ects. My lips on his. The surprise of it all.

“You’re not losing anything,” Lo tries to assure me. “You’re gaining spontaneity. How did that feel?”

I open my mouth but can’t form the words.

His grin widens, sa s ed. “That good, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I’ve resorted to mumbles.

“You could be doing dishes in the kitchen,” he whispers, his lips ckling my ear, “and I could come right up and….”

His hand slides down my back and below my jeans, in between my thighs…

I’m sold.

I remove my shirt, my bra already unclipped. And he easily li s me up and places me on the counter. I see something in his eyes—a desire that I hadn’t no ced before. It’s lled with determina on, as though convincing me that he’s enough.

I hope and pray and wish that he is. Only me will tell.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE SMELL of garlic bread and tomato sauce s mulates my hunger. I wiggle in my seat and tug on the hem of my black cocktail dress that rides up my thighs. Since college, the nicest place I’ve dined at is a pub that serves expensive cheeses and pistachios. The only instances when I read menus with a minimum hundred buck taste-tes ng course are during family dinner par es, my mother forcing me into high heels and pinching my arm to smile.

The incredulous stares are not helping me feel any more welcome. Middle-aged and elderly aristocrats shoot judgmental glares our way, wai ng for us to dine-and-dash at any moment. Lo must sense the unkind specula on from our ages. Wrinkles have permanently creased his forehead.

He made the reserva on a week ago, ci ng that we need to have our

rst “real” date. I sip my wine slowly. When he ordered us the house

Merlot, I held in my surprise. He hasn’t had wine—what he refers to as “subservient” alcohol—in months. And even though Nola drove us to La Rose a, Lo rarely orders alcohol for me. Of any kind.

Now an o cial couple, I thought I’d stop overanalyzing his gestures, but I start thinking way too much, mostly about the di erences in our rela onship. Some mes I wish for a remote control to pause my brain. Just for a moment of peace.

The waiter returns with a basket of “premium” bread. Those were his words when he talked about the loaf, and he looked all sno y about it too. Maybe he expected our eyes to widen in realiza on that we were at an expensive restaurant—with premium bread and pricy ravioli, a place not built for young adults with ones or twos beginning their age.

“Are you ready to order?” he asks with sucked in cheeks, reminding me a li le too much of my mother.

I bounce between Capellini alla Checca and Fille o di Branzino. Pasta or sea bass? Lo no ces my indecision and says, “Give us a few more minutes.”

The waiter shi s his weight. Uh-oh. I know that look. He’s about to get mean. “This isn’t a Mexican restaurant where you can eat free chips and then leave. The bread costs money.” Oh, the premium bread costs money! Who would have thought? “You have to order eventually.”

Lo snaps his menu closed and he spreads his hands out on the table, gripping the sides. He looks about ready to ip the damn thing over. His father would, I realize. The thought steals my breath. I don’t want to compare them. Ever. “I said ‘give us a few more minutes.’ Did I ever insinuate that I wouldn’t pay?”

“Lo,” I warn, his knuckles whitening. Please don’t ip the table.

The waiter glances at Lo’s hands and then the manager nds his way to our table. Eyes from other linen-lined booths and candle-set tables have dri ed over to us, staring at the spectacle.

“Is there a problem?” the manager asks, slightly older than the waiter, both dressed in uniform blacks.

“No,” Lo answers rst, peeling his ngers o the table. He takes out his wallet. “We’d like a bo le of your most expensive champagne to go. We’ll be leaving a er that.” He hands the manager his black American Express card.

The slack-jawed waiter straightens up. “That’s the Pernod-Ricard Perrier Jouet. It’s over four thousand dollars.”

“That’s it?” Lo says with the lt of his head, feigning shock.

The manager places a ght hand on the waiter’s shoulder. “I’ll get that right out for you, Mr. Hale.” Ooh, he even used his name from the credit card. Bonus points for him. He ushers the waiter out of our sight, and Lo looks about ready to break the neck of a chicken—or the man who just shu ed away with his tail between his legs.

“So we’re not ea ng here,” I say, adding up what just happened.

“Would you like to eat here?” he almost shouts, unbu oning the top of his black-collared shirt.

“Not really.” My cheeks blossom with an ugly red nt the longer people stare.

He rolls up his sleeves. “I had no idea that respect needed to be earned in a fucking restaurant.”

“Can you stop messing with your shirt?”

“Why?” he asks, calming down. He scru nizes my body language. “Is it turning you on?”

I glare. “No. It looks like you’re about ready to run into the kitchen and beat the crap out of our waiter.” Which is comical. Lo avoids most ghts and would be more apt to scream in your face, verbally a acking, than throw a punch.

He rolls his eyes but stops messing with his sleeves per my request.

Only a minute passes before the manager returns with a gold bo le and the American Express card. Lo stands, gestures for me to rise, and he grabs both and shoots everyone a scalding look on his way out, even the manager who did nothing more than apologize and o er a grateful thanks.

I slip my hands into my long woolen coat. “Nola isn’t supposed to be here for another hour,” I tell him.

“We’ll walk for a while. The taco stand is ten blocks away. Think you can make it?”

I nod. My short heels already s ck in divots along the cracked sidewalk, but I try not to fuss about it. “Are you okay?” I ask him. The bo le swings in his hand, but he reaches down for mine with the other, holding ghtly and warming my chilly palm.

“I just hate that,” he says, wiping his sweaty brow. “I hate that we’re s ll treated like children even though we’re in our twen es. I hate that I had to pull out my wallet and buy respect.” We stop at a cross-walk, a big red hand ashing at us, telling us to stay put. “I feel like my father.”

His admi ance takes me aback. And his cheekbones sharpen, making my stomach somersault. He looks far more like Jonathan Hale than I will ever confess.

“You’re not him,” I whisper. “He would have ipped that table over and then le the sta to clean his mess.”

Lo actually laughs at the image. “Would he?” The sign changes to walk, and we cross the halted tra c, cars lined on the street with bright headlights shining forward and backwards. Just like that, the men on of his father drops in the air, lost behind us.

I spot the taco stand in the distance, lit up with a string of mul -colored lights. A small park resides across the busy street, and a few college-aged kids surround a surging fountain, chowing down on burritos. I suppose we

t in with this demographic, but wherever Lo and I go, I always feel like an

outcast. Some things never change past high school.

“Are you cold?” Lo asks.

“Huh? No, I’m ne. My coat is fur-lined.”

“I like it.”

I try to hide the smile. “Check the tag.”

He swi ly falls back with furrowed brows and takes a peek. “Calloway Couture?” He joins my side again. “Rose designed it,” he concludes. “I take it back. It’s ugly.”

I laugh. “I can get her to design you a sweater vest.”

“Stop,” he says with a cringe.

“Or a monogramed shirt. She’ll put your name right over the heart, L-O-R-E-N—”

He pinches my hips, and I shriek and laugh at the same me. He guides me to the taco stand, his lips by my ear the whole me, whispering some R-rated things that he would like to do to me for being so bad.

“Can we skip the tacos?” I ask, suddenly hot.

His grin lights up his face. He turns to the vendor, not feeding into my desires. Yet. “I’ll have three chicken tacos. She’ll take beef with extra le uce.” He knows my order by heart, not surprising since we eat here regularly, but now that we’re together, it seems sexier.

“You want hot sauce on those chicken, right?”

“No, not today.”

I frown. “You always get hot sauce.”

“And you hate spicy food.”

WhaaatOhhhh. It clicks. He plans to kiss me some me soon. That, I like. We pick up our orders, pay and se le down across the street on the fountain ledge.

He gently rocks the champagne cork from the bo le and it sighs once released. He pours each of us enough to ll our two imsy Styrofoam cups.

Around the same me, I take a big bite into my taco, and sauce dribbles from the end and down my chin. Hurriedly, I nd a few of the napkins that haven’t blown away, but I fear Lo has already witnessed my embarrassment.

He tries hard not to smile. “I do remember you being in co llion. Or was that a dream?”

I snort, not helping my case. “Hardly. I had to dance with Jeremy Adams all night and he was a whole head shorter than me. Since someone chose to go to the ball with Juliana Bancro .”

He takes a large bite of his chicken taco to suppress laugher.

“I s ll don’t understand why you did that to me. She was horrible.” I take a big gulp of champagne, the bubbles ckling my nose. I already feel more relaxed. Liquid courage, something Lo knows a li le about, but I predict that he’d be just as brazen without the added consump on.

“She wasn’t that bad,” he says, scooping fallen chicken from the tray back into the tor lla.

“She lled my locker with condoms.”

“You don’t know that was her.”

“I slept with her boyfriend. If I had known she was da ng some guy from a public school twenty miles out, I would have never touched him.”

I avoided sleeping with guys from Dalton Academy. I hardly wanted a slu y reputa on, so I chose my conquests very, very carefully. But obviously not too wisely or else I would have no ced his lie when he claimed his single status. Lady Luck had been somewhat on my side, though. Juliana never told anyone what happened because she didn’t want people to know she was da ng “lower” in the rst place. A small plus to the horrible ordeal.

“It could have been any other girl,” Lo s ll refutes. I think partly to rile me. He picks up his champagne cup.

I gape. “The condoms had gli ery s ckers all over them. Who else in high school had a Lisa Frank fe sh? She even carried around a binder with a rainbow unicorn and she was in ninth grade. So not only was she cruel, but she was vain enough to prac cally sign her name across the crime.” I pause. “You know the sad part of that story. I actually used those condoms.”

He snorts on his champagne, choking on the alcohol.

I pat his back. “Take it easy there. Maybe you should switch to something you can handle. I’m an alcohol a cionado. You should listen to me.” I ash a smile.

“Is that so?” he says, his face red from hacking up a lung. He takes another sip to clear his throat.

“So why did you take Juliana?” I wonder. “You never answered.”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

“And I don’t believe you, Loren Hale.”

“Use my full name, Lily Calloway, its authority is lost on me.” He ashes an equally smug smile.

“You escorted me to plenty of balls before that one,” I remind him. “So what changed?” I shouldn’t nag, but my curiosity prevails over my sensibility.

He sets his empty tray aside and holds the champagne bo le between his legs. I wait while he thinks about the right words, on how to frame his answer. He picks at the owery gold paint. “The night before Juliana asked me, I came home trashed. I paid o some guy to buy me a bo le of Jim Beam. I spent that a ernoon drinking in the back of our old elementary school.” He rolls his eyes. “I probably looked like a fucking delinquent. I was bored. And I guess that’s not even a good excuse anymore. My father saw me stumbling in, and he went o on some tangent about being unapprecia ve.” His eyes narrow at the brick walk. “To this day, I remember what he said. ‘You can’t even fathom how much I’ve fucking given you, Loren. And this is how you repay me?’”

I’m afraid to touch Lo. He’s in some kind of trance, and if I put my arm around him, he may jerk out of it, sullen and unhappy. He may be both regardless.

He con nues with a heavy frown, “I listened to him rant for an hour. Then he started talking about you.”

“Me?” I touch my chest, not believing I could enter this kind of conversa on.

He nods. “Yeah, he said you were too good for me, that I would never be able to grow up and be with a girl like you. I was young, rebellious, and when he said go, I yelled stop. When he said Lily, I shouted Juliana.”

“Oh,” I mumble, not realizing how deep-seated the truth really is.

“For the record,” his voice lightens, “I was miserable all night having to listen to her go on about her horses. And if I remember correctly, you did use Jeremy’s short height to your advantage.”

My ears heat and redden at the memory. I use my hands as blinders to shield my mor ca on. “You’re not supposed to nd my past conquests

amusing,” I whisper-yell, s ll blocking my peripheral vision.

His lips quirk. “I love all of you.” He raises my chin with a nger and kisses me so delicately that I wonder who the man is on the other side of me. The tenderness draws me in, and I lose breath in the short moment.

I break away rst, not sure if I can last kissing him like this without the promise of wild, passionate sex. He raises his eyebrows, pu ng his cup to his lips, grinning. Yes, he knows exactly how I feel right now. I’m so transparent.

I change the topic to keep from oozing into the fountain. “Poppy keeps asking me about your birthday. She wants to meet all of our friends at the party they’re supposedly throwing for us—Charlie and Stacey especially.”

He remains calm. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that she’d hate the party. Too many drunken college students, and she’ll have to meet them some other me. She bought it pre y quickly. Besides, she has no reason to believe we’d create c onal friends.”

“I wish you’d chosen a be er name than Stacey. I don’t know any Staceys that I’d ever be friends with.”

“That’s name prejudice and immature.”

“There’s no such thing as name prejudice, but I don’t doubt it’s slightly immature. I have many faults.”

“About your birthday”—I stay on track—“since you’re not passing out at noon, can I actually take you out to celebrate?”

He rips o the last of the champagne label. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. We can dress up in costumes and go to a party.”

“Why can’t we just stay at home, drink and have sex?”

“We do that every day, Lo,” I say irritably. Since we’ve been together, my late night clubbing customs have disappeared. Unlike Lo, I’m not used to being cooped up in the apartment so much. “There has to be some perks to having a birthday on Halloween.”

He takes a swig from the champagne bo le, thinking. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess we already have the perfect costumes.”

I grin and then immediately frown. “Wait, what costumes?” My stomach ops, and once my embarrassment begins to set in, his face lights up. Oh, I hate him. “No, not the same ones we wore to Comic-Con.” My skimpy X-23 ou it! And his ght, equally revealing Hellion suit. The picture framed on his wall.

“You want to go out so badly, that’s my condi on.”

He’s trying to see how much I want it. I inhale deeply. I’ll wear a cape in the front or something absurd to cover me. “Fine. You have a deal.”

“We like making those, don’t we?”

I suppose we do.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“TAKE THESE NUMBERS INTO ACCOUNT, not these.” My tutor gives me a concerned look. “Do you follow?”

My eyes grow wide. “I’m going to fail. Again.”

He taps the eraser of his pencil on the thick economics text and stares at the numbers. His lips draw into a thin line, trying to gure out how to tutor the stupidest girl at Penn. I’m hopeless. It took three more days of solo-torture before I sucked up my pride and emailed Connor to tutor me.

Now I have company in hell.

“Try this one, Lily.” He slides the book to me and points to a big paragraph. Words. Too many words for something involving numbers. Why can’t economics choose between the two? Having both numbers and words in an equa on sends a spli ng migraine to my skull.

I struggle for another ve minutes before I throw my pencil down in a hu . “I swear I’m not doing this on purpose,” I say quickly. “And I know you’re probably wishing I chose someone else.”

He leans back in the rickety old library chair. We’re holed up in a ny study room with a white board, a long table, a light xture and one glass wall to remind us that other people do exist. The perk: I can scream in obnoxious frustra on and no one will hear my cries but Connor.

Time cks by, and the sun has already bailed on us. I’m probably keeping my tutor from his dinner or evening plans. I glance occasionally at his thick, wavy brown locks and deep blue eyes, scoring high on the Guy-I’d-Like-To-Fuck chart—or the chart I used to have before I entered a monogamous rela onship.

The collar to his navy peacoat is popped, the rst sign of his preppy status. Honestly, I hoped for some dweeb with glasses and acne. Someone who wouldn’t en ce me so much.

“How did you learn about me anyway?” he asks, intrigued. “Referral?”

“You were listed as a tutor on the economics departmental website. I just kind of went for the coolest name. It was between you and Henry Everclear.” No girls, or else they would have been my rst choice.

“So you went for Connor Cobalt,” he smiles in amusement. “Connor isn’t my real rst name. It’s Richard.”

“Oh.” My arms heat. “I guess that’s not as cool.” I could smack my head at my reply, wishing for something pithy or wi y. Instead, I get dumb.

“What’s your full name?”

I glance warily at the clock on his phone, res ng on the table beside my book.

He follows my gaze. “I won’t charge extra.”

I ush further. I’ve de nitely heard that before. “I don’t want to keep you from your plans.”

“Oh no,” he says with a laugh, se ng down his Starbucks co ee. “I don’t have any plans. I’m actually kind of glad you’re a li le slow. I’ve been tutoring freshman A-type personali es for the past few months and they whiz through my problems in under twenty minutes. I need tutoring hours for my resume. The MBA program at Wharton is pre y compe ve and

any extracurricular helps.”

I should take o ense to that, but I can’t argue with the truth here. I am struggling. “Well, I may be a lost cause.”

“I’m the best tutor at Penn. I bet you a thousand dollars I’ll have you at least capable of passing your next exam.”

I gape, disbelieving. “That’s in two days.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I guess we’re going to be cramming for the next forty-eight hours.” He checks his watch and simultaneously picks his co ee back up, taking a sip. “You never told me your full name by the way. It can’t be worse than Connor Cobalt.” He ashes a pearly white smile—the same blinding ones that surrounded me in prep school.

“Lily Calloway.”

His head jerks back in surprise. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Rose Calloway?”

“Sister.”

He grins again. I wish I could tell him to stop. A er years of pretending and lying, nothing screams “fake” more than overzealous smiles. “She’s on the Academic Bowl for Princeton, right? We compete against them all the

me. She’s wicked smart. I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to tutor you.”

I laugh dryly. “I think you’d have to be built of armor to learn anything from Rose. She’s a tough teacher.”

His eyebrows rise as he nishes o his co ee. “Is that so?” He’s too curious for his own good.

I decide to save him and turn back to my books. “So are you really prepared to lose a thousand dollars?” He may be keen on racking up hours for his resume, but I actually need to learn this stu .

“My pride is on the line. It costs more than a thousand dollars.” He checks his Rolex watch again. “Do you have a Red Bull at your place?”

Wait? Is he invi ng himself over to tutor me?

He sees my confusion as he starts stacking textbooks together. “Library closes in ten minutes. I wasn’t kidding about cramming for the next forty-eight hours. It’s either your place or mine. But I have to warn you, my cat hates girls, and I haven’t cut her nails in a few weeks. So unless you want to be jealously assaulted by Sadie, I suggest your apartment.”

I prefer the Drake anyway. With Lo around, I have less chance to do something moronic. Like listening to my lower brain.

“My place is ne.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder as we leave. “But I live with my boyfriend, so we’ll have to be quiet.”

He whistles. “A junior and shacking up already. That explains a lot.”

He holds open a glass door for me, but I freeze before stepping onto the campus quad. “How so?” Do I wear everything right on my chest? Or is Connor Cobalt so arrogant he believes he has me all gured out in a short study session?

“A lot of girls here are from family money—”

“Wait,” I stop him before he con nues. “How do you know I have money?” I glance at my wardrobe. Nothing on me screams distastefully wealthy. I wear a pair of Nike sneakers, track pants and a Penn sweatshirt. If Rose saw my style, she’d have a hernia.

“Calloway,” he says my name with a laugh. “Your daddy is a soda mogul.”

“Yeah, but most people—”

“I’m not most people, and I make an e ort to know names, especially ones that ma er.”

Uh, I have no idea how to respond to that conceitedness.

He leads me outside into the chilly night. “Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra li ing—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”

What a horrible generaliza on. Not all women would throw away their careers at the chance of being taken care of by a man. I could punch him or vomit. Either one seems like an appropriate reac on. I bet he also believes women should only pop out babies. God, Rose would scratch out his eyes if she heard him.

But I’m not as bold as Rose, and it’s too late to nd another tutor. So I bury my thoughts and follow this asshole outside.

“LO!” I shout, walking through the door with Connor trailing behind. “Lo!” When he doesn’t answer the third me, I presume he’s le the apartment en rely. I shoot him a text and hope he’s not too sloshed to feel the vibra on.

We set camp at the bar counter. I pour through three di erent books, making slight progress but not enough to count as a success. On the problems Connor dishes out, I get twenty- ve percent correct. That number has yet to uctuate.

Two cases of Red Bull and a pepperoni pizza later, it’s eleven o’clock and Lo s ll hasn’t returned home. My phone sits lamely on the counter, and I glance at it, expec ng to see a missed call. I told Lo about my tutoring session, and we went wild this a ernoon. Maybe he thought he sa ated me enough, so he planned to ditch me tonight and do his own thing.

I bite my lip. Worry starts to set in a few minutes later, and concentra ng on the problems becomes near impossible.

“Maybe he just lost track of me,” Connor says, watching me check my phone repeatedly. “I think someone is throwing a highlighter party on campus tonight. Lots of the underclassmen I tutor were talking about it.”

“Upperclassmen don’t go?”

“Not usually. We’re more focused.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Another wide generaliza on. Lo would hate this guy. I must s ll look anxious because Connor closes our books.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “We can call o the bet. You don’t need to lose your money because I can’t concentrate.”

“I’ve never failed on my tutoring promises. The bet s ll stands. You’ll pass your exam, Lily. I’m certain of it.” That makes one of us. “Now, you’re obviously really concerned about your boyfriend. Un l we nd him, you’re not going to learn anything, so where do you think he could be?”

Huh? He’s o ering to help me track down my boyfriend? I blink away the strangeness of Connor Cobalt and try to concentrate on Lo. Where would he be? That’s a good ques on. He par ed himself out his rst two years of college and has recently stuck to bars. Usually he arrives home at a reasonable me so he can drink heavy liquor here and pass out.

If I’m not driving him, then he has to be somewhere on campus. “You said that the highlighter party was on campus?” I ask.

“It’s outside on one of the quads.”

“We’ll start there.”

STROBE LIGHTS FLICKER across a grassy eld. Bodies pump together to the hypno c beat of house music. We approach at a distance. Most people wear white clothes with streaks of paint and marker that glow in the black lights. They run around and grind, almost animalis c in the cold night.

How will I be able to nd Lo in this mess?

Before we integrate with the bumping and sweaty crowds, a pe te redhead clenches my elbow. “Hey, you’ll need this.” She passes me a white tee. I frown as she hands Connor a much bigger size from the cardboard box by her feet. He doesn’t seem fazed as he unbu ons his dress shirt and pulls the other over his head, handing her his bu on-down.

“I’m not ge ng that back, am I?” he asks her with a irta ous smile, or maybe it’s just a nice one. It’s hard to tell with a socialite like him.

Her eyes icker roguishly, and she grabs his wrist. With a black magic marker, she scrawls her number on his palm. “I’ll keep it safe for you.” She puts her arms through the holes and wears the bu on-down like a light jacket.

Holy crap. I have to commend her. That was sexy.

Connor just smiles—calm and collected like it’s completely normal to search for his tutoree’s lost boyfriend and be hit on by a pre y redhead at a party.

Keeping my shirt on, I yank the white tee over my clothes and pull my hair out of the collar, layering up. Then we enter the madness.

Some guy with a neon green wig runs at me screaming like a banshee. He brandishes a giant pink highlighter and streaks it right across my boobs. That’s lovely.

Connor nds my hand and tugs me in a di erent direc on. “What does he look like?!” he yells over the blas ng music that vibrates my feet.

I dodge a purple highlighter that heads for my bare arm and pop up Lo’s picture on my phone.

“I know this guy!” He points to the screen. “He’s in my Interna onal A airs class!”

I suppose that’s not that big of a coincidence. Business majors have to take all the same upper-elec ves. “That’s good! Should we split up?!” A girl squeals beside me and draws a yellow line right across my ass. Seriously? I’m not even wearing white pants. The marker stains an ugly brown color on my jeans.

He scouts the party and nods. “I’ll be on the side with the canvas and paint!” There’s paint around here?! Yeah, he can take that area. “You check out the keg.”

Good, he sends me to the one place Lo will probably be if he a ended this crazed party, even if he considers keg beer to be the equivalent of cat piss. Huddled around the keg, people with markers are sparse, which leaves college students who came for free beer.

A lanky guy covered in neon blue paint does a keg stand, his shirt

opping over his head and revealing patches of curly hair on his chest. He

chugs the bi er drink, and it takes only a couple minutes to deduce that Lo isn’t here.

I should have known. Cheap alcohol and ear-spli ng music have not been part of his ritual since he was nineteen. While Lo may not have fully matured yet, his indulgences have.

I try calling him again, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“Lily?”

I frown and spin on my heels to face the male voice. I don’t recognize him un l I spot his highlighted fraternity shirt: Kappa Phi Delta. The frat house Lo picked me up at.

His blond hair blows in the wind, but the cold misses me as my whole body heats in an uncomfortable embrace. I guess I’m the real jerk in this scenario since I ditched him so quickly a er the one-night stand.

He no ces my confusion and points to his chest. “Kevin.” He nods to the keg. “Can I get you a drink?” Transla on: Do you want to do it again?

Before I decline, Connor bounds over, face ushed from gh ng through tangled bodies. His white tee is splashed in a variety of neon paints and streaked with highlighters. Someone missed the shirt, and his elbow glows bright pink. “I didn’t nd him,” he tells me.

“Connor Cobalt!” Kevin exclaims.

Oh my God. They do not know each other. Where am I?

Connor turns and his grin widens as he sees Kevin. “Hey, man!” They exchange the bro-hug: a handshake, squeeze, lean in and slap on the back. I never understand those.

“I’m surprised to see your ass here,” Kevin says with a smile. “I thought keggers were far too inferior for Connor Cobalt.” Glad to know other people nd his full name fascina ng.

“Actually, I’m on the clock.”

“You call this tutoring?” Kevin’s eyes drop to the number wri en across Connor’s hand. “Damn, man, maybe I should adopt your methods. All I get out of my hours are headaches.” He glances at me, no cing my lingering presence. “Oh, this is Lily.” Obviously Kevin idio cally spaced out when Connor acknowledged me earlier.

Connor frowns deeply and lts his head towards me. I want to smile. Yeah, you don’t have me all gured out.

“Yeah, I know,” Connor says. “I’m tutoring her. Econ.”

Kevin presses two ngers to his lips, trying to suppress his amusement. “You mean, you’re ‘tutoring’ her, right?” The douchebag even uses air quotes and nudges Connor’s shoulder sugges vely.

My nose ares and heats again. I’m standing right here!

Surprisingly, Connor’s face contorts in disgust. He brushes Kevin’s shoulder o like he may have infected him. “No, I mean I’m actually tutoring her, Kevin. We’re here to nd her boyfriend. She can’t get ahold of him.” He turns a frac on, closing o his body to his…friend? I can’t tell anymore. Connor is an enigma. He says o ensive things and then becomes a ronted when someone else dishes it out—though less subtly.

Kevin doesn’t take the hint. “Yeah, my brothers told me about him. He came to collect her the morning a er at the house.”

I watch as Connor opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.

“I was single,” I defend myself, even if my rash-like mor ca on

spreads. Mixed with neon highlighter, I must look like a freak. “And just so you know, you were an awful lay.” I turn to go and then on second thought —I whip around and slap the Solo cup from his hands. The frothy beer soaks in the grass and Kevin rolls his eyes as if this isn’t the rst me a girl has assaulted his keg beer.

I inhale a strained breath and march away, pushing past people, not even caring when someone smears green on my cheek. Whatever. Nothing can make this night worse.

Connor catches up to my side as we nd a break in the bodies, but I keep my speedy pace towards the parking lot.

He says, “I was about to tell him he’s a moron, but I think your method was far more e ec ve.”

I laugh and wipe o stray tears that somehow escaped between now and then. When did I even start crying? The whole night has twisted my insides, and on top of everything, I didn’t nd Lo.

What if he’s passed out at a bar? What if he’s stumbling on the streets or ge ng his stomach pumped in a hospital?

My voice grows small. “I don’t know where he could possibly be.”

“He’s probably ne, Lily.”

I shake my head, distraught tears building. “You don’t know him.” I bite my bo om lip to keep it from quivering.

Connor grimaces in sympathy. “How about we go back to your place and I’ll wait with you un l he returns?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, sni ng. “I’ve already wasted enough of your me. This goes beyond tutoring me.”

“Yeah, it does,” he says with a nod. “But this is the most interes ng thing that’s happened to me in six months, which was the last me Sadie scratched my date. And”—his eyes shi to the ground—“I guess, I know why you’d be worried about a guy like Lo. He smells like booze almost every me he does show up to class.”

I frown. He doesn’t show up o en? I know he’s not the model student, but the way Connor talked, it made it seem like Lo skips more than he a ends. As for his smell, Lo takes more precau on with our families—extra mints, showers, cologne. During school days, he cares less.

No one has ever confronted me with Lo’s problem before. I stumble for words before landing on something that feels semi-right. “He usually answers his phone.” It feels good not denying the truth to someone, even if that someone is as random as Connor.

We walk towards my BMW. “You must really wish I picked Henry Everclear.”

“Actually, no.” We both slide in the car, and I man the steering wheel. “I like the challenge. I’m in the top ve percent of my class. Top one percent of my major. All I need is that extra something and Wharton won’t be able to resist me.”

I put the car in gear and head out. “Let me guess. Reforming the girl who is failing economics is your extra something?”

“I wouldn’t have put it so blunt, but yes.”

I try not to laugh. Connor has no idea how frank he can be. I switch lanes. “About Kevin…” I feel like I need to defend myself further. I’m not sure why.

“You don’t have to explain,” Connor tells me. “People have fun. I get it.” He taps the door handle to the beat of the so rock song. “Goddamn, you live far away.”

I stop at a red light. “It only feels like that in tra c.” A er a few more jerky stops, we arrive at the apartment complex. I walk briskly to the elevator with Connor on my heels. I try to hide my nerves by crossing my arms.

We y up mul ple levels, the numbers blinking above. I glance at Connor. “You have…” I mo on to my ear. Bright orange paint crusts the top part of his.

He doesn’t go to rub it o , only smiles. “I’m covered in paint. Don’t worry about my ear.”

“Have you been to a highlighter party before?” What else could explain his clear composure throughout the crazy ordeal? He barely ba ed an eyelash when girls started grabbing his ass. He has two sets of pink handprints on his bu to prove it.

“Nope. I’ve heard about them though. It was interes ng.”

The bell dings, and I try to gure out what would s r Connor’s stoic exterior. Maybe not being accepted to Wharton. Yeah, I can imagine that not going over too well.

I fumble with my keys and unlock the door. “Lo!” I yell into the living room. Connor closes the door behind me, and I storm through the apartment, hoping to nd Lo in the kitchen xing a drink.

It’s empty.

I try his bedroom, not even bothering for a courtesy knock. I swing the door open, and my stomach drops. “Thank God.”

Lo lies face down on the bed, fully dressed and accompanied by three brown liquor bo les. I don’t know or care when he returned home. The fact that he’s present and not dead on the streets relieves me.

I approach him and say his name a couple of mes to test his level of consciousness. With my pent up frustra on, I shake his shoulder. He s ll doesn’t s r. Carefully, I roll him onto his side and press the back of my hand to his clammy forehead. He’s warm but not enough to run a fever. Alcohol poisoning. My other fear.

“Is he okay?”

I jump at the voice, momentarily forge ng Connor. He leans a hip on the door frame, looking impassive as he watches me take care of Lo.

“He’ll survive,” I say. “Thanks for your help.”

He shrugs casually. “It’s good for me. I’ve been holed up in the library for the past four years that I’ve forgo en what real problems look like.”

Riiight. I brush o his hundredth o ensive comment of the night. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? If you s ll want to tutor me.”

“For the eenth me, yes,” he says. “You need to work on your listening skills. I’ll see you at six.”

I frown. “Isn’t that a li le late?”

He ashes one of those prep boy smiles. “Six in the morning.”

Oh. I glance at the digital clock on the desk. “That’s in ve hours.”

“Then you be er get to bed.” He looks inscrutable, glimpsing at Lo one last me, and then slips out the doorway, leaving the apartment.

Lo is dead to the world, and I decide to sleep in the guest bedroom. I curl in my purple sheets and realize that I’ve been so concerned for Lo’s safety that I haven’t thought about sex at all tonight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CONNOR ARRIVES PROMPTLY at six with steaming co ee and a box of croissants. Unlike me, no dark circles shadow his eyes, and he saunters in, all too chipper. He must run on ve hours of sleep.

“Are you on drugs?” I ask. “Adderall?” Lots of college students abuse s mulants to study, basically performance enhancers for the intellectual elite.

“Absolutely not. You can’t taint natural genius.” He pauses. “Have you tried it? It may work for you.”

“You do realize you just insulted me?” I nally “out” his rudeness.

He rips a croissant in half and smiles. “I apologize,” he says, unapologe cally. “I was just trying to be helpful. Some people can concentrate be er on Adderall. It’s not for me, but maybe for you?” Strangely, rephrasing the ques on helps mild the insult. That may be one of Connor Cobalt’s intricacies. Or just a gi .

“No drugs,” I tell him, never liking s mulants, downers, or any narco cs. I have an addic on already—I don’t need another. “I want to do this the right way, even if I’m not a natural born genius.”

“Then let’s get to the books.”

We study a few more hours, and I retain the informa on this me, working on problems while Connor busies himself by making me

ashcards. His handwri ng is neater than mine, and I’m sure he’s already

in ated himself with that knowledge.

When he nishes his last stack, he peeks at the clock on the oven. Studying eats me like a beast, so I’m not surprised it’s already noon. “He’s s ll asleep?” Connor asks, sounding surprised.

It takes me a moment to realize he means Lo. We dodged the subject since Connor stepped through the doorway with sweet smelling co ee and baked goods. He asked if Lo was okay and that was that.

“He’s passed out,” I correct him. “He’ll probably wake up within the hour.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

I give him a noncommi al shrug, not wan ng to discuss Lo right now. Thankfully, he catches the hint and ips open my notebook to review my problem sets.

Twenty minutes later, we order Chinese for lunch. As soon as I hang up the phone, the toilet ushes in the other room. I focus on the sound of heavy, sluggish footsteps. I have zero interest in speaking with Lo, only to get slurred responses with irritable jabs.

I turn to the books, pretending that Lo hasn’t risen from bed, and ask Connor to explain chapter four to me again. Lo must hear another guy’s voice because only seconds pass before he braces the sunlight that streams through the kitchen windows.

Connor’s words taper o as Lo lumbers in. His ma ed hair s cks up in di erent direc ons, his complexion peaked and clammy, and the pungent smell of scotch permeates around him. If he was a cartoon, he’d be Pepe Le Pew with a smoky cloud circling his body. I should have helped him shower or at least tried to change him out of his clothes last night. He would have done the same for me.

Lo runs a hand through his hair and shu es to the co ee pot. His eyes brie y icker to the bar where we sit. “I know you,” Lo says, lling a mug.

“Interna onal A airs. You sit in the very back. I’m in the very front.”

Lo turns his head a frac on to catch my gaze, his eyebrows rise like do you hear this guy? Yep, been there already. “Right.” Lo opens a cupboard and pulls out a bo le of Baileys Irish liqueur for his co ee. “You’re the guy who sets the curve.” He says it like it’s a bad thing, but he doesn’t see Connor beaming beside me.

“I’m tutoring Lily for her econ exam tomorrow.”

Lo shuts the cupboard, and I see his neck ush red. He hesitates before facing us fully, leaning against the sink.

“You know about the exam, right?” I ask Lo. I can easily see that he forgot.

“Yeah,” he says into his mug, taking an extended sip.

“Are you in the same class?” Connor looks all too eager. “I do group tutoring too.”

“I’m maxed out on studying. You help Lily.” Lo nishes o his co ee way too quickly. Then he opens the refrigerator and grabs a carton of eggs, preparing his hangover cure.

Connor nudges my shoulder. “Back to work. You’re at a sixty, minimum. I need you pulling out an eighty average on these problems.”

“But I thought we’re just trying to get me to pass.”

“I always deduct ten points for nerves.”

The blender cranks up, and Lo hunches over, using his arm to hold the lid and his other to support his weight on the counter. In e ect, he looks about ready to melt into the oor or fall asleep again.

He barely acknowledges me. Maybe he thinks I cheated on him. I don’t even know how much he trusts me around other guys. We rarely leave the apartment to test those boundaries.

Or maybe it’s just guilt—at not being coherent to answer my phone calls. I suppose that makes more sense.

A er Lo concocts his hangover cure, he disappears back into his bedroom. I try to concentrate on studying, and then the Chinese arrives. I sigh at the sound of a food break.

“How long have you been da ng him?” Connor asks, using his chops cks to grab a noodle from the container. He has perfect chops ck-form. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spoke seven di erent languages too.

I stab my orange chicken with a fork, stalling as I decide which answer to give him. The fake one: Three years. The real one: Three weeks.

I have yet to lie to Connor, and I’d rather not start. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, and we moved in together when we started college. But we just started da ng a few weeks ago.”

“Wow, your parents must be pre y cool to let you live with a guy friend. Mine have strict serious-rela onship-only requirements. Like marriage serious. They don’t want any girl mooching o of me un l I put a ring on it. So Sadie’s my only female companion.”

“You’re single then?” I sip a Diet Fizz.

“Happily,” he says with a nod. I try to imagine what type of girl Connor would seek, but she seems unfathomable—like a hazy picture with only her brain showing. Regardless, he has plenty of op ons. Very a rac ve, extroverted girls fondled him at the highlighter party. I guess being good looking, approachable, well-dressed and friendly goes a long way. Even so, he recognized their irta ons but never par cipated in them.

“Are you gay?” I blurt without thinking. What’s wrong with me? I busy myself with a big bite of orange chicken, stu ng my mouth to ll the awkwardness.

He shakes his head, not insulted. Nothing ru es him. “Girls. De nitely girls. But you’re not my type. I like someone who can intellectually spar with me.”

I need to start a drinking game. I’ll take a shot every me Connor nds another crea ve way to call me dumb. On second thought, I’d probably die from alcohol poisoning.

A er we nish our Chinese, I clean up and Connor instructs me to type and retype my notes un l it sinks in. Being on the computer is dangerous. While the silent minutes ck by, I some mes forget Connor hovers beside me. The subconscious urge to log onto porn sites creeps into my ngers.

When I was much younger, my downward spiral began with small compulsions, like mustering the nerve to click into an X-rated site. Gradually, I started moving forward. Porn sites became dirty chat pages,

ve minutes became an hour, and I obsessed about my next opportunity to

surf the internet—like a young boy’s xa on with Halo and Call of Duty. Porn is my me bandit, stealing days from me, causing me to be late to family func ons and class. Even though I feared my sisters nding out—or god forbid, my mother—I returned without pause.

I lose sleep to my behavior, and s ll, I can’t stop.

“I don’t hear typing,” Connor scolds in a light tone.

I pound the keys loudly, hoping it’ll incite him. He blithely resumes “grading” my problem sets, which just means he’s scribbling a bunch of red marks all over the paper.

The last video I watched involved my favorite couple: Evan Evernight and Lana Love. They role played—Evan as the cop, Lana as the speeder. He climbed out of his car in his full, blue police uniform, ngers hooked on his belt. And then he set a meaty hand on her silver Lexus, bending down into her space, her window lowering.

“Lily,” Connor calls.

I jump. “Yeah?” I squeak, not making eye contact. He can’t read my mind. He can’t see where I’ve just been. I sink into the bar stool.

“You stopped typing again, and you were breathing all weird. Everything okay?”

No. Sex literally invades my brain like enemy troops. I spring to my feet. “I-I have to talk to Lo. Can you give me ten minutes?”

I expect anger, but he nods casually. “Take your me. You’re useless un l you can focus.”

My brain barely processes the insult as I beeline for Lo’s bedroom. Forget knocking. I storm through and shut the door behind me. I keep my hand on the brass knob, half of me s ll undecided about being here. My cowardly side says to go back to the kitchen and wait for Lo to talk, to apologize, to do something before I confront him with simmering heat in my pupils.

But here I am. Not able to move forward. Not able to ee. Lo meets my gaze, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. He looks like a member of the living again, dressed in clean jeans, a black crew neck tee, color returning to his cheeks, and his eyes not so glazed.

His amber irises hold me in a trap, and I forget why I bombarded through in the rst place. Was it for sex? No, not when we haven’t discussed his disappearing act last night.

“Done studying?” he asks and tosses the towel on his leather desk chair. His muscles stay taut.

“No. I’m taking a break.” I can’t separate from his gaze and leave. Nor can I ask the festering ques on.

Lo just stares at me. He grits his teeth and veins pop from his neck, not out of anger. I see his restraint, trying not to burst out in a series of un ltered words. He swallows and glances towards the wall of cabinets where his crutch hides. I can almost see him coun ng in his head before he turns his a en on back on me.

“Say something,” he breathes.

I blurt, “I didn’t have sex with him. Or anyone else.”

His face breaks into a million shards and his chest rises. Pained, he puts a hand on his desk chair to steady the blow in his body. I guessed wrong— that’s not what this is about.

He holds the bridge of his nose, cringing. “Did you think I was obsessing over that? Wondering if you screwed your tutor?”

“I wasn’t sure.” I bite my ngernails. “So…you didn’t think I had sex with him?”

His eyes fall to the oor, and then very so ly, he says, “I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you did.”

My lungs su ocate underneath invisible weight. Tears prick my eyes. He wouldn’t care if I slept with someone else? He expects it.

“I should have been here,” Lo explains, more to himself. He keeps shaking his head, probably wishing to reverse me and strangle the boy who passed out too early, who wouldn’t answer my calls. “If something happened, that’s on me, not you.”

“Please don’t,” I say, bracing my body against the door. It keeps me upright as much as the chair does him. “Don’t give me a free pass to cheat on you. If I cheat, it’s real. If you’re not here, it’s real. You want to save me from the guilt if I sleep with someone else? Well, you can’t.”

His eyes grow red. “I’m not any good at this.” Not good at a rela onship? At being with me? At trying to drink less? He doesn’t elaborate what this actually means. So I’m le to guess. He nds a beer in his drawer and twists o the cap, a surprising choice considering the low alcohol content. Weirdly, it’s almost like a peace o ering, an “I’m sorry” for Loren Hale. Only he can apologize with alcohol.

“Why didn’t you answer your calls?”

“My phone died some me during the night. I didn’t know it un l I woke up.” He mo ons to his desk where his cell docks in the charger. Then he edges closer to me and pries my hand o the door, intertwining his

ngers in mine. He spends an awfully long me staring at the way they lace

together.

“Where were you?” I breathe.

He licks beer o his lips. “A bar a couple blocks down the street. I walked.” He leads me into the middle of the room, my feet gliding with his. Something’s wrong. I see the cold, jagged pain in his eyes, so deeply cut that it can’t be all from guilt—from me.

He turns up a pop ballad and then draws me close. He li s my arms around his shoulders and then slides his hands on my hips. Lo sways to the beat, dri ing, but I plant straight in reality while he tries to forget.

“What happened?”

He looks right at me and says, “Nothing.” I almost believe him. His brows even furrow a li le, appearing confused.

“Maybe you’ll feel be er if you tell me,” I whisper.

He stops moving, and his eyes cloud. Lo stares up at the ceiling for a moment, shaking his head before le ng words slide o his tongue. “I called my mom.” Before I can ask, he says, “I don’t know why. I don’t know…” His nose ares, holding back an avalanche of emo on.

I wait for him to con nue, even though a weight bears on me and my breath has been lost to the past. He knows the ques on I want to ask.

Quietly, he says, “You were at the library, and my mind started going. I just, I don’t know. I looked up Sara Hale on the internet and found her number.” Even a er their discreet divorce, she kept Jonathan’s last name to retain some of his fortune. He constantly complains about it, but there’s nothing he can do now. She walked away with a billion dollars in assets and a chunk of the company as a shareholder.

“Are you sure it was the right number?” By his staggered breathing, the call must have gone badly.

He nods, his gaze i ng around the room. He looks lost. I keep my hand in his, but he’s somewhere far, far away. “I don’t know what I planned to say,” he tells me. “Maybe I should have started with, ‘Hey, thanks for ge ng knocked up just to marry my dad and take his money’ or ‘Hey, thanks for nothing.’”

“Lo…”

“You know what I said?” he laughs, tears building. “Hi Mom. Like she means something to me.” He rubs his mouth in thought, and he lets out another short laugh. “A er all these years of being sa s ed with not knowing a thing about her, I nally call. And she says, ‘Who is this? Loren? Don’t you ever call this number again.’ She hung up on me.”

My mouth drops. “Lo, I’m…” sorry—for what? His mother being a freeloading, gold digger who willingly handed her child o a er a billion-dollar se lement? “It’ll be okay. You’re not missing anything good. She’s a horrible person.”

Lo nods. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right.” He inhales a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have called her. I wouldn’t have go en so trashed. I just wanted to stop thinking about it.”

I squeeze his hand. “I know.”

“Come here.” He draws me to his chest and then kisses my forehead. “I’ll do be er. I’ll try harder for you.” He rubs my back, keeping me in the warm embrace for quite some me. I want to live here. In his arms. Where I know it’s safe. “We’re okay?” he asks so ly.

“I think so.” I take a peek at the clock. Connor must be wai ng, coun ng the seconds, each ck another point o my future exam.

Lo places his hands on my neck and inspects me closely. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m ne.” I glance hesitantly at the door, wan ng to do things with Lo but not having the me. Not with my tutor in the kitchen.

Lo suddenly understands my reserva ons. “I’ll distract him for twenty minutes, and you can stay in here and watch something. I’ll bring you a tape from your room.”

“Really?” My face brightens.

He breaks into a small smile for the rst me today, genuinely happy to help. “Really, really. Any preferences? Role playing, oral, BDSM?” He goes to the door, about to dig through my porn videos.

“Surprise me.”

His grin widens. Moments later, he returns with three DVDs. His eyes dance mischievously as he hands them over. Scanning the tles, I nd the source of his amusement.

“Anal?” I say, smacking him on the arm with the plas c cases.

He kisses me lightly on the cheek and gives my bu a small pat. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” He stops by the door. “Anything I should know about your tutor before I talk his ear o ?”

Now I can’t help but laugh. “He says mildly o ensive things. He thinks he’s smarter than everyone on the planet—that’s not an exaggera on. And he knows Rose.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “How does he know Rose?”

“Apparently, they met at an Academic Bowl compe on. I don’t think

they talk or anything, so you’re in the clear.”

“Good to know.” He creeps out of the room, leaving me to my own devices.

And I let all my troubles oat away, even Lo’s story, last night’s events, and my impending failing grade. For this small moment, I just feel good.

TWENTY MINUTES later and down from my high, I feel stupid. For taking a porn break during a study session with my tutor. The only way I jus fy my ac ons and not turn into a cherry red tomato is by remembering that I wouldn’t be able to memorize facts without feeding my compulsion.

I wash my hands, grab a Diet Fizz from Lo’s fridge, and gently close the door behind me. In the hallway, Lo and Connor’s voices breeze through, making me stop by the wall.

“De nitely B,” Lo says. “A, C, and D don’t even make sense.” Is he studying or talking about breast sizes?

“That’s right.” Connor sounds proud, a reac on that I couldn’t squeeze from him. De nitely studying. “Good job. You know you’re not half bad. If you weren’t so lazy, you’d probably reach the class average.” Reach the class average? Even though Lo barely men ons his grades, I thought he was doing be er than that. Like gold-star worthy scores.

“Do you think I’m too dumb to no ce that you just called me an idiot or do you just not care?” Lo asks.

“Honestly,” Connor says, “I don’t care.”

“Huh…” Lo mu ers. I imagine his forehead wrinkling as he tries to process Connor Cobalt and his blunt (some mes incorrect) honesty.

“Lily was pre y worried last night. We wasted a lot of studying hours looking for you. Where’d you end up going?”

“Wait,” Lo says in disbelief. “You helped look for me?”

I had the same reac on when he o ered to search for Lo. It barely fazes Connor that accompanying someone he hardly knows to hunt for a drunken boyfriend isn’t at all ordinary.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “We tried the highlighter party on campus, but you weren’t there. I ruined a pair of pants doing it. Girls always go right for my ass. I don’t get it.”

“Lily didn’t hit on anyone, did she?”

I should be hurt that he doesn’t fully trust me. But I’m glad he’s cau ous of my delity. It means he cares. And it’ll make me try harder to be faithful.

“Why would she do that?” Connor asks. “You two are together, right?”

“Newly together. We’re trying to work through some things.” Wow, Lo doesn’t lie. Does Connor Cobalt have magic truth dust that he sprinkles on people? Or maybe it’s too hard to lie to his brutal honesty.

“So, where’d you go?” Connor nudges.

“A bar down the street.”

I wish I could eavesdrop for another twenty minutes, but I do need to pass the class. I pad further down the hallway and make my presence known.

Lo spins around on the bar stool, holding the neck of his beer. When Connor turns, I no ce an iden cal Fat Tire in his own hand. He can drink and study? Is he a superhero or something?

“Feeling be er?” Lo asks with concern, hin ng at a lie he must have used for Connor’s bene t.

“It was probably all the ca eine,” Connor tells me. “If you’re not used to Red Bull and co ee together, it can upset your stomach. I should have brought some antacids.”

The tops of my ears warm in a rash-like red, never wishing to hear someone talk about my indiges on—fake or not. And the fact that Connor’s tutoring methods involve cycles between ca eine and antacids is mildly disconcer ng.

“You’re ushing oddly. Do you have a fever?” Connor asks, not embarrassed by anything. Maybe he thinks other people are immune to that sen ment too. For me, not so much. My shoulders cave forward, like a turtle creeping back into its shell.

“She does that a lot. You embarrassed her,” Lo says with an edging smile. A en on to my humilia on only brightens my shade of red.

“Can we just…go back to studying?” I pop open my Diet Fizz and sit on the other stool beside Connor.

“I like that plan,” Connor says. He turns to Lo. “You want to join? You could probably use it. You’re looking at a high sixty. And high or not, an F is s ll an F.” A high sixty? I frown. I should have known Lo wasn’t doing well in class and that he frequently skips others. The signs are there, but I’m too preoccupied in my own business to no ce. Now that I do, I’m at a loss of how to help. I’m not even sure he’d appreciate my prodding.

“I guess I have nothing be er to do,” Lo says.

I hide my surprise, which quickly turns to pride. I want nothing more than Lo to succeed, and that actually means he has to try on his own terms. Baby steps.

By the evening, my skills rest at a solid C-status, and Lo is in the mid-B range. Connor looks pleased and actually smiles when he grades my problem sets now. Lo pries o the top of his twel h beer, not hiding the fact that he consumes alcohol a li le too regularly. When he switches to bourbon, he rejects his thermos and pours it into a clear glass. I thought Connor would make a comment about Lo’s drinking habits, but he never says a word. The only me he brings up alcohol is to ask for a second beer.

Twenty minutes later, Connor gathers the work books together in his arms, balancing a large graphing calculator on top.

“How much do I owe you?” I ask, fumbling in the basket by the foyer for my checkbook.

“Save your money. I’d rather write these hours down as voluntary. It gives me more community service creden als.”

Lo smiles into a sip of bourbon, more amused than peeved. In fact, he’s taken the rude comments pre y well. Maybe he nds Connor endearing like me. Or as endearing as a preten ous honor student can be.

“Halloween is tomorrow,” Lo addresses Connor. “Do you know any good costume par es? Lily wants to go to one.”

He’s considering going out? I almost jump up and down in excitement. “It’s Lo’s birthday,” I add quickly, too thrilled to hold it in.

Lo shoots me a dark look, but I smile. Nothing can bring me down. Not if we’re nally going to a party as a couple.

Connor ashes his pearly whites. “Your birthday is on Halloween? That’s fucking awesome. As for par es, I know about ve people throwing them.” Not surprising. Connor has made it quite clear that he has many connec ons, pocke ng them everywhere he goes. “I wasn’t planning on going since most of the hosts are a uent pricks, but I’ll make an excep on and take you both to the least shi y of the bunch.”

“Why make an excep on for us?” I ask. Then my face lights up. “Am I your favorite student?”

He shakes his head. “Hell no. But you did pad my resume, so don’t go

nding another tutor. And honestly…” His eyes dart between Lo and me

with a growing smile. “Fizzle and Hale Co., you both s ll haven’t realized who I am. And I have a good feeling you wouldn’t give a shit if you knew.” He wanders, books in arms, towards the door. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll call you, Lily, about the party.”

Lo turns to me and with the lt of his head, he says, “Who the hell is Connor Cobalt?”

I feel like I should know.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

ONE GOOGLE SEARCH LATER, we nd informa on regarding our new friend.

Richard Connor Cobalt is the son of a mul -billion dollar corpora on that owns smaller companies involved in paints, inks, and magnets. Unlike Hale Co., Cobalt Inc. brands their products with smaller subsidiary names like MagNe c and Smith & Keller Paints. So I feel a li le less stupid for not realizing his family’s pres ge.

And Connor is right. His wealth doesn’t change my percep on of him. He may be using us to solidify a spot at Wharton, but he does so through tutoring, not badgering me for a reference from my father. If anything, I think more highly of him. He could ride his name all the way to the top. I’m sure he does take advantage of his connec ons, but there’s genuine hard work and drive to be the best.

Also, if Connor willingly spends 48 hours cramming for a random girl, without monetary compensa on, I wonder how many close friends he actually has. Maybe none.

A er my test, I take a seat in a comfy, slightly overused, chair in the cha y study lounge. I dial my sister’s number.

One ring passes before she answers. “What’s up?” Background noise crackles through the speaker. “Hey, watch it!” Rose yells at someone. She puts the receiver back to her ear, her voice more present. “Sorry. I’m walking on campus, and some asshole threw a Frisbee at me. I’m wearing heels and a fur coat. That does not scream, I want to play.”

“He probably thought you were cute,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah, well I’m not a dog that will jump up at the sight of a toy.” She sighs heavily. “Why’d you call? It must be important.”

“It’s not,” I say.

“I just assumed, since you were the one to ini ate the call.” She sounds a li le distracted.

“If now’s a bad me, I can call later.”

“No, no, no. I’m just crossing tra c. Cars will hit pedestrians even if we use crosswalks. You know how it is.” That I do. Reckless driving and too many bodies trying to reach the other side of the street—it makes for a very dangerous combina on.

“Well, I decided to hire a tutor for econ.”

“Oh, that’s great. How’d your exam go?”

“Eh, not sure. Hopefully I passed.” I bring my feet up on the chair cushion. “You know the tutor though.”

“What,” she deadpans. “Who?”

“Connor Cobalt.”

She shrieks. I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “That motherfu—” She con nues her string of exple ves ending with, “asshole, he’s tutoring you?”

“Yep.”

“You know, my team beat him at the last Academic Bowl tournament, but he was obsessed with the fact that he knew some 18 th century Bri sh philosopher who in uenced Freud. He wouldn’t shut up about it.” She’s foaming at the mouth. “He’s so annoying, but you probably already know that.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Be er not take sides on this one.

“You should dump him and nd someone else.” She pauses. “It’ll probably do wonders to his ego. You know, I’m always available.”

At this, an incoming call starts ringing, disrup ng my talk with Rose. I glance down and see CONNOR COBALT in big le ers. Uh… “Hey, Rose, I’ll have to call you back. We’ll talk more later. Someone’s on the other line.”

“Lo? You’re seriously going to hang up on me for him right now.”

“No, actually it’s—”

She gasps. “No. You are not ditching me for Richard.”

I laugh at his real rst name. “I’ll talk to you later. He probably just wants to know how I did.”

“Lily,” she warns.

“Bye, Rose,” I say quickly, switching lines. “Hi, Connor.”

“Es mated grade?”

I sigh. The exam was hard, and I have no idea whether I passed or tanked. “An A,” I joke.

He sounds like he’s walking hurriedly on campus, places to go, people to see. Hey, kind of like Rose. I inwardly smile. “You’ll make an A in econ when I piss gli er, but if you feel con dent about it, that’s what ma ers.”

“Thanks, Connor.”

“About tonight, I’ll swing by your place around ten, and my driver can take us to the party from there…” His voice trails o , distracted. “Hey, Lily, your sister is calling me.” Oh my God, she is not.

“I hung up on her to talk to you,” I say quickly. “How does she even have your number?”

“She probably called someone who has it,” he says, not sounding surprised at all. “I should answer this.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m not scared of her,” he laughs. “See you tonight, Lily.” My phone beeps, going silent.

Lo exits the classroom from across the hall and waves to me. I stand and follow him out of the building. We make a conscious e ort to not talk about grades or the exam, lest it ruin the mood and Lo’s birthday.

When we reach the Drake, I hide inside the guest room, clumsily pu ng on my old superhero costume. I avoid all mirrors. The leather ts more ghtly than I remember and my whole midri is exposed to the world.

I sit on the bed, hunched over to hide my skin.

The door creaks and Lo s cks his head in. “Hey there.” He enters, proudly adorning red spandex with black sides, a large belt around his waist, and a giant X on his chest. He looks badass, especially with the way the sleeves are cut at the bicep, showing o his sharp muscles.

“You look like a wilted ower,” he tells me. Before I can protest, he li s me by the hips o the bed and holds my wrists from covering my bare stomach. “You’re hot, Lil,” he whispers in my ear and then kisses my temple.

“Where’s my cape?” Despite the so kisses on the nape of my neck, I can’t think of anything but the ou it.

“X-23 doesn’t have a cape.” He sucks my ear lobe, and his hand slides down the leather, to my thigh and then…

I gasp. “Lo…” I grip his arms ght and bite my lip.

He twirls me around and aims me towards my oor-length mirror. Sneaky. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can change. I’m not forcing you to wear it, but you do look beau ful. See.”

I stare at the long plas c “knives” poking out between my ngers. I can’t see my ribs, which is a plus. Like I need any skeletal jokes during Halloween. I suppose the ou it makes my breasts look a li le bigger than normal. But I s ll don’t like the way the leather rides up my crotch. There’s nothing I can do about that now, and I want to try to be con dent in my skin for Lo. It’s his birthday a er all.

“I suppose a cape would be sacrilege,” I say.

He spins me back and kisses me hungrily, his ngers leading a ery trail down my bare stomach. I pull away as they dip below my latex pants again.

“Lo,” I say in a ragged breath. “It took you an hour to put your suit on.” Lo gained muscles in the past few years, and while I was glaring at my costume on the hanger, he asked me if I had any oil so he could slip on his ou it more easily. He ended up rubbing Hale Co. baby oil all over, but it slid on, doing its trick.

Another change from the last me—his lower area seems to be way more prominent. Or maybe I refused to look last me. I try to avert my eyes, but I can’t help but stare every so o en.

Like right now.

He smirks. “Afraid it may disappear?”

My arms blush. “Um…no,” I mu er. “I’m actually wondering if your suit will rip if you get…uh…you know.”

“Hard.” Oh God.

His grin widens as I turn my head, trying desperately to restrain any longing that pulsates within me. I want to jump him right now. I do. Truly, I’d love to rip o his suit, but Connor is supposed to be here in less than an hour and I have li le me to force Lo’s body back into the unruly fabric.

“I’ll try to contain myself,” he says with a lingering smile. “But there is something I can do without taking o my clothes.”

Huh? My brows relax as he drops to his knees. His hands slide down my hips on his way to the ground. Holy shit.

He glances up with his bedroom eyes, his tongue licking his bo om lip, and his heady gaze electri es my body. He uses one hand to cup my bo om and then folds my latex pants down and down and down. Oh…my…

He pushes my legs, so I fall into my ma ress, and he spreads my feet wide open. He s ll kneels at the foot of my bed, and I grip a handful of his hair, tugging his head back. His rm hands stay on my knees, and neither of us makes a move yet.

I know what he’s about to do. He refuses to remove his eyes from mine, almost challenging me to be the one to look away. I don’t. From my sexual interac ons with Lo, I’ve come to enjoy this the most—the staring, the locked eyes, the feeling of being connected beyond intertwined limbs. I’ve never had that before.

Not with anyone but him.

“Breathe,” he tells me.

Right as I focus on inhaling, he runs his hands up my thighs, to my hips, and I buck at his touch. “Lo…” I shudder, and he breaks his gaze to kiss my throbbing spot.

I clench his hair ghter, losing air to these feelings.

I don’t see how this can ever become old.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CONNOR’S DRIVER, Gilligan, looks nothing like the famed television character. Big boned, bald and more suited to be a bodyguard than personal chau eur, he passively carts us around Philly, not saying much of anything.

Connor uncorks the second bo le of champagne and replenishes my glass. Every me I take a sip, my plas c blade hits me in the nose. Lo has a much easier me as he grips a ask that’s lled with less bubbly liquor.

The birthday present I gave him clashes with his Hellion costume. Regardless, Lo wears the necklace that almost looks like a beaded rosary, except instead of a cross there’s an arrowhead at the end. Something I found when we took a trip to Ireland, only twelve at the me.

Lo subconsciously touches the necklace as we bump along the street. I smile, glad it means something to him as much as it does for me.

I look back at Connor. “Do you always ride around in a stretch limousine?” I run my hands over the polished black leather seat.

“Don’t you?”

Lo holds my waist, touching my bare hip as he draws me to his body. He chimes in, “Oh yeah, we take limo rides around Wal-Mart’s parking lot just to show regular people what money looks like. Don’t we, dear?”

My eyes bug at Lo’s sarcasm. “We have Escalades,” I try to recover, disentangling his hand from my hip, even if it kills me. His playfulness— while incredibly sexy—will most de nitely make Connor uncomfortable. He’s our rst real friend, and Lo is about to get us tossed on the street.

Connor puts an arm across the top of the stretched seat, wearing a cape, a cloth mask over his eyes, and a plas c sword. Zorro. “Most people disapprove of the limo, but those people aren’t the ones I’m trying to impress. Do you see how many people this can hold? Plus, I’m facing you. I don’t even have to strain my neck to talk. Those things are valuable to me.”

“I can get along with that.” Lo sets his mischievous eyes on me. “What about you, love?” I thought the teasing would stop a er we solidi ed our rela onship. This kind of taun ng, I like way too much, and he knows it. He snakes his hand on my knee, running it up my leg, too casually to be taken as something overtly sexual. For me, he may as well have dropped on his knees a second me.

I mouth, stop.

He mouths, why? And he breaks into a gorgeous smile. Lo looks to Connor, but he ghtens his ngers on my thigh. “You want to hear a story?” Where is this going?

Connor raises his glass. “I’m all ears.”

Lo’s eyes icker to me, too brie y to make sense of his inten ons. “Fizzle has company tours all the me, you know, the ones where they show the history of the soda and then let you try all the imported avors.”

“Sure, I toured the factory with my ninth grade class.”

“It’s not real, that place. It’s not really where they make the drinks.”

Connor nods. “I suspected.”

“Well, Lily and I were twelve and her father le us in the museum area.”

The memory oats to the surface. I smile and add, “He thought we’d be occupied by tas ng all of the sodas.”

Lo looks to Connor. “But Lily had a be er idea. She said the real factory was a street over.”

Connor’s brows shoot up. “You went to the actual factory by yourselves? How’d you get in?”

Lo cocks his head at me. “Want to take this, love?” His hand sinks down my inner-thigh.

My breath hitches, not able to form actual words.

“No?” He grins and adds to Connor, “She told them her last name and said her father wanted her to take a mini-tour. When we went in, we darted o in another direc on.” He ran so fast. He always does. I struggled to keep up, and he’d slow or run loops around me. As the security started gaining on us, he li ed me on his back. I held ghtly to his neck, and he sped towards a giant, spinning vat of dark liquid. We hid out for a li le while, and when the footsteps died in the distance, he concocted a masterful plan.

“Did you get in trouble?”

Lo shakes his head. “No, her dad has a heart of gold. He was actually

a ered that we wanted to see the factory. If he’d known what I did,

maybe he wouldn’t have been too kind. I found some alcohol around the place.” Correc on: He took out his ask. “And I dumped it into the syrup.”

“Shut up,” Connor says. “You spiked the soda recipe?”

“They probably couldn’t taste it. There wasn’t really that much compared to the amount of syrup, but I take pride in the fact that a handful of people got a li le something extra because of us that day.” He turns to me, and I think, maybe, he may kiss me. He has that look in his eye, the one that trails the fullness of my lips, the one that could p me over the seat and give himself over to me. And then his phone beeps, breaking the connec on.

I sigh, a li le de ated. It’s not mere coincidence that the phone all of a sudden rings. My parents and sisters have been trying to wish him a happy birthday since this morning, but Lo would rather listen to the incessant beeping than confront them—or have a prolonged conversa on with Rose.

“Just answer them,” I urge.

Lo glances at the screen, and I peek over his shoulder, seeing a photo of his father.

His face sharpens. Unlike my family, he never rejects his father’s calls. Some mes I think it’s more than fearing the wrath of Jonathan Hale. I know, somewhere deep down, he loves his father. He just doesn’t know what type of love it is or even how to process it. Lo puts the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

In the quiet of the limo, I hear Jonathan’s rough voice through the speaker. “Happy Birthday. Did you receive my gi ? Anderson said he le it in the lobby with the sta .”

“Yeah. I meant to call you.” Lo glances warily at me and takes his hand o my leg. “I remember you drinking it when I was younger. It’s great.” His father gave him a bo le of y-year-old scotch, Decanter or Dalmore or something. Lo tried to explain the value of it to me, but it whizzed right over my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wrong the present is and if his father knew it too.

“The next me you come over, we can break it open,” he tells him. “I have a couple cigars here too.”

“Sounds good.” Lo shi s his shoulder, closing me o .

“How has the day been for you so far?”

“Okay. I aced an econ exam.”

One of Connor’s eyebrows arch, disbelieving.

“That so?” His father also sounds unconvinced. I must have been the only one who had any faith in Lo’s grades.

“I can’t really talk now,” Lo tells him. “I’m with Lily. We’re headed to a Halloween party.”

“Okay. Be safe…” He pauses, as though he has something else to say. A er a long moment, he adds, “Have a great twenty- rst, son.”

“Thanks.”

His father hangs up, and Lo acts casual as he pockets the cell. He

ghtens his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer. But his muscles

stay taut, a subtle di erence that also punctures the amusement in his voice. “Maybe you should just tell your sisters that I said thanks. Send out a mass text or something.”

“Why can’t you do that on your own phone?”

“Because they’ll reply back and then I’ll have to reply to that, which sounds exhaus ng.”

“He has a point,” Conner tells me.

Uh, shouldn’t he be siding with me? He’s my tutor. “Don’t tell me you

nd small talk draining. That’s your thing.”

Connor cups his champagne glass. “It sounds exhaus ng for him. I’d enjoy a talk with your sisters.”

“By the way,” I say. “How was your conversa on with Rose? You’re s ll in one piece, so I presume it went well.”

Lo chokes on a sip of whatever’s in his ask, and I pat his back. “Excuse me,” Lo says. “You talked with Rose? Like had a fully formed conversa on?”

Connor nods. “I even invited her tonight.”

Lo groans. “You did not invite the ice queen here.”

“Hey,” I shoot back. “That’s my sister. She has a good heart.” I pause. “You just have to be liked by her rst.”

“Or be related to her,” Lo points out. True.

“So she’s coming?” I wonder, kind of nervous. I’d rather not explain Lo’s intoxica on to her, especially since he’s supposed to be reformed from his boozing, careless days. It’s his birthday, and she’ll add that to his list of nega ve a ributes and reasons why he’s not good for me.

Connor says, “She’s not coming.” Is that disappointment in his voice? “She said she’d rather skin my cat.” He smiles. Like actually smiles at that. Oh my God, were they ir ng with each other over the phone?

Lo relaxes and mu ers, “Thank God.”

Connor nods to me. “By the way, what are you supposed to be?”

Am I going to get asked that all night? I guess I should prepare. I ash my plas c claws. “X-23.”

He squints, confused.

“The girl version of Wolverine, technically his female clone.”

“Oh. Okay, cool. You kind of look like a hooker with knives though.” What?! That is not helping my con dence. “Lo, you need to prepare yourself for this party. So many guys are going to hit on her.”

Just when I thought I snu ed out my insecuri es.

Lo gives me an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. The thought of guys everywhere used to be exci ng—a playground for my compulsions— but now, I couldn’t be more scared. Maybe a party is a bad idea.

To Connor, Lo says, “Good, it’ll give her prac ce saying no.” Oh, that was mean. I push him o , untangling his arms from mine. He focuses on

pping bourbon into the ny opening of his ask, not caring anyway. He

would have before he talked to his dad. He might have teased me back and whispered something dirty in my ear. Now, his mind has switched tracks.

“I can say no,” I defend with an unconvincing mu er. I haven’t tested this theory since we’ve started da ng.

Lo caps his ask and looks to Connor. “If you see her ir ng with someone, just yank her o him.”

“Lo,” I warn with wild eyes. What the hell is Connor going to think? That I really am a whore with claws?! My en re body heats and I struggle not to bury my face into my hands.

“You two are so weird,” Connor says, very casually.

Being called weird by Connor is like a unicorn calling a horse magical. It makes no damn sense, which is why Lo and I break into smiles, even if Lo’s mood has somewhat shi ed since the phone call.

Abruptly, the car jerks to a stop. Gilligan mumbles out a “we’re here” and unlocks the doors. I press my nose to the window, ritzy suburbs right in view. A glowing mansion sits at the top of a steep hill, ligh ng up the dark sky. Out of all the par es, Connor said he picked the one that would have the best food. In the same sentence, he men oned that I looked like I needed a good meal.

More cars roll up to the circular drive, and we climb out to confront the hoopla. A fountain crests the center, red, bloody water spur ng from the stone. Zombies are staked in the green lawn, so life-like that I thought the gory limbs and droopy mouths were facilitated by paid models. Upon closer inspec on, they’re nothing but silicon, prosthe cs and paint.

We follow Connor up the stone stoops, and he bangs a bronze knocker. While we wait for an answer, more people gather behind us.

The door whips open quickly, loud music booming from inside. George Washington or possibly Mozart stands in the archway, holding a champagne glass. A white pill zzles at the bo om of the gold liquid.

“Connor Cobalt!” He grins and sways on his feet, the white wig slightly o -kilter.

“Hey.” They go in for the bro-hug. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Thomas fucking Je erson.”

“Of course,” Connor says with a sarcas c smile. Thomas Je erson doesn’t pick it up, and before hanging around Connor, I wonder if I would have no ced it. Connor mo ons to Lo and me, and I grip onto Lo’s hips, hiding my exposed midri behind half his body. “These are my friends. Lily and Lo.”

Thomas Je erson narrows his eyes at Lo and I duck further behind his back. “What are you?” he wonders. “Mr. Spandex?”

“Clever,” Lo says with a glare.

“They’re X-Men,” Connor clari es.

With this, Lo grabs my wrist and pulls me into view. He plants a hand

rmly on my waist, as if this guy will know the New Mutant couple.

Thomas Je erson stares at my long claws. “Right!” He claps his hands in recogni on. “Wolverine Girl.”

“There’s no such thing,” I correct him. He gives me a funny look, and Connor sighs, slight impa ence cracking his leveled exterior.

“Can we only be invited inside if you understand our costumes?” Connor asks. He cranes his neck to look past the host’s shoulder. “Because I think I spot a Sweeny Todd in there, and I know for a fact you’ve never heard of him.”

“Huh. Connor Cobalt. Always got to be right.” He swings the door and mockingly mo ons us inside. His sta must have evacuated for this college party, not wan ng to be swept up in a hurricane of puke and candy corn.

Unfazed by the insult, Connor steps into the massive grand foyer where crystal chandeliers twinkle from the ceiling. Partygoers go up and down the marble staircase and further into glowing rooms, cobwebs strewn across door frames. People stumble around and sway to hypno c music.

I step through the doorway, and then Thomas Je erson blocks o the entrance before anyone else can cross.

“I don’t know you,” he says to the people behind us. “Or you.” The door slams. He traipses back in and passes Connor. “Freeloaders,” I hear him say, as though Connor will nod in agreement. He doesn’t do anything but pluck a steaming pumpkin mug o a goblin’s tray. Now those hairy things are models, waddling about with warty faces.

Unlike the highlighter party, Solo cups are replaced with champagne glasses and pumpkin mugs. Li le baggies of pills and powder are clandes nely passed from palm to palm. I grew up with these blowouts— rich teenagers needing drugs to sa ate the endless expanse of me. As if they reanimated straight from the pages of Bret Easton Ellis’ Less than Zero.

Drugs have never been my problem, and maybe I should feel a sense of gra tude that my compulsion is less dangerous than shoo ng liquid re into my veins. Sex is a part of everyone’s life, addicted or not.

Drugs aren’t.

Alcohol isn’t.

You can spend years without both, but most people never become lifelong celibates. Every me I catch a girl tucking a baggy into her bra, eyes glazed and gone, I feel a pang of jealousy. Why can’t I have an addic on that people understand? It’s a vile thought—to wish for an addic on many die with. I’d rather have none at all, but for some reason, I never allow myself that op on.

Before I made sense of my compulsions, I would spend hours lying in bed, emo onally drained from my ping-ponging thoughts. One minute, I vehemently defended my ac ons inside my mind. It was my body. Sex made me feel be er and stopping would cause more problems than con nuing down the destruc ve path. The next minute, I cried for hours and convinced myself to quit. I told myself I didn’t have a problem. I was just a whore looking for a way to jus fy my constant sexual thoughts. Some mes I tried to stop. I trashed my porn and refused my body the luxury of climaxing.

But I couldn’t stomach the withdrawals, and those fruitless goals quickly ended. I always found a reason to start again. Maybe that’s my biggest fear—that I’ll nd one excuse to move on from Lo. And I’ll be compelled to take it.

Lo dashes o in front of me, and I run to keep up and hide behind his back. A gaggle of hippies in owery mini-dresses bombards Connor. He nods and smiles perfunctorily, and it sets o a wave of giggles.

He’ll have to fend for himself. I trail Lo into the kitchen where bodies compact near the silver stove. They ick on the gas and light cigare es from the ames. The sliding glass door sits ajar, smoke wa ing out into the chilly night. A couple girls in bikinis shriek and laugh loudly as they race into the house, goose-pimpled and wet.

Lo jiggles the knobs to a glass cabinet. Crystal bo les line about seven shelves, lled with amber liquid. Every lavish party starts the same. Lo beelines for the most expensive alcohol in the house and impulsively craves the taste of the di erent brands.

“It’s locked,” I tell him. “Can you s ck to your own bourbon tonight?” His ask stays in the waist of his belt that matches his red and black suit.

“Hold on.” He departs for a second, vanishing around the corner and I pretend to be interested in a s ll life pain ng on the wall. Be er to look fascinated by apples and pears than like a lonely loser.

Lo returns moments later with a safety pin.

“Lo,” I warn as he starts to wiggle it into the keyhole. “We just got here. I don’t want to get kicked out.”

“You’re distrac ng me,” he says.

Visions of high school par es swim to me. Lo creeping down the cellar of a kid’s house—a kid who invited everyone in his grade. Those par es happened far too o en. Lo would drink the vintage wines and imported scotches, the angered host dragging him out by the shirt. Lo stumbling to stay upright. Me, exi ng the bathroom with ushed cheeks, only to hurry a er my only friend.

I don’t like repea ng mistakes, but some mes, I think we’re both forever stuck on a turntable.

Even with the smokers’ cha er by the stove, I hear the click of the lock. The glass doors swing open, and Lo’s eyes light up. Watching him delicately touch the bo les with hungry an cipa on reminds me of my desires.

Which is why I blurt out, “You want to do it in the bathroom?” My voice remains small and mid, not yet a con dent, sexy girl that I’m sure lls Lo’s dreams. It’s hard to be her when Lo isn’t a conquest I sleep with and then ditch.

“Huh?” Distracted, he gathers the best liquors in his arms and sets them on the granite counter beside me.

“A er you drink, do you want to go to the bathroom to…” I trail o , fearing the fatal blow of rejec on.

He pops the crystal plunger on a bo le and ps the liquid in a glass. “I thought I rocked your world,” he says. “Unless I imagined you saying it. You were making all kinds of noises, so it was hard to tell.”

My elbows blush as I remember the scandalous acts before we le . “You heard incorrectly. I don’t think it was possible to form actual words.”

He smiles and then takes a languid sip from his liquor.

“But,” I con nue, “we’ve only done it at the apartment or on the yacht.”

He looks back to the depths of his drink. “Is that something you have to have?” he asks. “I didn’t think loca on was a big fucking deal.” He grimaces at his bi ng tone and then throws the rest of the liquor back in his throat. He re lls the glass quickly.

I open my mouth but end up looking like a sh trying to breathe air. Where we have sex shouldn’t ma er, but there’s an allure to doing it somewhere deviant. Always has been. “Okay.” The one word does not properly answer his ques on or his rudeness.

He clenches his jaw, ngers ghtening on the glass. “I’m stuck in this suit anyway. Unless you want to cut a hole for my—”

“No.” I hold up my hands. “You’re right.”

“And in case you’ve forgo en, Laura,” he emphasizes X-23’s real name. “It’s my fucking birthday.” He raises his glass. “Which means this trumps that.” He eyes my nether region.

“You’re so much like Julian it’s scary.” I use his superhero’s real name. Both can be moody, irritable jerks and then do a ip and be the sweetest guys ever. You just have to catch them at the right me, the right moment.

“Wrong. I have both my arms.” Hellion lost his arms gh ng Sen nels in X-Men: Second Coming. Madison Je eries created metal hands for Hellion, now a new signature part of his wardrobe, but Lo ditches those because it hinders his ability to hold a ask.

My eyes dart nervously around the kitchen, half expec ng Thomas Je erson to pop up and berate Lo.

“If you don’t want to stand here, go hang out with Connor.”

“You trust me?” I wonder.

“I sincerely think that Connor is asexual. Like a sponge. He probably wouldn’t even no ce if you hit on him.”

I want to men on my theory about Connor crushing on Rose, but Lo will probably make a snide remark about her. I’d rather not start a ght by having to defend my sister while she’s not here.

“What about other people? Do you trust me with them?”

He gives me a sharp glare. “I don’t know. Now you’re making me think I should be fucking worried.” He’s in a foul mood. I’m not sure what put him there. Maybe the familiar atmosphere brings bad memories and he wishes we stayed home. Or maybe he’d rather be drinking with his father and smoking a cigar than be here, celebra ng in a strange house with strange people that mean nothing to him.

“I’m irra onally freaking out,” I say. “The same way you’re kind of being an asshole.”

Lo ps back his drink, downing the ery alcohol in one gulp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. He hides any and all expression and gestures to me with his ngers. I hesitate and then sidle to his side. Before I reach him, he sets a kiss right on my nose. And then my cheek. My neck.

I smile at the tender, quick pecks. His arms swi ly swoop around me, pulling me fully to his body, his movements lighter than air, rocking on our feet as though we have no real balance. His lips nally nd mine, and the kiss lasts longer, sweeter. A er a long, dizzy moment, he retracts and puts his thumb to my bo om lip. “How about this?” His husky, low voice takes my breath. “Just repeat this phrase whenever you feel the urge to jump some other guy’s bones.” His mouth brushes my ear. “Loren Hale fucks be er.”

I gape.

“Good, huh?” He winks and steps away. I immediately want to grab back, hold his hand and tug him to my chest. Instead, he nds his glass.

I can’t believe I’m envious of dishware. I clear my throat, collec ng my thoughts. “That’ll work, but I’m coming up with a di erent mantra.”

“And what’s that?” His lip quirks, but the bo les call out to him. And his eyes icker away from me.

“I will not cheat on Loren Hale.”

Lo inspects the cabinet. “I like mine be er,” he says, distant. He plucks a triangular shaped bo le o the shelf, and despite my lust for him and my worry for his mental state, I leave him to binge.

Gradually, I brace the crowded living room where the lights dim and the Halloween colors strobe. I spot Connor beside the crackling replace, surrounded by a large group of people cha ng over each other, as though he’s the focus of the party. He interjects a couple of mes, but more people talk to him than him needing to talk back. All plans whoosh out of my head, and even the idea of vying for someone’s a en on sounds both exhaus ng and terrifying.

Before I can look away, Connor catches my eye and waves me over. My gaze traces the hippies who stagger, even with bare feet, and I shake my head. I belong in the shadows and the cobwebs. Connor clearly lives in the spotlight.

Frown lines crease his forehead, and he mu ers something quickly to his friends before surprisingly detaching from the herd and heading to me. His cape billows behind him, but he pushed his mask to the top of his thick, wavy brown hair.

“You know,” Connor says, “they don’t bite. Dreadful company but rela vely harmless.”

“I know,” I say. “I just don’t like large groups. Usually I just…dance when I go to par es.” What a big fat lie, but I’d rather not add and have sex to the statement.

“You never know, one of these pirates may be a future investor that you need in your back pocket.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” I mo on to the talka ve groups. “Go nd a future millionaire.”

His feet stay cemented. “Where’s Lo? Did you lose him again?”

“He’s in the kitchen and probably going to get us kicked out. I thought I’d take a tour of the house before then.” Hopefully I sound as bi er as I feel.

“Why would he get us kicked out?”

I shake my head, clearing away the sudden judgment. “Nothing. It’s

ne.”

A shirtless re ghter saunters past us, sweat glistening on his bare chest like he’s saved someone from a burning building. I will not cheat on Loren Hale. Nope, not even with a sexy re ghter.

“Hey, Connor,” Batman walks over carrying a rare beer in this place. “I didn’t think you would show here. Darren Greenberg’s party is supposed to have free helicopter rides.”

“Flying in puke doesn’t sound that appealing, and I thought there would be food here.”

“Yeah, Michael went cheap this year. I thought he was going to recreate a scene from Evil Dead in the front yard. Instead, he went for D-list zombies.” Batman glances at me. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

I really look at him this me but come up blank. Usually the only people that recognize me and I can’t place, are the ones I’ve slept with.

“No, I don’t think we’ve met,” I tell him.

“This is Lily,” Connor introduces. “She’s a friend.”

Batman slaps Connor’s shoulder. “Good job, man.” What does that even mean? He glances at my bare stomach with a hungry gaze. Oh. I cross my arms. He then no ces my costume. “Hey, Wolverine!”

I don’t even try to correct him.

“We should go nd all the superheroes here and try to ght some fucking evil together.”

“Her boyfriend is around here somewhere. He’s part of X-Men too.”

Batman looks a bit cres allen. “Boyfriend, huh?” His eyes narrow to slits. “I think…I think I do know you. Do you ever go to The Cloud? It’s a club downtown.”

Before I say a word, I see him formula ng the answer. Amusement

ashes across his features. Immediately, my gut reac on kicks in and I bolt

away from both of them, hoping Connor will follow. One guy spo ng me and claiming we had sex is a weird coincidence. Two guys—Connor will think something’s wrong with me.

I stop in the foyer, blocked by a pack of people watching Fred Flintstone slide down the curving bannister.

Connor touches my shoulder, and I spin to face him, glad to not see Batman by his side. “I would adopt your methods at avoiding douchebags, but I’m guessing running away doesn’t make many friends.”

I relax. He thinks I ee to avoid jerks like frat Kevin and Batman. Truth be told, I’m not even sure if these guys are the assholes in the situa on. I slept with them, ac ng exactly how they perceive me to be. Trashy.

“I’m not in the market for many friends,” I tell him.

“I gured. Should we nd your boyfriend? Make sure he doesn’t puke on anyone.”

“He rarely pukes.”

“That’s good. Does he ditch you a lot at par es?”

“He didn’t ditch me. I le him in the kitchen.”

He holds up his hands, coming in peace. Then I lead the way, and when we reach the glass cabinet, a guy in nothing but a white bu on-down and socks realigns the bo les with an irritated scowl.

Uh-oh.

“What happened?” Connor asks, though I’m sure he’s deduced the obvious.

Tom Cruise from Risky Business takes out a skeleton key. “I found some asshole drinking my uncle’s liquor. Shit costs more than a car.” Uncle. He must be Thomas Je erson’s cousin.

“Did you kick him out?” Connor keeps calm while my pulse spikes. What if they pulled Lo outside to beat him up or humiliate him…or worse?

“Nah, my brothers wanted to get his name rst. They’re all out back.” Tom Cruise holds up a bo le with residual amber liquid. “He’s surprisingly coherent. I would be knocked out if I drank as much as this kid.”

I don’t wait for anything else. I dart for the backdoor, praying that Lo keeps his lips sealed. He has a way of saying the exact wrong things to ins gate a ght. Most of the me, he does it on purpose.

I shouldn’t have insisted on a ending a party. When I no ced the shi in his mood, I should have o ered to go back home. He didn’t want to be here.

My boots sink into wet grass, and I pass the pool that glows a deep orange. Half-naked girls bob in and out of the water. Lo isn’t among the crowds that group o into small clusters with drinks nestled rmly in their hands.

Connor touches my shoulder and nods towards the side of the house. “Over here.” Has he already seen him? Or does he know where they interrogate unruly guests? I push back spider webs and black streamers, walking closer to the east side of the mansion.

People are sparse here, and the night sky whistles while yelling overlaps the so hum of music.

“For the hundredth fucking me, the cabinet was open! Maybe you should check your locks before you throw a party.” Lo. We found him, but his inci ng words only bring fear to my heart.

“We don’t give a shit about your excuses!”

Another guy adds, “Who the hell are you and what bastard invited you here?”

“That bastard would be me,” Connor says as we come into view.

A rock lodges in my throat. Lo stands cornered against the stone siding of the house. Four guys dressed in dark-green, long sleeve Under Armour shirts and light green surfer tanks, carry indignant scowls—as well as hard shells on their backs, dressed as Ninja Turtles.

Even in orange-lit light, I make out the red plume burgeoning on Lo’s cheek.

Someone hit him.

I run towards Lo, all sensibility ying out of my brain.

One of Thomas Je erson’s Ninja Turtle cousins grabs me around the waist before I reach my boyfriend.

“Hey!” Lo and Connor yell in unison.

“Why the hell would you bring this trash to our uncle’s house?” The purple-bandana Donatello asks as I struggle to break from his grip. I kick out, my legs ailing in the air, but he holds ghtly as if I’m a sack of bones.

Connor steps forward. “What are you, back alley thugs? Let her go, Ma . Then we can talk.”

The few other clusters of people in the yard begin to watch. Through my struggle, I spot a Tinker Bell, a Peter Pan, a green-clad superhero and Dobby, the house elf. The green-clad superhero edges forward, and just when I think he’s coming to my rescue, Ma releases his hold on me, and I

nish the distance to Lo.

He quickly places two hands on my cheeks, inspec ng the length of my body with his gaze.

“I’m ne,” I tell him, more worried about his state. “Stop fueling them.”

His eyes harden, his cheekbones sharpening which turn his lips into a pout. “Just get behind me.”

“Lo,” I panic, my chest constric ng.

“If something happens,” Lo breathes as he pushes me back. “Run to Connor’s limo. Don’t wait for me, okay?”

“No.” My eyes bug. “Lo, please—”

“This kid owes us forty grand,” Ma sneers, turning the spotlight back on Lo and o Connor. Why would Connor even help us? It may damage his reputa on beyond repair.

“I’m not giving you a cent,” Lo spits. “How the hell was I supposed to know the liquor was o limits? There wasn’t a sign.”

“It was locked,” says the blue-bandana cousin.

Lo opens his mouth again, and I pinch his arm, shoo ng him a glare. We need to leave, preferably together. He clenches his jaw and thankfully shuts up.

Ma steers his heated glower back to Connor. “Do you think we’re going to overlook this because you’re Connor Cobalt? You realize that anyone else would be blacklisted by now.” Oooh, blacklisted. Lo and I are probably crossed o all lists in the a uent Philly circle. If it wasn’t for Connor, we wouldn’t have even passed the doors.

“Blacklist me, then,” Connor says. “This is a terrible party. You didn’t even bother to serve food.”

Ma ’s head jerks back in surprise. “You’re going to choose them over us?”

Connor nods, his muscles tensing. “Yes. Let’s see what we have here. Net worth of maybe”—he scans the mansion behind me—“twenty- ve million combined.” He points to Lo and me. “Calloway and Hale. That’s every fucking soda can in your house and all your li le nephews and nieces’ diapers. Billions. So yeah, I’m going to side with the two people that make your inheritances look like chump change.”

I gape, not expec ng any of that, mostly about Connor being our friend in a few days. He collects people, and Lo and I are gold nuggets in his jar. It’s been so long that anyone has stuck up for us that I slide past the super ciality in his mo ves. Having an ally is nice. Desperate, yes, but no one said Lo and I are perfect either.

Ma and the other Ninja Turtles look stupe ed, trying to process our wealth and our last names. Then he laughs in cruel amusement. “Well then, I suppose with your means you’ll have no problem taking that paci er out of your ass and reimbursing us for what you drank.”

Lo’s expression grows dark. I put my hand in his, hoping he’s not about to be belligerent and argumenta ve. I trust Lo to stand down with me here, but once I leave, anything can happen.

“Fuck you,” Lo curses.

Connor cuts in before one of the cousins raises a st to make Lo pay it. “Will your uncle really care? Forty grand is nothing.”

“He drank a car, Connor,” Ma says in disbelief. “That’s more than some people make in a goddamn year! Yeah, he’ll be pissed, and Diaper Rash over there can easily a ord it. Pay up, or we’re going to nd collateral un l you grab your fucking checkbook.” They eye me, and I back up into the cold stone. Lo glances over his shoulder, all sharp lines, and when he feels that I’m safe, he steps forward.

No! I lunge and grab his wrist.

“Lily—”

“He can’t pay it,” I defend.

“Lily,” Lo warns. “Don’t.”

I seal my lips, not about to spill Lo’s personal life to strangers. His father put him on a stringent allowance, tying up his bank account and pooling in money on a monthly basis. He supervises every transac on, calling Lo when there are any big purchases. That four thousand-dollar champagne at the Italian restaurant plus his other expenses wiped him clean this month.

And if he overdraws, Jonathan Hale will throw a t.

“You really expect me to believe that, sweetheart?” Ma says. No, he wouldn’t.

Connor, for the rst me, looks concerned. He keeps edging backwards, glancing around to nd reinforcements in case this gets ugly.

“I can—I can do it. But my checkbook is in the car with my purse,” I say. If I have to take the heat for a forty grand charge, then I will. I can easily blame it on a dress for the Christmas Charity Gala, ci ng that I stained the one I already bought. The only problem: I didn’t bring any money. With no pockets and an a nity for ditching purses, I le the house with nothing but my plas c blades and knee-high leather boots.

“Ma !” A tall, tanned guy jogs over to us. He wears a green leather jacket and carries a bow with a quiver of arrows strung to his back. I recognize him as the green-clad superhero from the sidelines. Dark green paint streaks across his eyes like a mask and disheveled brown hair accentuates the hard lines in his jaw. He looks manly, powerful and pissed. His costume probably helps, but I have a feeling the self-con dence is all him.

He stops a few feet from our stand-o with the Ninja Turtles and focuses on the purple-bandana cousin. I’m ready for him to shake his sts at Ma , threaten him with his strong build, something that Lo has avoided.

The green-clad superhero says, “Hey, I just talked to some girl. She said Michael wants you guys to come in the house. He needs you to break up a

ght in the basement. They’re knocking into shit.”

My mouth slowly falls. So…he’s not here to help us. I’m an idiot.

Ma rubs the back of his neck, his eyes ickering to us before he nods to the other Turtles. “Go. I’ll take care of this.” The cousins sprint o towards the pool.

“The girl said that Michael wanted all four of you.”

Ma hu s. “Can you do me a favor, Ryke? These two owe my uncle forty grand.” He points to me. “This girl says her checkbook is in the car. Follow them and get the money from her.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

My stomach drops further. Now we’re going to be tailed by Ma ’s superhero friend who looks t enough to tackle me and pin me to the grass. Maybe not Lo. De nitely me. Probably Connor…Great.

The evil Turtle disappears around the corner and Ryke shi s his a en on to us. “Where’s the car?” He turns his head, and I catch his pro le: unshaven jaw, slender nose, brown eyes that melt into honey. He’s something I would normally pursue without ques on. I shake o the thought, especially since he’s friends with Thomas Je erson’s cousins.

“This way.” Connor leads us to his limo.

Lo slips his hand around my waist, bringing me close. Ryke walks ahead of us with Connor, and Lo burns holes into the superhero’s back. Besides the fact that Ryke is working as Ma ’s errand boy, I wonder if Lo feels threatened. Did he see me eyeing him? I’m not so sure. Ryke also stands a good inch above Lo, probably six-foot-three, and carries himself with that extra assurance, exuding a strong sense of masculinity. Lo does too, but there’s a small di erence. I can barely place it. Where Lo is all sharpness, this guy is hard-lined. Like ice versus stone.

I blink, trying not to focus on Ryke’s handsomeness. Not at a me like this.

Five paces out and Lo plucks his ask from his belt, drinking again.

“Is that even your booze?” I ask, pissed that he’s drowning another situa on with liquor. But I guess I just spaced out a li le—one second from imagining Ryke’s abs. So I can’t be too cri cal.

He wipes his mouth with his hand. “Maybe.”

Ryke looks over his shoulder every so o en. His eyes dart between us, his expression too enigma c to understand. If Ma trusts him, he can’t be any be er than the Ninja Turtles.

Maybe I can cry instead of paying him. Don’t guys get really uncomfortable when girls start sobbing?

“So what are you supposed to be? Robin Hood?” Connor asks.

“Green Arrow,” I correct before Ryke can.

Ryke looks back, and he scru nizes my costume, his intrusive gaze hea ng my body. “You know Green Arrow?” he nally asks, mee ng my eyes.

“A li le,” I mumble. “DC comics aren’t really my thing.” I like the underdog stories, the kind where any average person can be a superhero. Peter Parker, mutants—they know a li le something about that.

“Only losers read DC,” Lo adds. Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.

“I don’t read comics,” Ryke confesses. “I’ve just seen Smallville on television. What does that make me?”

“A prick.”

Ryke’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by the hos lity. “I see.”

“For the record,” I interject, “I don’t agree with Lo. I’m not a comic book eli st.” Anyone can read comics, and if you don’t it’s perfectly okay to enjoy the characters in other mediums.

Lo makes a point to roll his eyes at me.

Ryke ignores my comment and turns to Connor who has gone quiet. “Why are you with these two? Aren’t you usually surrounded by a pack of people trying to kiss your ass?”

“I’m broadening my social reach.”

As we near the car, I realize I need to formulate a plan. But my brain short-circuits with each panicked breath. We step onto the street and the wind churns, blowing my hair. Connor’s limo hugs the curb.

“Where the hell is your car?” Ryke asks, eyes ickering cau ously to the house.

“Right here.” Connor knocks on the door and Gilligan, his driver, pops open the lock.

I mo on for Lo to climb in before me. He sways on his feet, needing no other encouragement. When he’s safely on the leather seat, I begin to relax. Somewhat.

“Where’s your purse?” Connor asks. And then his eyes gradually widen. “Wait, you didn’t bring a purse, did you?”

“I-I…” I avoid Ryke. Is he going to shake me down? Hit me? His broad muscles tense, and I shrivel back in fear.

“What did you do?” Connor asks, horri ed.

I open my mouth, but as I look up, I realize he didn’t address me. He glances from Ryke to the lawn where Ninja Turtles sprint out the door, dodging mo onless zombies and heading straight for…us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“GET IN THE CAR,” Ryke urges.

I hop in too fast and whack my head against the metal frame. I curse under my breath and rub the welt, ducking further inside. Lo lies on the longest seat, eyes closed and cradling his ask like a teddy bear. I sit beside him and rest my hand on his ankles.

Connor enters and surprisingly, Ryke follows suit. He slams the door and locks it. “Drive!” he yells.

Gilligan speeds down the suburban street, and the Ninja Turtles race a er our getaway limo, their gures visible in the brightness of the taillights. When we gain more and more distance, they slow to a stop and fade into the darkness.

I spin back, facing Connor and Ryke.

Connor says, “Let me guess. There was no ght inside the house.”

Ryke watches Lo wheeze in an unconscious sleep. “I made it up,” he admits, sounding detached. “Is he okay?”

“Wait.” I hold up my hands. “What’s going on? Why did you help us?” He was standing on the sidelines watching the drama play out. He could have easily stayed there, not made a move, not intervened. Instead, he created an elaborate lie to get the Ninja Turtles inside and us to safety. Random acts of kindness do not exist in my world. The only answer that makes sense—he wants to be friends with us, choosing a billion dollar net worth over twenty- ve million like Connor said.

For the rst me, Ryke unfastens his gaze from Lo. “You think I could stand around and watch Ma drunkenly grab a girl?”

“Lots of people would,” I mumble. His brows scrunch into something hard and dark, making me more reserved and cau ous.

“Yeah? Then people fucking suck.” He glances back at Lo who hugs his

ask. All of a sudden Ryke leans forward and snatches the ask from Lo’s

ngers. He unscrews the cap and rolls down the window.

“What are you doing?” I say, fran c. I jump to the other seat and try to pry the ask back. “That’s not yours!” I struggle to reach for the alcohol, so he won’t dump out the liquid onto the dir ed roads.

Ryke e ortlessly holds the ask away from me, but I angle my body against the open window, blocking him from any sort of exit. He stares at me like I’ve suddenly mutated into a lizard. “What’s your problem?”

“That’s not yours to trash!”

“Yeah? I take it that’s your boyfriend?”

I glare, not saying a word otherwise.

Connor watches curiously but only observes.

Ryke swishes the liquid. “This,” he says, “caused all the fucking drama today. So I’m doing him a favor, you a favor, and everyone else in this fucking limo a favor by tossing it out.” He goes for the window again, and I spider the door, my arms stretched out to stop him. He places a hand above mine—his body so close that I feel the rise and fall of his ribs against my chest. Oh God…

He tries to pass me by extending an arm towards the window, but I knock it away. Amber liquid splashes over the both of us. And I ght against him for the ask, but I end up dousing us in more alcohol. To end the struggle, he pins my arms to the cushion. “Stop,” he forces.

I glare at his hold. “How is this any di erent than Ma grabbing me?”

His jaw hardens to stone. “I’m trying to help your boyfriend.” With this, he eases o and rests his back against the seat.

My bare stomach is slick with alcohol, and heat rises to my face at the remembrance of my ac ons. I pick up Lo’s empty ask and slide onto my seat, my eyes s ll narrowing in distrust at Ryke. “Who are you?”

Connor’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know him?”

I glare. “Should I?”

“This is Ryke Meadows, captain of the track team. Michael and Ma are on it as well.”

I inhale a strained breath. “So,” I turn my heated gaze on Ryke, “those are your track buddies?”

“Yeah,” Ryke says. He glances at Lo again and leaves his place to sit on the other side of my boyfriend.

“He’s ne,” I nearly shout. I know how to take care of Lo. I’ve been in this situa on plenty of mes to understand when he needs a hospital and when he needs water and a bed.

Ryke doesn’t take my word for it. He puts two ngers to Lo’s neck, checking his pulse.

Connor nods to me. “You knew he was drinking their expensive booze the whole me, didn’t you?”

Ryke’s brows cinch, and with the paint across his eyes, his expression looks even darker and angrier than before. “You didn’t stop him?” He shakes his head in disapproval.

A surge of guilt assaults me, and I hate it. I hate him for making me feel this. I’ve done everything I can to protect Lo from himself without being hypocri cal. “I tried.” I warned Lo not to, but I couldn’t force him to stop. Not when I wanted sex as much as he craved alcohol.

“And does he always drink this much?”

What’s with the interroga on? I bite my lip, not able to form the words that boil. “It’s his twenty- rst birthday.” Most people end their twenty- rst passed out drunk, but Ryke looks as suspicious as before. He sees through me just like the gigolo had.

“That’s bullshit,” Connor says. “Lo hasn’t a empted to hide his problem from me. I’ve never seen him without booze.”

I turn my head from their judgment and ghten my hand on Lo’s ankle. “I just need to get him home.” Wake up, I want to scream at Lo. He le me here to clean his mess. Again.

Connor drops the subject and the limo silently bumps along the badly paved city streets. I feel Ryke’s sweltering emo ons, his breathing heavy as he tries to come to terms with the situa on. Every me I catch a glimpse of him, he looks like he could punch a wall. Or more accurately, go for a run.

When the limo slows outside of the Drake, I crawl beside Lo and hook my arms underneath his, li ing his heavy body against mine.

“Lo,” I whisper. Wake up! I can barely carry him into a shower. How the hell am I supposed to drag him to the elevator? Asking for help happens to be a foreign phrase for me, so I spend the next couple of minutes struggling to upright his body and scoot him towards the door.

Connor and Ryke climb from the limo and then my door whips open. Connor s cks his head in from outside. “Lily, move. We’ll carry him.”

“No, Lo wouldn’t want that.”

Ryke lowers his head into view. “And most guys wouldn’t want to be carried in by their girlfriend either.” I take that as a personal insult, even though he may not mean it as one.

“He’s not even coherent to care,” Connor says, as if that se les the ma er. I can see I’m not going to win this one.

I slide from the seat, bracing the cold Philly air. And Connor dips into the limo. “You take his feet.”

Ryke posi ons himself outside the door, and they exchange direc ons to each other un l Ryke is able to scoop Lo into his arms, carrying him rather easily. I wish Connor was the one to hold him. Something about Ryke puts me on edge.

Nevertheless, he cradles Lo. The picture should be comical since Lo wears red and black spandex, looking like a wounded X-Men. But I imagine Lo waking up and seeing Green Arrow assuredly holding him in his arms. He would freak out. And not in a fan-boy kind of way.

“Watch his head,” I instruct as we walk through the revolving doors.

“I have him.” Ryke marches into the lobby without breaking a sweat.

Even in the elevator, I watch Lo closely, upset at the course of events. I’ve never allowed someone else to carry or help him. That job has been mine for as long as I can remember. And maybe I have been horrible at it, but at least he’s s ll alive, breathing. Here. With me.

At the door, I nd my keys and lead them into our place. My nerves jump again when I realize this may be the most testosterone to ever cross the threshold of my apartment. Maybe not. I did have that moment where I brought two guys home.

“You can put him on the bed.” I lead Ryke into Lo’s room and mo on to the champagne comforter. He sets him down. While I un e Lo’s boots, he scans the decora ons, the Comic-Con posters, the photographs and the

nted cabinets. The way he looks o —it’s strange, as though he’s never

seen a guy’s room before.

“You two live together?” Ryke picks up a picture frame from the desk.

“She’s a Calloway.” Connor leans a hip on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.

Ryke says, “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“My dad created Fizzle,” I explain.

“I know, that explains why Connor’s hanging around the two of you, but that has nothing to do with you two being together.” He puts the frame down.

Connor raises his hand. “Just to clarify, I actually kind of like these two. Never a dull moment.”

Ryke shrugs o his leather jacket that’s soaked in alcohol. “So you’re in a serious rela onship with Lo?”

“What does it ma er to you?”

His face twists in irrita on. “Are you always this defensive with people who save your ass?”

Yes. Instead of admi ng my faults, I answer his previous ques on. “He’s a childhood friend. We just started da ng, but we’ve lived together since the start of college. Sa s ed?”

“That’ll fucking do,” he says, picking up another frame.

Connor asks, “What me do you think Lo is going to be awake? He promised me that we’d go to the gym tomorrow.”

I sigh. “Promises from Lo are like bars at 2 a.m.—empty.” I open the desk drawer and nd three bo les of Advil. I toss the bare container in the trash and dump four pills from the second bo le into my palm. Hurriedly, I

ll a glass of water from the bathroom and place it beside the bed with the

capsules.

“You do this a lot,” Ryke states.

I shut o the lights, not mee ng his eyes and usher them into the living room. I wrap my body in a cream co on blanket, hiding my hands that have begun to shake. While they choose the couch, I curl up in the red suede recliner.

Ryke soaks in the atmosphere from the cushions, inspec ng the light

xtures, the unused replace and the Warhol-inspired polar bear prints.

It’s like he’s construc ng a person out of our things. I don’t like it.

“You both should leave. I’m kind of red,” I say so ly.

Connor stands. “Okay, but I’ll be here in the a ernoon to pick up Lo for the gym. He may not keep his promises, but I collect on all o ered to me.”

Ryke stands just as Connor leaves through the door. He con nues to glance around, his eyes i ng over the kitchen, the bar stools, the bookshelves…

“Are you planning on stealing something?” I ask. “We really don’t have that many valuables here. You should try my parents’ house.”

Ryke’s face contorts. “You’re something, you know that?” His eyes narrow. “Just because I’m staring at your fucking lamp, doesn’t mean I’m going to hijack it.”

“If you’re not taking mental pictures to come back later, then what the hell are you doing?”

He cocks his head to the side and stares at me like I’m truly a moron. “I’m trying to get a sense for who you are.” He points to the replace mantel where a crystal vase sits, a house warming present from Poppy. “Rich.” He nods to the liquor bo les that li er the kitchen counters. “Alcoholic.” How can he form that conclusion from a few bo les?

My nose ares. “Get out.”

His eyes con nue to narrow. “Does it hurt—hearing the truth? Has anyone told it to you before?”

I rarely ever become this worked up, but my chest rises with something foreign and furious. “You can’t look at things and understand us!”

“Yeah? I seem to have struck a chord. And I’m pre y sure it’s because I’m right.”

“What’s your problem?” I spit. “We didn’t ask for your help. If I knew you were going to be such a…” I growl, not able to form complete words at this point.

“A gorilla?” he banters. “A monkey? An ape?” He takes a step closer to me. I could punch him. I have never felt such hos lity towards someone before.

“Leave me alone!” I shout, almost whining. I also hate the tone of my voice.

“No,” he says adamantly.

I clench my teeth, suppressing the urge to stomp my foot like a weirdo. “Why?”

“Because if you thought Lo was in serious trouble, I don’t think you’d do a thing about it. And that fucking pisses me o .” He looks me over. “So deal with me.” He moves backwards to the door. There’s a huge part of me that agrees with Ryke. I don’t know how to help Lo without hur ng myself. And I’m too sel sh to nd a solu on to his problems.

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” I say, honest and truthful.

“Well, that sucks for you,” Ryke tells me, turning the knob. “I’m fucking hard to get rid of.” With this, he leaves. And I want to scream. He’s that concerned about Lo’s well-being that he’s willing to see us a second me?

The door closes, and I try not to think about him. Maybe he said empty threats to force guilt on me. No one would inject themselves into another person’s business like this.

Then again, he stopped a ght that was not his to end. Clearly, he’s the type of guy to s ck his nose where it does not belong.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AS RYKE CONTINUES to plague my mind, I waste the rest of the night on porn and toys and drown in sweat and natural highs. We should have stayed home for Lo’s birthday like he wanted. I wish we had, and I won’t make the same mistake next year.

Every me I cuddle in my sheets, willing slumber, tears bridge and they

ow uncontrollably. Being in a real rela onship was supposed to x the

kinks in our lives. It should’ve made our problems easier. We no longer have to pretend. We can be ourselves. We’re free from one lie. Isn’t this the part where our love overcomes our addic ons? Where our problems magically solve from a kiss and a promise?

Instead everything has trickled into the gu er. Lo drinks. I screw. And our schedules overlap and bypass too o en, becoming more destruc ve than healthy.

No one told me you can love someone and s ll be miserable. How is that possible? And yet, the thought of walking away from Loren Hale collapses my lungs. We’ve been friends, allies, for so long that I don’t know who I am without him. Our lives intersect at every possible junc on, and separa ng sounds like a fatal, irreparable cut.

But something is so wrong.

My wrist aches by the late morning, but I s ll pop in another DVD. The buzzer rings as I plop on my ma ress. No. I am in no mood to entertain Connor. Also, I may jump his bones. My body stays riled, and I desperately need Lo. But his ac ons last night deserve li le reward. Even if withholding hurts me more than him, he isn’t ge ng any any me soon.

The buzzer lets out another aggravated wail. Great. Lo is s ll passed out.

I crawl from my sheets, throw on a T-shirt and sweat pants before I slam my thumb on the speaker bu on. “Hello?”

“Miss Calloway, I have a Mr. Cobalt here.”

“Send him up.”

I make co ee, hoping ca eine will make Connor look like an ugly hobbit that’s too ghastly to pounce on. Though, Frodo is kind of cute.

“Was that the buzzer?”

I nearly drop the cream.

Lo rubs his eyes, walking wearily to the cabinets, scavenging for sal nes and bloody mary mix. His hair looks wet from a shower, and he only wears a pair of running pants that hang very low on his hips.

My body ghtens, and I turn away just as his eyes meet mine.

“Hey.” He puts a hand on the bareness of my neck, brushing back my hair.

“Stop,” I choke. I lengthen the distance between us.

I watch familiar remorse cloud his features. He looks me up and down, from my sweaty legs to my clothes that s ck to my body, and my hair that’s tangled and damp.

It must look like I’ve been having sex.

He places a hand on the counter to keep his body upright, like the wind knocks out of him. “Lily—”

A st bangs on the door. “Loren Hale!” Connor calls. “You be er wake up. You promised me gym. I want gym.”

Lo reluctantly leaves my side and lets him in. “You’re on me,” he says

atly, going back to the kitchen.

“Always am.” He watches Lo grab a bo le of vodka from the freezer. “You know, it’s barely noon. Brain cells generally don’t respond well to alcohol this early. Gatorade is the be er op on.”

“He’s making a bloody mary for his hangover.” My defense spurted out before I could stop it.

“What she said,” Lo adds, not making me feel any be er about covering his problem. Don’t think about it. He pops open a V8 and starts xing the drink. Connor says something about electrolytes.

I stare o and imagine hands pressing to the countertops on either side of me, caging me in. The faceless, nameless guy touches his warm lips to my neck, sucking. Fingers slip underneath my tee, and then they head to the hem of my sweats, edging closer, ngling—

“Lily, sound like a plan?” Lo asks, worry creasing his forehead.

I blink. “Huh?” I rub the back of my neck, trying to cool o but my thoughts set me ablaze.

Lo clenches a blue Gatorade. What happened to his bloody mary? Did Connor really convince him to switch? He sets it down and comes to me, no cing my shaky hands. “You okay?” He reaches out to touch my face, but I turn my head and separate. His whole body tenses at the rejec on.

“Fine,” I say. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Are you coming to the gym with us?” He sounds worried.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Each step away from Lo makes my body throb. My willpower starts dying out. I need him. I want him. I am seconds from crumbling and taking him for myself.

Swi ly, he catches my sides in two hands. He leans down to my ear. “Please come.” His husky voice sends me to bad places. I hold in a noise. “I’ll make it up to you there.” He whispers exactly what he wants to do to me at the gym. I can’t say no to this. I can barely say no to anything. He’s buying his forgiveness through my weakness. It’s like me screwing up and sending him a gi basket full of expensive whiskey.

I nod and mumble something about a shower rst. My feet carry me to my bathroom, and I wash my hair and the sweat.

Lo knocks on the door. “Do you need me?”

Yes. But I think I can hold out un l the gym. I hope I can. “No.”

I sense him lingering by the door. He won’t apologize for last night, even though he must know he fucked up. I wait for him to ask if I slept with some other guy, but he never does. And then I hear his footsteps pad away. A er showering, I change into a pair of nylon pants and a baggy shirt.

When we arrive at the gym, Connor chooses to spend his me at the lower body machines next to a series of at-screen televisions. He pushes weight down with his feet, using his thigh muscles for strength.

Across the open room, I sink on the oor beside the Pec Deck machine. Lo grips two handles a ached to weights and brings them to his chest and back out.

I am through trying to avoid Lo’s touch. In the car, I spent the en re

me hugging the door to make a point, and the divots in the road

prac cally vibrated the seats, killing me. “Can we do it now?” I ask, rolling my high socks that awkwardly rise above my ankles.

“Isn’t the an cipa on a part of the fun?”

“Some mes.” I pull my knees to my chest and catch Connor pausing his workout to argue with another guy over the television remote. “We should ditch him.” It’s the easiest solu on to our problems. He’s the interloper, the guy forcing us to confront our problems, to truly stare and see them for what they are. I don’t want to think about any of it. I also blame Ryke for plan ng guilt-ridden seeds in my head.

“He’s okay,” Lo says, bringing the handles to his chest again. He lets out a long breath and releases. “He’s probably the biggest prick I’ve ever met, but he’s not perfect, even if he thinks he is.”

“And he’s asexual.”

“That too.”

I pick up a couple of dumbbells, avoiding the s nk-eye from two girls on stair masters. I guess accompanying your boyfriend to the gym and watching him work out is considered lame. I crunch them in my arms, which happen to be the weakest of my four limbs. Minutes pass and I let them drop in my hands.

I take another seat. “Are we ever going to talk about last night?”

He grimaces as he brings the weight to his chest one more me. Then he takes his ngers o the handles and wipes his forehead with a towel. I see the wheels spinning in his head. “What is there to say?”

“You drank that guy’s liquor.”

Lo rolls his eyes drama cally and rises from the bench to add more weight. “I’ve done that before. What makes now so di erent, Lil?”

“You’re not in high school anymore,” I say. “And…and you’re with me.”

The weight clinks together and he sits back down. “Do you want me to stop drinking?” he asks seriously. I do. Why would I want him to con nue his descent towards something horrible? He can die from this. He can pass out and never wake up. Before I muster the courage to say the words, he adds, “Do you want to stop having sex?”

No. Why does that have to be a s pula on? I guess because it’s not fair that I pour my thoughts and energy and me into sex while he has to withdraw from alcohol.

“Look,” he says, realizing I can’t answer. “I drank a lot. You masturbated all night. I mean, I assume you didn’t cheat on me.” He waits for me to refute and I shake my head, telling him I didn’t. He nods and looks a li le relieved. “It was a bad night. We’ve had plenty of those. Okay?” He returns to the handles.

I stare dazedly at the ground. “Some mes I think we’re a be er fake couple.”

He s ens. “Why do you believe that? Is the sex bad?”

“No…I just think it’s easier.” We should go back to the way things were. We didn’t ght as much. We allowed our schedules to be di erent and to cross occasionally. For the most part, we separated our addic ons, and now they intertwine too much to juggle.

“No one said being in a rela onship is easy.” He doesn’t go back to the handles.

My body aches. I wish I had the re in my heart to stand up, to walk over to him. To put my hands on his chest and wrap a leg around his waist, straddling him on the bench seat. His breath falls short and he asks, “Lily?” But he doesn’t stop me. He lets me lean in, my hips sinking into his. I kiss the base of his neck while his restraint lessens, and he groans. He becomes excited underneath me and throa ly tells me to meet him in the locker room.

A damp towel hits my face, and I jolt back to the living. Lo raises his eyes accusingly. “Dream of me?”

My arms ush. “Maybe.” Hopefully I’m only transparent with Lo.

“You’re supposed to say yes.” His eyes twinkle in amusement.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “Can we do it now?”

He swings his legs o the bench and grabs his Gatorade. Excitement swells inside my body and instantly ex nguishes when he stays seated. “It’ll be be er if it’s spontaneous, Lil.”

I frown. “Are you…are you scared to do it in public? We won’t get caught. I’ll make sure of it and—”

“I’m not scared,” he assures me. Just to prove his point, he kneads his hand in my hair and then kisses me aggressively, full of eagerness and promise of something more. His tongue slips into my mouth, and a small noise escapes me.

He pulls away with a sa s ed grin. “Soon.” Yes.

He walks towards the lower body machines near Connor but stops when he no ces me permanently frozen to the oor. His kiss has turned me to stone.

“Are you coming?” Soon apparently.

“Shouldn’t I let you have boy me?” I’m the intruder, the needy girlfriend who hangs around. It’s hard to know the proper protocol for moments like this since we’ve always been each other’s only friend.

Lo considers this for about two seconds before he grimaces. “Fuck that. Come on.” He mo ons for me with two ngers. I don’t think he’s being overtly sexual, but good God, he can’t do that to me right now.

I look up, just as he spins around, and glimpse a fragment of a smile.

Lo takes a machine next to Connor, and I grab a yoga mat and spread it on the ground near them but far enough away that I’m not smothering Lo.

I’m not a complete idiot. I no ce the way he’s dragging out having sex with me, and a part of me wonders whether it’s to heighten the tension or to limit me, to try to see if I can have less sex throughout the day, to help me ght my addic on.

I have no idea which, but I lean towards the la er.

The guys in the gym are trans xed by a soccer game on the at-screens. I vaguely pay a en on to it, but boredom sinks in. My gaze dri s to a golden skinned man on a forty- ve degree machine. He holds a bar above his head and brings his legs up in a “crunch” posi on.

I lie on the yoga mat, staring at the ceiling and shut my eyes. He rests a hand beside my head, hovering. His body weight suspends above me. He peels down my pants with my pan es and kneels between my legs. His hands creep towards my thigh and he cups the place between…

My body shudders and my eyes snap open. Oh my God.

“YESSSS!” The whoops and hollers cause my face to ame, even if it’s because a soccer team scored another goal.

Connor’s gaze trans xes to Bloomberg Television, a business channel. At least he missed me zoning out like a freak. But Lo has his eyes set on my body. How long has he been staring? Does he know I’m not dreaming about him anymore?

I spring to my feet, unable to wait any longer. He’ll either have to follow me into the locker room or I’ll nd a way to appease myself without chea ng.

“I’ll be back,” Lo tells Connor. He races a er me.

I relax. Maybe this isn’t easy, but we’ll have to make it work.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

IT’S inhuman to require a general science credit for all majors. In two years, I’ll forget everything I learn anyway, and my plans don’t involve going into business for some pharmaceu cal company. When will I ever need to know about mitosis? And if I have to read one more case study about Drosophila—the fancy word for fruit ies—I may seriously consider switching to Fungi, Friends, and Foes.

But the ingeniously named course has a horrible ra ng on RateMyProfessors.com. A student review called the instructor a hard ass for making everyone memorize the scien c names of all fungi discussed. And my brain can barely retain the names of my neighbors. Now I’m stuck in another ring of hell: Biology 1103 for Non-Bio Majors, meaning the scien cally challenged. It doesn’t make the class any easier; it just allows

more students to share misery.

Library lights dull as me cks on, tugging my eyelids down and down and down. I yawn, about to employ Connor’s study technique and buy a Red Bull. Maybe I should make ashcards.

So far I’ve only been distracted once, and it wasn’t even to fantasize about the cute guy with glasses two tables away. Some student beat a Fizzle machine to death when it refused to deposit his Cherry Fizz. He gave up a er realizing the big plas c box is indestruc ble—at least against a pair of Vans.

Lo texted me twice. The rst to ask if I’m going to be home to drive him to the liquor store. The second to tell me to pick up condoms. I almost choked on my Diet Fizz with that comment, never believing we’d be so in mate and comfortable about it.

At the end of my long table, a girl in a navy Penn sweatshirt leans across to whisper to her friend.

“Do you see him?” she hisses. “He’s walking this way. Oh my God.”

The ny, muscular blonde with a Gymnas cs hoodie cranes her neck, trying to look past the eight foot bookshelves.

“Don’t be so obvious, Ka e,” the girl hyperven lates.

Who the hell could be good looking enough to incite such drama cs? Now I’m curious. I bite the end of my pencil and glance around, not seeing what they do. Damn. Less subtly, I li my bu from the uncomfortable wooden chair and angle my body to peek around the bookshelf. Unless this guy is a ghost, he’s acquired my favorite superpower and literally vanished from thin air.

“Who are you looking for?”

I jump, my spine hi ng the wood slates with a thunk. Uh…I lean back and look up as he towers above me. They cannot be talking about him.

Ryke, aka Green Arrow, has a hand on my table, a smug look plastered to his face. He must know I was trying to spy on him—but that was before I knew the hot mystery guy was the same one who carried my boyfriend into my apartment.

The athle c girls press their noses to their notebooks, taking pre y obvious glances at him. He follows my gaze and bridges the gap between our chairs, but he turns his back on them. They shoot me the worst looks imaginable.

“I think your friends want you,” I tell him, staring at my textbook.

To appease me, he actually rotates. “Ka e, Heather.”

Ka e acts surprised. “Oh. Hey, Ryke! I didn’t no ce you there.”

“You guys have prac ce today?”

“Yeah, condi oning. Will you be in the gym?”

Ah, yes, they know each other through athle cs; it all makes sense now. Since I don’t necessarily belong to any group at Penn, especially one that involves bouncing balls or tumbling in the air, Ryke’s allure is quite lost on me. Maybe he dazzles them when he stretches his quads.

I glance at his calf muscles, sadly hidden beneath jeans. I will not cheat on Loren Hale, especially not with him. I really need to stop thinking about other guys. It’s not as if Lo isn’t enough. He is, so far, but when there’s someone else lingering, my mind starts wandering to sinful places.

“I’m running outside today.”

“That’s too bad. Well, if you ever want to work out together, you know where we are.”

He nods and then shi s back towards me. No. Go away. He skirts around to the other side of the table, and for some reason, I think he may obey my mental order. Instead, he scrapes a chair and sits down. He leans in, se ng his elbows on the wood.

And I li up my textbook to block his view.

Seconds pass and he puts his hand on it, the spine thudding to the table. “I need to talk to you.”

“And I don’t want to talk to you.” I go to li the book again as a blinder, but he slides it towards his body, taking my textbook hostage.

“I have to study,” I say in that screechy tone.

“Do you always whine?”

I glare. “Do you always insult people when you want something?” I wish Lo was here. He’d be able to shoo this guy away without a problem. Why don’t my words have the same e ect?

“Only you,” he muses, ipping through my book and shu ng it closed. “Biology? Are you a freshman or something?”

I blush. “I put o some of my core credits.” I reach out to snatch the book, but he jerks it away from me again.

“I’ll give this back to you a er you hear me out.”

“Is it about alcohol?”

“No.”

“Is it about Lo?”

“Not en rely.”

“Are you going to be mean?”

He leans back, his chair creaking, and lets out a short laugh. “I don’t know. I could be depending on the direc on of this conversa on. How’s that?”

Good enough. “Fine.” I mo on for him to con nue and then cross my arms over my chest.

He catches the haughty movement and manages to s e a smartass

comment, cu ng to the point. “When I was at your apartment, I saw your posters from Comic-Con. I’m a freelance writer for The Philadelphia Chronicle and they’re paying me to go to the conven on. Thing is, I have no idea what to expect or what it entails or even what to do.”

I gure out the rest. “And you thought we may know?” I didn’t expect him to ask me that.

“I was hoping I could talk with Lo about it.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You want to talk to my boyfriend? About Comic-Con?” That’s not weird. “Is this really about comics, Ryke?”

“You think I’m lying?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m a journalism major. I’d rather talk to a primary source about Comic-Con than quote from Wikipedia and blogs.”

“I thought you said you needed help learning what Comic-Con entails, not a quote.” Ha! I caught him in his lie.

Ryke doesn’t even inch. “That too.” He rubs his lips in thought. “Look, maybe I can at least borrow some of his comics and he can give me some highlights of characters and con icts.”

I stare at him, s ll skep cal. “You said this wasn’t about Lo’s problem, right?”

“You mean his alcohol addic on.”

I glower. He’s pushing it. I go to stand up and leave. Screw the bio book —he can have it. Ryke quickly extends his hands to stop me.

“I’m sorry. I can be insensi ve some mes.”

I stay in my seat, wai ng.

“This isn’t about alcohol.”

“Do you have a crush on him or something?”

Ryke jerks back in surprise and cringes. “What? Why the fuck would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I feign confusion. “You keep asking about his comics. His advice about Comic-Con. You do realize, I have comics too and I went to Comic-Con with him.”

He groans. “Why do you have to make this so di cult? I’m asking for help. From you, from Lo, from whomever knows the di erence between whatever costume you were wearing and Wolverine.”

“There are a lot of other people that can help you.” I will con nue to distrust Ryke. Literally, his responses grate on every nerve in my body. It’s impossible to be a racted to someone that shrivels my insides.

“I don’t want their help. I want yours.”

Before I make sense of that, my phone buzzes on the table. Ryke glances at the name in the text box. “Lo,” he says. “Maybe you can ask him if it’s okay.”

“He will say no,” I shoot back.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know Lo,” I retort and click into the text.

Can I watch porn with you tonight? You clock more me with your

remote than me. Jealous. – Lo

I clutch my phone to my chest, hoping Ryke didn’t catch a peek. My elbows blush anyway.

“You’re turning red.”

“It’s hot in here,” I mumble and clear my throat. “I don’t know what more to tell you.”

“Say ‘yes, Ryke, I’ll help you this one me since I stopped Ma from bea ng the shit out of my boyfriend.’”

My eyes narrow. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

“Forever.”

I sigh heavily, realizing this is not going to end like I want it to. “Lo may yell at you. He may call you rude names un l you leave.”

Ryke lets out another short laugh. “Yeah, I think I can handle him.” He

lts his head. “Do you think he can handle me?”

“You do realize that sounds sexual,” I blurt, my eyes widening in regret. Why did I just say that?!

“And maybe you have a perverted mind.”

I can’t argue with that, but I have o cially roasted into a new shade of red. To ignore my embarrassment, I go back to the issue at hand. “You’re not allowed to men on alcohol. If you do, you’re gone.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

Maybe Lo will nd a way to deter Ryke. If anyone can skillfully kick someone out of our apartment, it’s him.

I scroll through the calendar in my phone. “What day were you thinking?”

He stands and stu s my biology book into his backpack. “Right now.”

I gape. “I’m studying, Ryke.”

“Really. That’s what you were doing?” He rubs his jaw. “I could have sworn you were people-watching and ea ng the end of your pencil.”

I glare. “You’ve been spying on me?”

He slings his backpack over his shoulder. “I was observing you. Don’t get so pissy about it. I just needed to make sure you were in a good enough mood to hear my request.” He nods to the exit. “Shall we?”

I stand up in a hu , gathering my notebooks and shoving them into my backpack. “I don’t understand why we have to do this right now.”

He scoots his chair into the table. “Because, Lily Calloway, you seem like the type of girl who will never return my calls.” He mo ons for me to follow with his ngers, as though I’m a pet dog. “Let’s go.”

I inhale a strained breath, silently throwing darts into Ryke Meadows’ face. His self-con dent swagger rubs me wrong. In fact, I’d rather not be rubbed by him at all. At least Lo will know what to do with him. That, I hold onto.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

WE AGREE to meet in the lobby of the Drake since we drove in two separate cars. When I walk in, I’m not surprised to see him wai ng by the golden elevators. My bio book rests under his arm, and for the rst me I allow myself a good look at Ryke. Without his Green Arrow costume, he appears slightly older, especially with a stubbly jaw and tanned skin. Underneath his white track shirt, I’m sure lies very toned and very lean muscles. He has a face that could force girls to their knees, but so does Lo.

I can’t imagine the two of them squaring o . Ice vs. Stone. Sharpness vs. Hardness. Cold vs. Hot. They’re di erent, yet somehow, they’re s ll alike.

Ryke presses the bu on when he sees me approach. “You look like you’re going to vomit.”

“I’m not,” I mumble a stupid reply, thankful that the elevator doors burst open and slice the awkwardness. I slide in and hit the top oor. When they close, Ryke spins around and faces me, posi oning himself in front of the doors, as though hoping I won’t bolt the second they break apart.

“I lied,” he starts.

My jaw unhinges. “Wha…” This was a bad idea.

“I’m not actually going to Comic-Con—”

“I knew it!” I should have listened to my gut. “Get out.”

He lts his head with a frown at my asinine order. “We’re on a fucking elevator. In fact…” He presses the emergency stop, and it rumbles to a halt. Oh my God. He’s going to murder me! I spring to the bu ons to restart the elevator, but he shields my passage by extending his arms and then lightly pushing me back.

“Let me out!”

“I need you to listen to me,” Ryke starts. “I am a journalism major. I do write for The Philadelphia Chronicle. But I have no inten on of going to Comic-Con.”

“Then why—”

“Because I want to help your boyfriend, and I needed you to get me at least this far so I could explain the rest.”

My defensive barriers start rising tenfold. “We don’t need your help! I can take care of him.” I point to my chest. “I’ve taken care of him my whole life.”

“Yeah?” Ryke’s eyes narrow heatedly. “How many mes have you watched him pass out? Tossing a few aspirins isn’t helping him, Lily. He has a fucking problem.”

My cheeks burn, and I take in his words very carefully. It hurts to see Lo drink so excessively. It hurts to watch him depend on one drink a er the next, and I constantly fear the day where it becomes too much. But I always bury those worries with carnal pleasures and a natural high. My voice so ens. “Why do you want to x him so badly?”

Ryke stares at me with more empathy than I thought he was capable of. “My father is an alcoholic, and I don’t want Lo to turn out like him. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

I ask a ques on that has been plaguing me for some me. “How can you know Lo’s an alcoholic? You don’t know him. You’ve seen him once on his twenty- rst birthday, and he was passed out more than he was awake.”

Ryke shrugs. “I can just tell, especially with the way you became possessive over his ask. He’d be truly pissed if someone wasted his expensive alcohol, wouldn’t he?”

He would. I bite my nails. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Ryke edges forward. “Let me try to help him.”

I shake my head. “Lo won’t let you.”

“I gured as much, and that’s why I can start by hanging around you guys, ge ng to know him.”

The pieces start adding together. “Comic-Con. You want to keep up the lie to grow closer to Lo so you can try to in uence him. You want me to lie?” I’m not sure this will work. We’ve already allowed Connor into our lives—another person may unse le an already o -kilter balance.

“Yeah,” Ryke says. “I want you to lie to your boyfriend so that he has a chance to get be er. You think you can do that, Lily? Or are you going to be fucking sel sh and let him con nue this destruc ve path? One day, he may never wake up. One day, his body may shut down. And you’re going to think back to this moment and wonder why you didn’t agree to this proposi on—why you didn’t try something else to help your boyfriend.”

I stumble back, punched in the gut. “I don’t want him to die,” I murmur.

“Then do something about it.”

I nod out of impulse, but I haven’t processed what this means in the long run. That I’ll have to lie to Lo. Can I do it? My brows scrunch in thought. I think I can. Lo has more to lose if I don’t try. Surviving another debacle like Halloween sounds less and less likely, and I struggle to help Lo because of our rela onship and my vice. No second party has ever o ered aid before. And if Lo was given the same deal to help me, would he take it?

I know he would.

I look back up at Ryke. “I s ll don’t like you.”

“I’m not very fond of you either,” he admits and hands me my bio book.

“What did I do to you?” I frown. Why doesn’t he like me?

He presses a bu on and the elevator groans to a start. We rise. “You’re too skinny. You whine too much. And you enable an alcoholic.”

I purse my lips. “I’m already regre ng this.” But I’ll su er through Ryke’s mean comments if it gives Lo a chance to get be er.

“I warned you that I’m not easy to get rid of.”

I thought he was exaggera ng. The elevator doors slide open, and I lead him to my apartment even though he knows the way. The thought is as unse ling as the looming situa on. The last me he was here, Lo had been unconscious to the world. Moments ago, I hoped Lo would nd a way to kick him out, now I have to defend Ryke, who has proved to be an annoying force in my life.

I unlock the door and toss my jangling keys in the basket.

Lo calls to me from the bedroom. “Lil, we’re going to watch Blow Hard, and I’m going to fuck you be er than…” He trails o to read the label on the back of the DVD while my eyes bug, not willing a peek at Ryke by my side. “…a group of pierced thugs. Huh…”

“Lo!” I yell.

“I don’t like that one either,” he says. I hear the sound of DVD cases cla ering together.

Ryke clears his throat beside me, and I glimpse at him for a millisecond, catching sight of his raised brows at me. Can this get more awkward?

“Or would you rather I sucked every part of you, love?”

Oh my God.

If Ryke’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t let on. Between the two of us, I’m the one shrinking back. A er only a second, Lo emerges from the bedroom. He wears nothing but a pair of jeans, the band of his boxer-briefs peeking from the hem. On a normal day, I’d take in the ridges of his abs, the curve of his muscles that seem to lead towards something much lower and much more sinful. He would ash those bedroom eyes and tease me for thirty minutes. Then he’d li me in his arms and carry me to his ma ress. He’d draw out every movement, every look, everything to excite my body and electrify my nerves.

Instead, he freezes in the space between the hallway and the kitchen. His face sharpens, and his muscles cut into rigid lines.

I open my mouth to introduce Ryke, but Lo ignores me and sets an ice-cold glare on him. “Who the fuck are you?”

Ryke takes the words with ease. “Green Arrow.”

Lo’s face contorts in confusion.

He doesn’t remember what happened. I step forward and come to his side. “He’s from the Halloween party,” I say. “He helped stop the ght.” And he carried you home.

Lo nods. “Thanks then.” He shi s to me, keeping his back to Ryke. His voice lowers so Ryke can’t hear. “We’re on a schedule, Lil. You shouldn’t have brought him to the apartment.”

I frown. “You’re not going to ask me why he’s here?”

His eyes icker hesitantly to Ryke. “Right now,” he whispers, “I’m more concerned with sa sfying you.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him. “This morning was good enough.”

“Are you sure?” His brows furrow. “I only came inside you twice.”

I swallow, sensi ve spots throbbing. Well now I’m not so sure. But I have to try to wait. “I can hold out.”

He puts two ngers underneath my chin and lts my head up. “I don’t know if I believe you.” He takes a step forward, causing me to take one back, repea ng the movements un l my spine hits a bar stool. I grip it behind me, and he pins me against it with two hands on the counter.

“We have company,” I remind him.

“Like I give a shit,” Lo whispers. He kisses me hard, stealing my breath, and my back arches to meet his pelvis. His hand slips into my jeans pocket.

Ryke says, “Lily.”

I immediately separate my lips from Lo’s, and I lean back into the stool to try to avoid his touch.

Lo clenches his teeth, and his head whips to Ryke. “Clearly, I’m trying to fuck my girlfriend. So leave.”

“Look, you can do whatever you want to her later.” He sets his hard gaze on me for extra reinforcement. This is where I should agree and peel away from Lo, but his ngers slip into the band of my jeans, sliding underneath my pan es in the back. He has a hand planted rmly on my ass.

“Lo,” I warn. “He asked us for help, and we owe him a favor…”

He squeezes, and my knees nearly buckle. He keeps me standing by pinning his weight against me. “You really want to entertain this guy?”

Obviously not, but it’s the right thing to do. Before, we would have shooed him out of the door, distancing ourselves from everyone in sight. Being alone, together, that’s our thing. Adding a new person into the mix— that’s something we haven’t quite gured out yet.

With his other hand, he unbu ons my jeans.

“Lo!” I shriek. He’s trying to make Ryke so uncomfortable that he ees, but what I’ve come to understand about the guy, he’s impenetrable among all o enses. Somehow, I disentangle Lo from my body and bu on my jeans, my neck hea ng as I create distance from him.

I stand between Lo by the kitchen and Ryke by the foyer, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

Lo angles his body so he has a good view of Ryke. “You’re s ll here.”

Ryke scru nizes Lo, trying to gure him out from afar. “Lily said you both would help me with research on Comic-Con.”

Lo takes this in. “She agreed to this?” He looks down at me. “That’s unlike you.”

“I owe him.”

Lo’s jaw locks as his eyes icker to Ryke. “And you can’t come back later?”

“I’m here now. What’s the big deal?”

Lo scowls at him like he’s a moron. “You’re cock-blocking me, that’s the big fucking deal.”

I want to disappear. Like right now.

Ryke glances at me and then lts his head at Lo without a shadow of insecurity. “Have sex with her later. I’m not stopping you.” He inches closer. “Lily, you want to show me your comics or should I go nd them myself?”

Lo interjects. “Hey, I don’t know you. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be alone with her.”

“Lo, it’s ne,” I tell him. Really, I have zero desire to do anything sexual with Ryke, and I’m pre y sure the feeling is mutual.

Ryke inspects Lo once more and then he nods. “If I was you, I’d probably be the same way. Some strange guy creeping in with your girlfriend—I get it. It’s weird.”

“That’s an understatement,” Lo says atly. “I make out with my girlfriend, you stand there. I put my hand down her pants, you stand there. I tell you I’m going to fuck her, you stand there. What am I supposed to make of that?”

My heart beats wildly, and I’ve lost the ability to breathe. I must be dreaming. Yeah, this is a dream. I’ll wake up soon, but obviously not soon enough.

“That I’m a self-assured guy that likes to get what he wants, and right now that’s informa on about Comic-Con. Pre y simple, right?”

Lo takes this in.

To nudge his thoughts, I say, “I’ll grab a few New X-Men comics. Stay here.” I don’t give Lo the op on of backing out. I disappear into his room, sprin ng around to try and gather some issues. A er I collect a handful, I rush out of the hallway.

Lo has crept into the kitchen where he opens a cupboard for a glass. When I pass Ryke by the sink, the guy gives me a look like help me.

I’m trying, I mouth.

Try harder, he mouths back.

I ip him o in a knee-jerk reac on, and he rolls his eyes. I set the comics on the counter beside him and then ll the space in the kitchen between Lo and Ryke.

Lo closes the fridge, plopping an ice cube into his whiskey. When he leans an elbow on the counter, he eyes me like come here. He’ll probably wrap an arm around my waist and let me sink my body into his.

No, Lily. I shake my head at him and wade in the center, unsure and uncomfortable.

His face sharpens at the rejec on, and he directs his hate onto Ryke. “What do you need to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything.”

“Ever hear of Google?”

“You mean that li le search engine on that thing called the internet? No, I’ve never heard of it before. Can you explain that to me too?” He

ashes a dry smile.

Lo grits his teeth and looks at me. “Why is he here again?”

“He’s wri ng an ar cle on Comic-Con, and we owe him a favor.”

Lo inhales sharply. “Fine.” He starts ra ling o X-Men characters, mutant powers and how they t into Earth 616, way too quickly for anyone to understand.

“Wait, wait.” Ryke holds up his hands. “What the hell is Earth 616?”

Lo already looks frustrated. He downs half his drink, and Ryke’s body

ghtens, as though each me Lo takes a sip is a bullet to his chest. His

reac on actually makes me sidle to Lo and try something else.

I stand on the ps of my toes and whisper in his ear, “Hold me.”

Obligingly, Lo sets down his drink and wraps two arms around my hips, leaning my back into his chest. The public display should embarrass me, but Ryke ignores our a ec on like we’re just standing around.

I cut in, “Earth 616 is the Marvel universe.”

“That’s not too hard to understand,” Ryke says.

One of Lo’s hands creeps beneath my shirt and stays on my stomach. I am a horrible, horrible person. I should push him o and stay focused on the conversa on, but if this deters him from drinking, then maybe it’s okay.

Lo says, “Not all Marvel comics take place in Earth 616.”

Ryke cocks his head. “Now I’m confused.”

I try to explain. “It’s used to denote Marvel’s primary con nuity. There’s a string of comics that all t together in sequen al me…” I feel something cold on my lower back and s e a gasp.

Lo runs an ice cube on my skin, teasing…and probably hoping Ryke will take a hint and leave. Concentrate, Lily.

I clear my throat. “Then there are other comics that will take the characters and screw around with them. These comics do not t into Earth 616.” He slides the cube up my spine, my skin cold and prickling. Oh God… “Like Ul mate X-Men…it…”

The cube melts away and Lo rakes his ngers along the same wet trail. I tuck a piece of my hair back. “…It doesn’t t in with any of the other X-Men comics. The same way The Ul mates don’t t in with the Avengers line, even though they’re about the Avengers.”

Lo takes a small sip of his drink, and at rst, I think my e orts aren’t helping, but he pops an ice cube out of his mouth, not even hiding what he’s doing from Ryke. A hand ies to my eyes, crea ng a blinder against any sort of judgment and awkwardness. Lo says to Ryke, “They’re alternate universes.”

“What’s be er, the main line or the alternate universes?”

“They’re just di erent.”

The ice shocks me, and I inch from Lo. I spin around and set my hands on his chest. Stop, I mouth.

His lips nd my ear, and I have a feeling he’s glaring at Ryke as he whispers to me, “I’m going to take you so hard, you’re going to come with every thrust. And when you’re swollen and wet, all it’s going to take is me inside of you. I won’t even have to move for you to cry out.” Yes.

No! I try to focus even though my legs quake in desire. I keep my palms on his chest and push him back into the counters, away from me.

He clasps my wrists and devours me with his gaze. I would have put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to his knees by now. And he would willingly hold onto my thighs, spreading my legs open. Focus.

Ryke goes to the fridge. “Which do you guys read?”

Lo mouths to me, Ignore him.

I shake my head and break his hold on my wrists. “We both read Earth 616.”

Just as Ryke returns with a Diet Fizz, Lo picks up his glass again. I guess now that I’ve le his arms, he’s free to drink. Great. If I told him to stop, he’d shoot me one of those looks like maybe you should stop having sex. Right now, that sounds close to torture.

“You can take those comics,” I tell Ryke, thinking of a new solu on quickly. “And you can stop by and return them when you’re done.”

Ryke actually looks impressed that I created a decent lie for him to come back.

Lo glares at me, his ngers ghtening around the glass. “I don’t think it’s necessary for him to take our comics. He can sign up for an online subscrip on.” Ryke’s whole master plan involves becoming friends with Lo. According to him, the rela onship will somehow help Lo stop drinking. I don’t understand it completely, but if he’s been around alcoholism, then I trust he knows more than me on good solu ons.

“Don’t be rude, Lo,” I say.

He downs the rest of his drink. No, no, no. Before he can make another, I grab his wrists.

His eyebrows cinch. “Lily…” I’ve never told him how I feel about his addic on, and I can see the wheels spinning in his head, wondering if I’m about to fuck with our well-oiled system.

I’m not. I place his hands on my breasts, and his lips upturn in a crooked smile. He shi s both hands. One goes underneath my shirt, the other hooks around my shoulders, drawing me to his body. My back stays to Ryke, and as Lo kneads my breast, my willpower poofs into nothingness.

“I’ll bring these back tomorrow,” Ryke says. “Have fun fucking.” Oh my God.

Lo says, “You can keep those. Think of it as a gi for helping us at the party.” Transla on: We’re even.

“I’d feel be er returning them. Thanks for the invite, Lily.” Way to throw me under the bus. The door shuts, and he’s gone.

For a second, I realize Lo may have teased me in front of Ryke only to kick him out. And now that he has le , he may go to his vice and stop feeding mine. My fear lasts a single moment. Lo starts to make good on his promise and slams my back into the fridge. He’s going to take me hard.

He pins my wrists above my head. I try to move my body to meet his, but he puts considerable distance between us.

“Lo,” I whine, breathing heavily.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” I moan and try to reclaim my hands. Touch me!

He edges closer, his body melding into mine, but he stretches my arms even further above my head.

“Lo.” I want to undo his pants. I want him to rip o my shirt. Instead, he keeps teasing me in this locked posi on.

“I understand that you felt like you owed this guy, but a er this, we don’t owe him a thing, okay?”

I try to nd words to refute like he’s nice. He’s not. He’s lonely. He’s not. “He means well.” I land on a truth and squirm underneath him. “Lo, please.” I need him. Now.

“Did you fantasize about him?”

I cringe. “What? No.” Is he worried I like him? “I think every word out of his mouth made me dryer and dryer.” How’s that for dislike?

“Then what’s this about, Lily?” He uses one hand to hold my wrists together above my head and then the other to unbu on my jeans.

“He…uh…” I can’t concentrate! “He asked me about comics…and…”

Lo tugs my jeans down, and I easily step out of them. The cold hits my

esh and I ache for Lo’s warmth. “This is really about comics?” he

ques ons, disbelieving.

“I…uh…forgot…condoms,” I say, my mind rever ng to sex.

“If you’re on the pill and you haven’t fucked anyone else, we should be

ne.”

I nod quickly. “Can I have my hands back?”

“No.” He rubs his ngers on the outside of my pan es, not pushing in. I shake beneath him. “So when he returns,” Lo says, “are you going to kick him out?”

“What?” He stops the fric on between my legs. No, no, no. “Lo…”

“I want to know if he’s really here for comics, Lily. Is that the last me we’re going to see him?”

I bite my lip, and he sees straight through me.

“What’d you do?” he breathes, his hands ghtening on my wrists. The pressure feels be er than it should.

Telling the truth will be a defeat I do not want to claim just yet. So I think on my toes. “He wants to write an ar cle about us…about what it’s like to be the children of consumer moguls. And I said yes because I owed him, and I knew…I knew you wouldn’t agree because he has to follow us around. So I thought the Comic-Con lie would help introduce him to you…”

Lo stares at me with cold, narrowed eyes, and he drops my hands, taking four steps back from me. “He has to follow us around?”

I nod. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you—”

“You know why I would have said no?” He points to his chest. “I hate having to hide alcohol. You don’t get it because sex is something we do in private.”

I frown. “Like you mauling me in front of Ryke? That was private?”

Lo shakes his head. “The most he’ll think is that I’m a horny guy, Lil. He won’t connect that you’re a sex addict. And I don’t need him fucking wri ng about our problems in a published ar cle for my father to see.”

“It’s for a class grade,” I lie. The ar cle doesn’t even exist! But it’s the best excuse I have to validate Ryke hanging around us. “He won’t publish it.”

“And you believed him when he told you that? It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not!” I refute, my eyes welling with tears. I’ve never tried this hard to guide him towards a good place, and it’s breaking me apart inside. “ImsorryImsorryImsorry,” I slur.

His face sha ers and he closes the space between us. “Hey…” His voice so ens. He holds my cheeks and wipes the tears with his thumb. “We can tell him that we’re not interested anymore.”

I shake my head and choke on a sob. “No…” Why can’t this be easier? I want to be able to tell Lo to stop, but he won’t. No ma er what I say, he’ll keep drinking. This feels like my only op on.

“Why not?”

“I promised,” I say. “Please…let me…let me keep it.” These emo ons need to end. I start to drown in them, and so I focus on things that always make me feel be er. I kiss him lightly on the lips.

He kisses back. And then his lips leave mine. He has a hand on the back of my head, and he stares at me like we should talk more, but I’d rather do other things.

I unbu on his jeans.

“Lily…” he says, very so ly.

I unzip and yank them down. “Don’t speak.” I’m about to drop to my knees, but he grabs my elbow.

“Lily…” His amber eyes glass over. Is he about to tell me to stop?

I frown in confusion. “What?”

A er a long moment, he whispers, “Nothing.” He releases his hold, and I watch his cheeks sharpen to ice. My knees hit the oorboards, and I pull down his boxer-briefs in a systema c rou ne. He keeps his hand on the back of my head, and I try to forget the sadness in his eyes, the kind that can call on silent tears.

I try to remember the passion, the re, and for this moment, I make sure to drown him in pleasure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

OUR RELATIONSHIP IS DANGLING on thin strings that threaten to tear. I feel it. I’m sure he feels it as well. His biggest worry was being able to sa sfy me, but that’s hardly a problem. Our sel shness wedges between us. Neither of us is willing to give up what we love for each other. Not yet. And I’m not sure what it’s going to take to let go of our addic ons.

By Sunday, a thunderstorm con nes us indoors, and Connor drops by unannounced—for no reason at all other than to share a beer with Lo. I’m star ng to believe he likes hanging around us. A er arguing who would win a game of chess, Lo and Connor crack out a board and play between cha er and sips of beer.

I ip through a Cosmo magazine on the chair, reading about new sex posi ons. I realize what’s important to me may not be important to other girls. And I’m okay with that. Sex is something I genuinely love. In my case, probably too much.

Rain pa ers against the windows, and I ignore texts from my sisters about missing the luncheon. I also nd Ryke on Facebook and send him a quick message about the new lie. When I scroll through my phone, I see his response.

And he bought it? – Ryke

I type back. Yeah. I think so.

“You shouldn’t make that move,” Connor tells Lo, poin ng to his rook. “There’s clearly a be er one.”

Lo takes his ngers o the rook and scru nizes the board set on the co ee table. A new message pops up.

Is he drinking right now? – Ryke

Beer.

Connor leans forward in the chair opposite the couch, hunching over the pieces. He points to the bishop. “That’s the be er move.”

“How about you play your own game, and I’ll play mine?” Lo shi s the rook.

I glance down at Ryke’s word bubble.

I’m coming over. – Ryke

My stomach churns. Lo never really accepted the idea of Ryke following us around, but I burst into tears, so he hasn’t denied the idea either for my sake. Everything just feels strained and messy.

I send: Now?

See you in twenty. – Ryke

I internally groan.

Connor slides over a measly pawn. “Check.”

“What?” Lo gapes. “But that…Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “There’s no way for me to win, is there?”

Connor smiles as he picks up his beer. “I’d say you could win the next one, but you won’t.”

Lo forfeits by icking over his king.

And then the buzzer chimes. I s en. Can he be here already? No. He

said it would take twenty minutes, not twenty seconds. Right? I glance back at the messages and realize he never speci ed. Oh, I’m so not ready for this.

I shake o nervous ji ers and go to the foyer. I feel Lo’s eyes on me all the way there.

“Want another beer?” Lo asks Connor.

“Sure.”

Lo stands and acts casual as he opens the fridge in the kitchen.

I press the bu on on the speaker box. “Hello?”

“Miss Calloway, Rose is here to see you.”

I relax and press the bu on. “You can send her up.”

“Rose?” Connor heard the security a endant’s voice.

My eyes widen. I forgot Rose dislikes Connor. “Uh…yeah.”

Amusement swims in Connor’s bright blue eyes. “She’s not going to be pleased to see me.”

Lo hands him a beer and nds his seat on the couch. “Join the fucking club. She hates me, and yet she keeps torturing herself by showing up here.”

“Don’t be rude,” I warn both of them. At the end of the day, she’s s ll my sister and I love her no ma er what any boys say.

Lo mumbles something into his…whiskey. He must have just switched. I worry that I’m not trying hard enough like Ryke says, but the only way to stop him from drinking is to become a needy girlfriend and make him focus on my addic on. So far, it has only put tension in our rela onship.

I’m afraid that he’s going to start resen ng me for keeping him from something he enjoys.

So I let him drink his whiskey un l an abrasive knock pounds on the door. With two deep, mo va onal breaths, I turn the knob. “Hey.”

Rose stands with a sopping umbrella. She shrugs o her fur coat, revealing a high-collared black and white dress that ts her slender frame. Her normally straight hair frizzes on the sides and s cks out in strange places.

“It’s hailing,” she says with scorn.

“Really? I thought it was just raining.”

“It was un l I stepped out of the car.” She comes inside and places the umbrella in the corner and hangs her coat on a hook. I wonder how much longer I can stall her by the foyer to lengthen her inevitable view of Connor.

She runs her ngers through her hair. “Do you have co ee?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you a cup.” I lead her towards the kitchen, but she detaches halfway there, her head whipping over to the adjacent living room.

“What?!” she shrieks. “Lily Calloway, you did not invite him over here without telling me rst.”

Lo interjects, “Last me I checked, Rose, your name wasn’t on the lease agreement. You don’t have a say in who comes over to our apartment.”

Rose turns her back on the guys. “What is Richard doing here?” she hisses.

“He just showed up.” I hand her a steaming mug and place my palm on her back, guiding her to the living room.

Lo ashes her a dry smile. “Does that remind you of someone?”

“Shut up,” Rose snaps. “Do not compare me to him.”

Connor rises like a good prep school boy, and Rose stands her ground while I grab my magazine and scoot in beside Lo. I’ve circled some of the posi ons I want to try with red magic marker like the Spank Me Maybe, Mission Control and Wild Ride. Lo points to the most submissive of the three, a picture of a guy pulling the girl’s ponytail as she straddles him backwards, and Lo whispers, “Later.”

If only Ryke would not show up today.

Lo sips his whiskey.

On second thought, maybe it’s a good thing he is.

I glance back at Connor and Rose and realize they’ve been pre y much silent. They just stare at each other for a really, really long me, as though talking through their eyes.

“Is this what smart people do?” I whisper to Lo.

“They must have some superhuman telepathic power that we don’t have.” He adjusts so my head rests against the hardness of his chest, the warmth enveloping me further. I kinda, sorta, really want them to leave so Lo can take me in surprise.

“Is this s ll about last year?” Connor asks with a growing smile. “Just because you didn’t know Williams wrote Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy and Problems of the Self doesn’t make you a stupid person. Lots of people don’t know him.”

Her chest pu s out, looking more ru ed than when Lo pushes her bu ons. “I know Freud, Connor. I knew Williams in uenced him. Had someone on my team not sneezed, I wouldn’t have been so distracted.”

“A sneeze? You’re going to blame your loss on an allergy problem?”

Rose holds up a hand to his face, as if pausing the argument, and sets her icy gaze on us. “You both really can’t be friends with this asshole. Actually”—she points at Lo—“I believe you can, but you, Lily, really?”

Lo smirks. “Keep it coming, Rose. You’re just making me love the guy more.” Oh jeez. And to make ma ers more complicated, Connor looks amused by the con nua on of this madness. He s cks his hands in his pockets, at ease.

“What happened to Charlie and Stacey?” she ques ons. They never existed.

“They moved,” Lo lies easily. “Transferred to Brown a month ago. I’d let them know you said goodbye, but they wouldn’t care. They didn’t really like you.” And there goes our scapegoat with one new b.

Rose glares. “That’s real cute, Loren, considering they didn’t even know me.”

“Wait, Charlie who?” Connor asks.

“You wouldn’t know them,” I say.

He looks o ended. For real? “I know everyone.”

I open my mouth, at a loss of how to reply to that.

Rose snorts. “You’re always the same, Connor, raising yourself on some prodigious level. I bet your biggest dream is to kiss the ass of Bill Gates.”

Just when I think Rose’s comment has penetrated Connor’s cool, calm, know-it-all exterior, his thousand-dollar smile widens. He takes a step forward, threatening to breach Rose’s safe space.

Lo whispers under his breath, “Protect your balls, Connor.”

I’d agree, but Connor has proven to hold his own so far. He cocks his head at her. “Says the girl whose clothing line just got dropped by Saks.” He inspects her tailored dress. “Is that piece ex nct yet? Or can your two customers go buy it at Plato’s Closet?”

Lo bursts into laughter, and I sink deeper into his arms. This is not good. At all. Rose has longer and sharper claws than me, able to defend herself quite e ortlessly.

“Shut up, Loren,” she says rst. Then she places a hand on her hip. “So you read the newspaper, Connor. Congratula ons, a well-informed ci zen of Pennsylvania. Let’s throw confe and have a parade.”

“Or you could go out with me tonight.”

What?! Lo chokes on his alcohol. I gape, my jaw permanently unhinged. Rose. He just asked out Rose, my sister. I saw this coming, did I not? “Ha!” I say to Lo, poking him in the arm.

He bites my shoulder and murmurs, “She hasn’t said yes yet.”

Oh. I’d like Rose to give Connor a chance. If anyone can verbally keep up with her, he can. But she pushes men away as much as I used to lead them in.

Her body language stays closed o —her face as icy as before. “That’s really funny. Nice joke.” Oh no, Rose, he’s not joking. I want to tell her that this isn’t some cruel trick to make fun of her. She has guards up so she won’t get hurt. It’s easier to be cold than to feel the s ng of disappointment.

“It isn’t one,” he tells her, taking another step. Her feet stay cemented to the oor, a good sign. “I have ckets to The Tempest.”

I chime in, “Rose, you love Shakespeare.”

She shoots me a look to stay out of it. I press my lips together, but I see her mind reeling at his proposi on. Rose scru nizes Connor. “So you have two ckets for tonight? This is obviously a pity invite.”

“How could you think that?” he rebuts. “I don’t pity you in the least. I’m invi ng you because I happen to have two ckets that will go unused if you don’t accompany me. I bought them for my mother, but work came up, and she can’t go.”

“Why take me?” she asks. “You know everyone. I’m sure you can manage to nd some rich man to schmooze.”

“True, but that’s not the company I feel like sharing tonight. I’d rather take you, a beau ful, intelligent girl from Princeton.”

Rose peruses Connor with beady eyes. “And this isn’t a pity invite?”

“I already said it wasn’t. Maybe you should get your hearing looked at. I wouldn’t want to beat you unfairly in the next Bowl tournament.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, you wouldn’t be able to beat Princeton even with a cheat sheet.”

“Says the girl who got distracted by someone’s nasal sensi vi es.”

“You’re so weird,” she says. Her arm drops o her hip and her stance

nally loosens. Yes! He takes one more step, o cially inches from her, the

closest I’ve seen her to a man—or child—in a long, long me.

Lo whispers to me, “Are we in an alternate universe?”

I nod. “Yep, we’ve de nitely le Earth 616.” And I love it.

“So here I am,” Connor con nues, “about to waste front row seats—”

“Wait, you can’t see anything in the rst row. The stage blocks your view. Everyone knows that.”

“Did I say rst row? I don’t think I did.” He lts his head. “You really need to get those ears checked, Miss Calloway.” Oh, that was sexy. I will be the rst to admit that. He takes out his wallet and hands her the ckets, which I presume are labeled for the third or fourth row, not the rst.

Rose barely glances at them since Connor has in ltrated her safe space. She breathes all heavily and her cheeks start to ush. Aw, my sister is actually a ected by the guy. It’s like two asexual people bonding together —a once in a life me happening.

She hands one cket back to him. “Pick me up at seven. Don’t be late.”

“I never am.”

Rose rolls her eyes and then turns to me. “I have to make a stop at Poppy’s house, but I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Fine,” I tell her. “I haven’t go en my econ test back, so I’m not sure how well I’m doing in class yet.”

She sips her co ee and sets it on the table. “With my help, you’ll do be er on the next one.”

“I’m s ll her tutor,” Connor says.

“No you’re not,” Rose tells him. “I have familial rights to this one.” She points at Lo. “You can take that rodent.”

Lo ips her o .

“Very mature,” she says atly and glances at her pearl-colored watch. “I need to go. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you miss them, but it’d be be er if you a ended next Sunday’s luncheon. They’re star ng to ask ques ons that I can’t answer.” She kisses my cheek and surprisingly meets Lo’s gaze. “You too, be there.” With that, she struts out in a digni ed, Rose manner.

Go a love her.

“You’re crazy,” Lo tells Connor. “I thought you were just a li le insane for wan ng to hang out with Lily and me, but now, you’re cer able.”

The buzzer rings.

The silence a erwards sits heavy and unbearable. If Rose le , only one other person could be wai ng in the lobby.

“Did she forget something here?” Connor asks.

Doub ul. I go to the door and buzz in Ryke. I also unlock the door and send him a quick message to just walk in. When I plop back beside Lo, something separates us. Uniden able and intangible. Lo senses my

openness towards the situa on, towards accep ng Ryke and the ar cle. For the rst me, we stand on two di erent pages.

I know le ng Ryke into our lives will complicate things. It’ll be harder for me to disappear without ques ons. It’ll be harder for Lo to drink without being chas sed like a child. But it’s too late to go back now, and I wouldn’t want to.

“Who is it?” Connor asks.

“Ryke.” I explain the ar cle with the fewest details, and when the door clicks open, I shut up about it. Ryke enters, eyes pinging to each of us. He has sealed the comics in a Ziploc bag to avoid rain spla er, but he needed protec on from the thunderstorm. He drips on the carpet like a wet dog, his white shirt glued to the ridges in his chest. His jeans s ck to his thighs, and he runs a hand through his soaked hair, pushing back the brown strands.

“Can I use your dryer?” he asks, already pulling o his shirt.

Oh my God. I look away, and Lo closes the Cosmo magazine and tosses it at my face so I’ll stop gawking. He stands. “I’ll show you to the machine.”

As Lo passes to the laundry room, Ryke li s his eyebrows at me like see, he was nice, making progress. Yeah, I’m not so op mis c. Ryke nods to Connor. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” he says.

At this, Ryke follows Lo out of view.

Connor scrolls on his iPhone, my mind dri ing to what happened with my sister. “About Rose…”

“Yes?”

“I like you, Connor. I do, but I also know you’re a social climber. I may look small and not put up much of a ght when it comes to words, but I’d

nd a way to hurt you if you hurt her. She should mean more to a guy than

a paycheck and a last name.”

Connor pockets his cell. “Lily,” he says. “If I wanted to date for a last name, I’d have a girl on my arm every single day. I would never be single.” He leans forward. “I promise you, that my inten ons are pure. And I think it’s sweet you’re looking out for Rose, but she’s more than capable of taking care of herself, which is one of the many reasons why I want to pursue her.”

“What’s another reason?” I test him.

He smiles. “I won’t have to taxingly explain to her menu items in a real French restaurant.” He knows she’s uent? “I won’t have to explain

nancial statements or dividends. I’ll be able to discuss anything and

everything in the world, and she’ll have an answer.”

“What about your philosophy on wealthy girls? Aren’t we all the same? We want to nd some Ivy League guy and do nothing with our lives?”

Connor’s lip twitches, suppressing a smile. “I also said something about probably marrying that type.”

I don’t see where he’s headed with this. “Rose is not that kind of girl. She’s talented and driven and determined—”

“I said I would probably marry the type, not that I wanted to.”

Oh. I realize that Connor Cobalt will ace any test I give him—the downside to quizzing an honor student.

Ryke and Lo return, and surprisingly, one of Lo’s black T-shirts ts Ryke perfectly. And he wears a pair of Lo’s jeans, the thighs a li le ght but other than that, they t as well. Neither guy says a word, the tension eking from their s postures. Lo se les back beside me while Connor o ers up

his chair to Ryke.

Ryke nods in thanks and takes a seat. Connor drags the red recliner closer to our li le group, and the rumble of the dryer lls the short-lived void.

Connor turns his a en on on Ryke and says, “So you’re wri ng an ar cle about children of tycoons. I assume you forgot to ask me.”

Ryke teeters back on two legs of his chair. “Must have slipped my mind.” He ashes a dry smile, avoiding my gaze.

“Then I accept.”

Ryke’s eyebrows shoot up. “You accept?”

Lo interjects, “That sounds perfect. You should just write about Connor. He’s a willing par cipant, and your story will have a happy ending. Everyone wins.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I s en, not sure how

Ryke’s going to cover this one.

“No, I don’t like it.” That’s his lie? I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t have expected something be er.

Lo rubs his lips. “Then you’re not going to follow Connor too?”

Ryke brie y looks at Connor who sits with his ankle on his knee, so preppy that you could snap a picture and put him in a J.Crew catalogue. “No o ense, Connor, but I’d rather not hang around ass-kissers all fucking day. If you’re with Lo and Lily, I’ll write about you. That’s all I have.”

“I already accepted,” Connor tells him.

Lo hasn’t. He laces his ngers in mine. “Are you going to ask me ques ons?”

“Do you have something against them?” Ryke wonders. “Ques on-phobic?”

Lo glares. “I just don’t have a warm spot in my heart for people who pry.”

“Yeah? Well that kind of goes against my profession.” He points to his chest. “Journalism major. Asking uncomfortable ques ons is my forte.” I can believe that.

Lo glowers at the ceiling. “Then I have full discre on to ask you anything personal. How’s that for a s pula on?”

“Sounds fair.”

Lo doesn’t need to tell me that he hates the situa on. His icy posture says it all. I understand his hesita on. There’s an underlying judgment that comes with surrounding ourselves with other people. We’ve been cut o from snide glances and hateful words like “slut, drunkard, loser” for so long that he fears going back to that place. The one where his father smacks the back of his head, wondering why his kid just fucked up by staying out all night drinking. The one where a prep school girl slanders me as diseased, dumb and dimwi ed.

I can’t gauge my strength. I just hope I’m resilient enough to stand against ridicule in order to help Lo.

“It’ll only be for a couple of months,” I tell Lo. “The semester is almost over.”

“It’s ne.” He nishes o his glass of whiskey and stands to go make another.

Ryke gives me a hard look that I can’t respond to since Connor sits one chair over. At least Connor busily texts on his phone. Suddenly, he stands, slipping his cell in his coat pocket. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Where are you going?” Lo asks from the kitchen.

“I have to gure out what I’m going to wear tonight.”

“Are you serious?” Lo snaps. “You’re going on a date with the devil. All you need is some pepper spray and a re ex nguisher.”

Ryke nods to me. “Who’s he talking about?”

“My sister, Rose.”

“Huh.” He watches Connor go to the foyer.

“She’s a fashion designer,” Connor tells us. “She’s going to judge me on what I wear.” With this, he waves us goodbye and heads out the door.

I hear the clink of bo les, not sure the steps to take. Ryke whispers to me, “So you’ve been distrac ng him with sex?”

I blush. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he admits, “but it’s not en rely working considering he’s making”—he leans farther back on the chair legs to peek at the kitchen —“whiskey straight.” I kind of hope Ryke falls.

And just like that, the wooden legs slip beneath Ryke and his back slams on the rug.

I laugh so hard my chest hurts.

“It’s not fucking funny,” he tells me, picking himself up and stretching out his arms.

“Yes it is.”

Lo comes back with a full glass of whiskey. “What is?” He sits on the other side of the couch, an en re cushion separa ng us.

“He fell o the chair,” I say.

Ryke switches to the recliner, a much safer choice. And then he nods to Lo. “What’s with the whiskey?”

I can tell Lo wants to glare at me for pu ng him in this posi on, but he resists. “I don’t see how that ques on relates to your ar cle.” He sips the dark amber liquid.

“Background,” Ryke says evasively. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” He takes another huge swig, not even grimacing as the sharp alcohol slides down his throat.

Ryke rubs his lips. “What’s your father like?”

“Are we really star ng this now?” Lo snaps.

“No me like the present.”

He downs the rest of his drink way too quickly and stands. “Do you want a beer or something?”

“I’ll take a beer,” I say as Lo disappears into the kitchen.

Ryke shakes his head at me like that’s a bad move.

“Cancel my order,” I call to Lo.

“Ryke?” Lo asks. “Last chance.”

“I’m ne.”

I whisper very so ly to Ryke, “You’re annoying him so much that he’s drinking more.”

“I see that. Let me handle it.”

I try to trust him, but he’s doing a poor job at breaking through Lo’s tough exterior. When Lo returns to the living room, we both glance at the newly lled glass in his hand, the liquid nearly black.

Lo takes his seat. Far away from me. I dislike it immensely.

He watches Ryke as he sips the liquor. He licks his lips and says, “You seem awfully interested in my whiskey. Are you sure you don’t want a glass?”

“No, I don’t drink.”

The muscles in Lo’s jaw twitch. “You don’t drink? Not even beer?”

“No. I had a rough patch in high school. I drank and drove, which ended in a totaled car, a broken mailbox, and angry neighbors. I haven’t tasted alcohol since.”

“Driving was your rst mistake,” Lo tells him.

“I disagree.” Ryke nods to the liquor in Lo’s hand. “That was.”

“Well I’m not you, am I?” Lo says with bite. “If you’re expec ng some sort of story where I turn into you, then you’re going to be disappointed. What you believe about me is probably right. I’m a rich asshole who has everything. And I like it.” I hear his father in his voice, and it scares me. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Ryke’s face hardens to stone. And his eyes narrow in empathy, which I’m sure Lo does not appreciate. “Let’s start with an easier ques on then. How’d you two meet?”

“Childhood friends,” Lo tells him. “You want to know if I took her virginity too? I didn’t. Some prick beat me to it.”

“Lo!” I grab a pillow, about to hide behind it.

Ryke keeps his challenging gaze on Lo. “That’s interes ng.” He nds the loss of my virginity interes ng—that’s just great. “Did you lose your virginity to her?”

Lo drinks at this.

Ryke rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. Is she the only girl you’ve ever been with?”

I interject, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“No,” Lo ignores me. “I’ve slept with other girls.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex.”

Lo holds Ryke’s stare. “Long term, yeah. Same for her.”

I wonder if Ryke is adding up all the years that I’ve enabled Lo, helping facilitate his addic on. When his eyes icker to me with a sliver of contempt, I know he probably is. I can change things now. It may hurt our rela onship, but I’ve found a way.

I crawl over to Lo and press my shoulder against his. He nishes his drink, and before he stands, I wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him here.

His cold eyes cut me, and he whispers lowly, “I’m not in the mood.” He disentangles my hands from him and steps over my feet to go to the kitchen. I sit back like he socked me in the gut.

“You okay?” Ryke whispers.

Tears build. “I don’t know what to do,” I mu er.

“If I come over there, will he strangle me?”

My eyes burn. “I’m not even sure anymore.”

Ryke tests the waters and plants his bu on the cushion next to me. “You’re doing a decent job, Lily. I just don’t understand why you haven’t tried sooner.” Because we have a system that cannot be disrupted.

“He’s not hur ng anyone,” I try to defend in a small whisper. “He’s never hurt anyone, Ryke.”

“Seems to me he’s hur ng you.”

I shake my head. “Me? No, I’m ne.”

“Then why are you crying, Lily?”

I wipe the traitorous tears, and Lo enters without a drink but carries Ryke’s bundle of dry clothes. He throws them on his lap.

“It’s me for you to leave.” Lo won’t even look at me.

Ryke stands tensely, holding the clothes. He edges towards Lo and whispers to him, “Your girlfriend is upset, Lo. Can’t you see that?” He’s trying to guilt him into sobriety. I doubt that’ll work.

“Don’t act like you know her.”

“I know her enough.”

“You don’t know shit. You’d be fucking spinning if you did.” He mo ons to the shirt that Ryke wears. “Keep my clothes. I don’t need them.”

“Fine. I’ll see you soon.” With this, he makes his exit, the door slamming shut.

Lo wipes his mouth and says, “I’ll be in my room.”

My chest caves. We should talk, but what do I say? Lo, I wish you would stop drinking. And he’d say, Lily, I wish you’d stop having so much sex. And then we’d look at each other and wait for the other to say okay, I’ll change for you. But there’d be silence so deep and cu ng that I’d feel ripped open and bare. There’s no coming back from that.

I respond in the only way that makes sense to me. “I’m sorry for pu ng you in that situa on. I’m really, really sorry, Lo.”

His muscles tense and he runs a hand through his hair. “I want to be alone right now. We can have sex in the morning, okay?” He leaves me. And I sink into the couch and listen to the cking of an old, expensive clock on the bookshelf.

I curl up in a blanket, so hollow inside.

Minutes pass before I actually start crying, the messy tears that scrunch up your face and cause snot to run.

At least no one can see me, but I know I’m not alone in my misery.

MORNING SEX IS hard and rough and so emo onal that my head starts whirling. I’m so dizzy by the end of it that I rush to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet.

“Lily,” Lo calls, pulling up his boxer-briefs as he hurriedly enters the bathroom. He kneels behind me and rubs my back. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

I dry heave for a full minute before I calm down, my trembling hands gripping the toilet bowl.

“What happened?”

I keep my back to him. “I was dizzy.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur, my voice raw and scratchy. I stand to brush my teeth. I shakily nd my toothbrush and some paste.

“Lily, talk to me,” he says from behind me. He sets a gentle hand on my hip while I spit into the sink.

When I nish, I turn around and lean my backside against the counter. “Do you want to break up?” I say bluntly.

His breathing shallows. “No. I love you, Lil.” He holds my hand. “Look, I’ll try harder. We both will.” I’m not surprised by the sudden proclama on. We ght one minute and then try to make up the next. It’s why we’ve lasted so long. And I suppose, the fear of losing each other is always stronger than the pain we cause.

“Try harder to do what?” I want clari ca on of where we stand.

“I’ll drink more beer. Ryke was pissing me o yesterday, so I chose hard liquor.” He pauses and eyes me hesitantly, about to turn the tables. “Lily…I love having sex with you, but the past two weeks, you’ve been crazy. I can barely even think.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” But I’ve been like that to stop him from drinking. I guess we need to work on ful lling our compromises, which means I need to stop trying to force him to be sober by diver ng his a en on elsewhere.

Ryke will be disappointed, but this is the best I have without shoving Lo away. I need him more than he needs me. His vice is a bo le of whiskey. Mine is his body. So when we ght, I’m the one who loses out in the end.

“Do you want to break up?” he o ers me the same out.

It’d be easier to let him go, to return to our regular rituals, but now that I’ve had him, I can’t imagine not being swept in his arms and being ful lled to the highest degree. He’s my drug that I gladly consume, and I think that’s what he fears most. He enables my addic on. Always has. And the longer we’re together, he always will.

“No,” I whisper. “No, I want to be with you.”

He draws me close and kisses me on the forehead. “We’ll do be er.” His lips brush my ear. “Next me you feel sick, please tell me.”

“I will.”

He lts my chin up and kisses me on the lips, urging my mouth open. His tongue slips in for a second and then he breathes, “Let’s do it right this

me.” He scoops me up in his arms, and I hold him around the neck, gladly

about to erase all the bad moments and replace them with good.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“CAN YOU ZIP ME UP?”

Lo xes his e and then rests a hand on my hip. I try not to focus on the way his ngers press into my side. We just had sex and took showers. I do not want to show up to Rose’s fashion show with ra ed hair and ushed cheeks.

He zips my dress to the collar, and the touch ripples my skin. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I smooth my hair that reaches my shoulders, trying to sa ate the nervous ji ers in my stomach. I struggle to think of an instance before middle school where I willfully introduced any friends to my family. In part, it was probably because Lo has been my only companion for some me.

A buried, vile part of me almost wishes Rose and Connor never met. Or that I wasn’t his friend rst. Anything so that my two worlds don’t have to collide—my family and my college life. Connor knows things. More than even Rose, and I fear we made a mistake in not scrip ng lies for our new friend. But how was I supposed to know that Rose of all people would nd Connor Cobalt’s personality a rac ve? My luck is like a perfect storm.

At least I wasn’t sel sh enough to destroy their rela onship before it started. That would have been mean.

With Ryke following us to events, it doubles the stress. At any moment Connor or Ryke could let something slip to my family, and everything could be ruined. More than that, I feel overwhelmed by le ng my family see another part of my life. I compartmentalize for a reason, and now everything seems u erly messy and complicated. If Lo feels the same, he doesn’t let on. I watch him casually check the cards in his wallet before sliding it into his pocket.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Are you decent?” Connor’s voice mu es from the other side.

Lo opens the door, and Connor stands there, wearing his own thousand-dollar suit and an equally expensive smile. “We need to leave. I don’t want to be late.”

“We’ll be an hour early,” Lo complains. “We can wait around a few minutes.”

I follow them into the kitchen where Ryke sits at the bar, typing on his cellphone

“I want to see Rose before the show starts,” Connor confesses. “She sounded nervous this morning.”

“She is,” I say. “She’s mostly worried about no one showing up.” I even called her. Mostly to talk about Connor, but she wouldn’t really give me any details on their theatre date other than he acted exactly how she thought he would. Whatever that means. They’re s ll going out, so I can only presume that it went well. Hopefully they didn’t talk too much about Lo and me. I need to nd me to tell Connor that Rose is unaware of certain aspects of our lives. Like Lo’s constant drinking.

“I told her that I have it handled, but she chooses not to believe me,” Connor says. Small wrinkles crease his eyes in discontent, an emo on I’ve yet to see from the un appable Connor Cobalt.

“Who’d you call?” Lo wonders before eyeing Ryke at the bar. Even with days where Ryke asks Lo ques ons, he keeps him at a distance, answering back with sarcasm or disdain. And now that I am no longer a driving force in ac vely diver ng Lo’s a en on from alcohol, Ryke wastes no opportunity to glare at me. I can do nothing right.

“The owner of Macy’s, Nordstrom, H&M and some lesser known department stores will be there. It’ll be a full house.” Connor glances at me. “Don’t tell her about who’s going to be at the show. There’s no point in making her more anxious.”

“I won’t.”

Ryke stands from the bar, slipping his phone into his suit pocket, his wardrobe just as expensive as Connor and Lo’s. For some reason, his tailored suit catches me o guard. I expected him to be on an athle c scholarship, but by the t and ne fabric, the suit clearly is name brand. Possibly Armani or Gucci. Which means he has money. Lots of it.

I realize I haven’t asked Ryke much about his personal life. Lo meant to, but he gets so irritated that he usually walks o .

Before Ryke can shoot me a scathing look, I nd a good ques on. “What do your parents do?”

Connor puts his hand on my shoulder. “Talk and walk. We’re running late.” We’re really not, but Connor Cobalt’s de ni on of late is much di erent than mine. We leave the apartment with Connor in the rear, prac cally pushing us out.

Ryke sidles next to me, but Lo remains closer on my other side. “My mom doesn’t work. I come from some family money.”

Connor neuro cally checks his watch again, and I press the lobby bu on on the elevator. “From your dad?”

“Yep,” Ryke says. “I don’t live with him. It’s always just been me and my mom.”

My chest swells at the news, and I can’t tell if it a ects Lo or not. He looks u erly blank by the revela on.

“Divorce?” I wonder. Lo swoops his hands around my waist and I lean back against his chest. My eyes shut as I feel the pump of his heart and the warmness of his weight. I wish he’d lean me over and…no, Lily.

“Yeah,” Ryke says. “It was pre y messy. They were supposed to have joint custody of me, but my mom won full in the se lement.”

“Have you ever met him?”

“I have,” Ryke admits, somewhat detached like he’s dealt with all of this before and come to terms with it. “He’d send me gi s all the me, and my mom would throw them out. But she let me meet him every Monday since I can remember. He seemed like an okay guy, but I have years of my mom telling me some…pre y horrible things about him. Stu that she shouldn’t have been telling me so young. A er a while I stopped seeing him, and I stopped loving him too.” Ryke glances at Lo. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Aren’t your parents divorced?”

“I live with my father,” Lo says atly. “He’s the greatest dad in the fucking world. Sorry yours couldn’t have been be er.”

Ryke’s face hardens. “You have a good rela onship with him?”

“The best.”

I stare at the ground, my stomach rolling at his bi ng tone.

“Your girlfriend doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing her movements,” he shoots back. Yes, please stop. Especially because I have to cross my ankles to focus on something other than sex at the present moment.

The elevator dings. As soon as my mind rights itself on a proper course, a sudden wave of anxiety crashes into me. Bringing Connor and Ryke to the fashion show feels like doom. I’ll end up trading these overwhelming emo ons for fantasies and carnal highs. That sounds be er than this creeping anxiety.

We head to the limo, and by the me we reach the venue, I’ve concocted ten di erent scenarios with Lo in the backseat, and I’ve spaced out approximately ve mes. Lo no ces my fantas cal departures, but I’m sure no one else does.

The spot between my leg pulses, eager to be relieved, but I avoid facing any unease so I torture myself with these images. Of Lo on me. Of Lo in me. Of him whispering to take me. It’s so stupid.

I’m here for Rose.

And yet, I can’t stop.

I ball my hands, forcing myself to concentrate on the present moment.

I’m here.

Nowhere else.

An elevated runway sits in the middle of the room and white plas c chairs line both sides, no one here except photographers, publicists, models, and stylists. Most run o to the backroom where I’m sure Rose busily dresses the models. Daisy is probably being ed right now in a silk

day dress for the everyday kind of girl. I should go see them, but I want to do something else, something I know is wrong in this current me.

“Lo,” I whisper, clutching his bicep. I look at him with shallow breath and bedroom eyes. Please, come with me. Please…

“Can you wait un l we go home?”

Ryke catches those words just as Connor dials Rose’s number and wanders o . “What’s wrong?” he asks me.

“Nothing.” I shoot Lo a warning look. “I’ll be right back.” I go to leave for the bathrooms, and Lo catches my wrist.

“You need to try,” he tells me.

“Like you’re trying?”

Lo puts his lips to my ear and whispers, “I am trying. I’ve only had beer today. You know this.”

I can’t imagine not ful lling this need right now. It hurts too much. It’s all I can think about. And if Lo won’t help me, then I’ll help myself. Without chea ng. I disentangle from him. “I don’t want to sit through the show like this. We have me.”

“What is it that you need to do?” Ryke asks me. I hate the hard tone of his voice, as though I’m one step away from killing Lo by causing him stress, by handing him a glass of alcohol, by watching him drink without reproach.

I glare. “It’s none of your business.”

“Hey,” Ryke says. “I was just going to ask if I could help.”

My cheeks heat. “You can’t.”

“Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of the fucking bed.”

“Don’t you talk about me in a bed,” I retort, being nonsensical and irra onal.

Lo grabs my wrist. “Lily, stop.”

“You’re defending him?” I gape. “Really, Lo!”

Lo whispers heatedly in my ear. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re not thinking right.”

I shove Lo o my chest. “You both are assholes,” I say, looking between them as they stand side by side. Dapper, handsome, ice and stone. I hate them. I hate me. “I don’t even know why I agreed to any of this.” To being with Lo. To le ng Ryke follow us around. If I stop and think for two seconds, maybe I’ll understand that I’m projec ng all of my anxiety from the fashion show onto them. And it’s unfair, immature and cruel. But I don’t want to think. I just want to do.

I inhale sharp, sporadic breaths. I need to go. Now. I race to the bathroom, a lot faster than Lo, and head into the men’s room rather than the women’s. A guy in his thir es sees me through the mirror as he relieves himself. He curses and zips up his y. Con dence in ates my body—the need to do this surpassing everything else.

I pick a stall without saying a word to him.

Lo walks in, not even glancing at the guy. He sets his sights on me, only me, and looks as though he wants to devour me whole or maybe choke me. Yes.

He slams the stall shut behind us and roughly grabs my wrists. He spins my body so my backside rubs against his pelvis and places my palms on the

led wall. My back curves in an angle, my feet just outside of the toilet.

“You want this?” Lo growls, his hand slipping underneath my dress, his

ngers nding the we est spot.

I gasp, my eyes rolling back. Please.

He wraps a hand over my mouth, mu ing my moans as he pushes his

ngers in and out. My palms slip on the le, and I almost knock my head

into the hard wall, but Lo has a ght hold on me, keeping me on two feet.

He thrusts inside, and I lose myself to the pleasure, to the bliss, to the hardness of him. My breathing sharpens in my throat, and he never slows. He slams against me, as though telling me I’ve been bad. And I take it with bated breath and headiness.

When we’re done, he pulls his pants up to his waist and bu ons them while I try to nd my pan es around my ankles.

“You okay?” Lo asks, brushing my sweaty hair o my face.

“I think so.” Why did I have sex here? Everything I just did surges into my head and my heart, and I inhale weighted breaths. Why did I do this? What is wrong with me?!

When we exit, he washes his hands, and then leads me out. Luckily, the show hasn’t started, but the room lls to the brim.

I slip into a front row seat beside Connor, avoiding Ryke.

“I should go see Rose,” I say.

“There’s no me.” Connor glances at his Rolex. “The show will start in

een minutes.”

“Oh.”

I try to blink away the guilt that knots my stomach. My hands shake, and Lo reaches over and clasps them. I spot the worry in his eyes, but I try not to hold onto it. I’m okay. Everything is going to be ne.

I look up and see Poppy walking down the aisle with a wide grin and Sam on her arm. My stomach does a full somersault. They scoot in and she comes over to greet me, kissing me on the cheek. “There are so many people here!” she exclaims. “Rose should be so proud.”

“Where’s Mom?” I ask, my heart pounding to the fast-paced rhythm of the music.

“She’s coming. Dad was on the phone, so they stopped outside for a second.” She glances at Connor and Ryke. “Who are your friends? Oh, is this Charlie?” She focuses on Ryke who wears a confused expression.

“No, Charlie moved,” I lie. “This is Ryke. He’s a friend from Penn, and that’s Connor Cobalt.”

Poppy momentarily forgets Ryke as Connor rises to shake her hand and then Sam’s. “It’s nice to meet you both.” His good looks and words have o cially hypno zed Poppy. She nods while he talks about Fizzle to Sam, trying to bring up familiar conversa on. I can’t tell if this is Connor’s normal bout of schmoozing or if he’s adding on the extra charm to embed himself further in Rose’s good graces.

When Poppy detaches herself from Connor Cobalt’s magne c hold, she whispers to me. “This is the boy Rose is seeing?”

“Yep.”

Poppy smiles. “She did well.”

“Yeah, but she probably thinks she can do be er.”

Poppy laughs and then touches my arm. “We’re si ng a few seats from yours. I’ll see you a er the show.” She hesitates. “And Lily, I’m glad to

nally meet your friends.”

I smile, but it hurts. Because deep down, these friends may as well be bought and paid for.

Poppy and Sam go nd their seats, and I se le in mine with a weight heavy on my chest. The only thing that takes my mind o of it is sex. And once I start focusing on photographers, especially the scru y one in the corner, my body starts to switch again.

I’ve trained myself to self-medicate with sex for so long that stopping seems so unfeasible, like trying to break a high-speed train before it crashes into a cement wall. So I’ll crash. I’ll splinter and break. But it’ll feel damn good going two hundred miles an hour beforehand.

That’s all I concentrate on. The thrill, the high and endorphins from rocking against another body. Any body. Hopefully Lo. No other thoughts enter my mind and my knees prac cally bounce in earnest hunger.

People dip into their chairs as the me cks by, and I can faintly hear Ryke asking Lo about Daisy’s modeling career. I don’t hear the answer, too

xated on the way the photographer holds his camera. His muscles ex and

I imagine him holding me instead. Stop.

I inwardly groan and rub my sweaty palms on my dress. I’m a junkie who needs another hit, and I hate that the quickie in the bathroom didn’t sa ate me. I’ve already fucked up. How angry will Rose be at me for not going backstage? Stop.

I don’t want to think about that.

The lights dim. “Lo,” I breathe. “Lo, I need to…” I can’t say it, but the tone of my voice speaks for me.

“The show is about to start, Lil,” he whispers. “You have to hold out.”

I don’t know if I can. I squirm in my seat, ba ling the cravings for my favorite natural high.

And then my parents start to enter. Ryke rises and stretches his arms. “Hey, I’m going to go to the bathroom before the show starts.” He’s going to the bathrooms where I want to go. Lo’s brows bunch, staring at him un l he disappears.

I cross my legs, sweat gathering on my skin. I can’t do this. I need someone…I need to relieve this…I stand.

“Lily,” Lo protests, jumping up with me. “Lily, your sister. Think about Rose.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, bol ng towards the exit, leaving Connor between three empty seats. His usual content expression has fractured. He looks pissed.

Lo says, “Think about a erwards, Lily. Please.” I’ll feel horrible. Yes. But I can’t stop my feet from moving, or my breath from hitching. There’s a place so deep down, a compulsion that must be sustained. I need this. I need it more than breath, more than air, more than life itself.

It’s a stupid thought. One that makes no right-around sense. But it’s what drives me.

I pass my parents as they look on with confusion. Lo stays back to spout o some excuse, and I head outside. In the freedom of the city. In the parking lot where the cars line up like black dots.

I unlock Nola’s Escalade that my parents I’m sure used to get here. Thankfully she’s not inside. I slide in the backseat and hike up my dress. Before I do anything, the door opens, and Lo crawls in. He coarsely grabs my ankle and yanks me towards him. I’m lost to these feelings.

I’m lost to him.

WHEN I COME DOWN from the high and a er the s mula ng hormones leave, everything rushes back and tears begin to burn. “What’s wrong with me?” I choke. I start to dress quickly, nding my bra li ered on the Escalade oor. Lo moves at a much more sluggish pace, and he looks sick to his stomach.

“Lil,” he says so ly and reaches out to touch my hand. I pull back instantly, too fran c and shamed for such comfort.

“No, we have to go before it ends. Maybe she won’t no ce…” As I open the car door, people already begin to pool out into the darkened parking lot, swinging gi bags in their hands. What? It’s over? I missed the en re thing?!

“Lily…” His suit jacket is draped on his arm, and he hesitates a moment before placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Did you know the me?” I ques on. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried,” Lo breathes. He swallows hard, pained. “Lil, I tried about ve

mes.”

“What?” I shake my head. “I don’t remember that. I don’t…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” He brings me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a cocoon. “Shhh, Lil, it’s okay.”

No it’s not.

I should have stopped the rst me. Why did I convince myself that this would be worth a high? I push him o , the guilt almost su oca ng me. “No, no, I’ve got to apologize.” I slide my feet into my heels, trying to focus. It’ll be okay. I’ll make up some lie about food poisoning and then say a few sorrys and smooth everything over.

It’ll be ne.

My heart beats as loud as the crowd pouring through the glass double doors. I don’t have to walk far to nd my parents. They’re already heading to the car with Poppy and Sam in tow.

They laugh and Poppy shows a picture to my mother on her Blackberry. When Poppy no ces me approaching, her face falters and the expression passes between the four of them. My presence has sucked all joy from their features.

“I-I,” I stammer. “I didn’t feel well. I had stomach cramps and was really dizzy. I don’t think I ate enough. We thought there might be food in the car.”

My father turns to Sam, completely ignoring me. “I have a Fizzle report you should see.” He ushers Poppy’s husband away and gives Lo a long glare as he passes by.

I evade my mother, who is probably searing me with a look that could freeze over Florida. That leaves Poppy.

“Honestly, I didn’t feel well. I would never miss Rose’s fashion show.” The lie burns my throat.

Poppy’s eyes rise to my hair and I subconsciously a en the wild strands. Lo touches the small of my back and I jerk away again.

“Your dress is wrinkled,” my mother tells me coldly before se ng her eyes onto Lo. “Maybe try to control your hormones during family events.” What? No.

“Lo didn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” Lo interjects and I stare at him dumbly. “I’m sorry. It was the wrong me. It won’t happen again, Samantha.”

My mother processes his words for a small moment before she nods slightly. With pursed lips she passes us for the car. Poppy remains, disappointment coa ng her eyes. “Rose is inside, but I don’t think she wants to talk to you right now. Give her some me to cool down.”

Poppy leaves before I can say anything else. Not that I have anything other than another pathe c apology.

I can’t wait un l tomorrow. It hurts too much to not at least confront her. I start towards the building but Lo grabs my wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to talk to her.”

“Did you not just hear Poppy?” Lo says with wide eyes. “Let Rose calm the fuck down. Unless you want your heart ripped out.” Maybe I do. Maybe I deserve it.

Connor pushes open the glass doors with his shoulder, his hands preoccupied with tex ng. I bolt for him, and when he looks up, his face darkens.

“How is she?” I ask, glancing past him for a peek.

He steps in front of me, blocking me from any visual or entrance. “Not happy,” he says, his voice ght.

“Where’s Ryke?” Lo wonders with a frown.

“He le . He was sick.”

“I think it was something we ate,” I say.

Connor’s eyebrows furrow in disbelief. “Was that before or a er you le to screw in the car?”

I stumble back from the blow to the gut. My shoulders hit Lo’s chest and this me I let him wrap an arm around my waist.

“Hey, back o , Connor,” Lo warns.

Connor barely blinks. “I’ve been around you both long enough to know that the bathroom breaks aren’t for synchronized bladder a acks. Which is

ne. Your sex life is frankly none of my business.” He glances back at the

building and then looks to me. “You should go,” he suggests.

“I want to apologize rst.”

“Why?” Connor’s tone stays at and edged. I’ve insulted him or disgusted him in some way. The one person I thought was unable to be repulsed by me.

“She needs to know I’m sorry.”

“She sold her line to Macy’s and has an o er from H&M,” Connor tells me. “Don’t ruin that by trying to make yourself feel be er. Just leave, Lily.”

I don’t know what else to do. So I take the advice and disappear.

THE NEXT DAY I try calling Rose’s cell almost every hour with no luck. A er my tenth a empt at reconcilia on, I toss the phone onto the oor and scream into my pillow. This is why I don’t do family func ons. This is why I don’t have friends. I disappoint everyone.

My door opens and I turn my back on Lo who shu es inside. “She’ll forgive you, Lil. Maybe not me…but de nitely you.”

I cringe. My mother thought his spiked hormones ruined the night, but it was all me. I hate that he’s taking the blame this me.

Lo sits on the foot of the bed and tenta vely places a hand on my ankle. Instantly, I pull away and rise to the headboard. “I don’t…” I mu er.

His eyebrows bunch together in concern. “Do you want to quit?” And what? Be celibate? I don’t even know what qui ng sex means. How do you quit something that’s engrained in human nature?

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Should I get rid of my porn? But what will happen a week from now when I realize this won’t work. I’ll just have to rebuy my en re stash. Not worth it.

“I’ll support you in whatever you decide,” Lo tells me.

Guilt stops me from having sex. Literally driving all of my hormones into a state of perpetual chas ty. I bury my head into my knees. I need to make a decision, but I’ve been ping-ponging between choices. It was one mistake, spurned from being around my family. I just have to separate myself again. Distance. Once I apologize to Rose, I’ll back o and everything will return to normal. Clean and compartmentalized.

“I’m going to talk to Rose,” I decide. “Then we’ll have sex.”

He kisses my temple. “I’ll be here, love.” He nibbles my ear.

I grab a pillow and playfully whack him in the chest. He smiles but respects my wishes and stops from sexily wrestling it from me. In part he looks a bit relieved. I know I haven’t been the best company, all mopey and self-involved.

I slide from the bed. I’m going to confront her now when I have the chance. Tomorrow she’ll be back at Princeton and I’ll be too busy trying not to fail my classes to drive and see her. “Do you think she’ll let me in?”

“Tough call. Depends if she nally got laid,” Lo says.

I give him a hard glare and he holds up his hands in peace. I’m proud that my sister hasn’t given up her V-card to just anyone.

Quickly, I brush my hair, grab my coat and leave Lo in the kitchen where he starts xing himself a mild a ernoon drink. On the way to Villanova I try to formulate a speech, but by the me I get to the house, everything

u ers away.

I dodge the sta that mills around the mansion and climb the grand staircase toward Rose’s old room where she stays when she visits. I knock a couple of mes before the door swings open. As soon as her yellow-green eyes hit me, her lips purse and her en re body goes rigid like she’s prac cing to be a guard for the Queen of England.

“We need to talk,” I say, glad that the door hasn’t hit me in the face yet. That’s something.

She con nues to block the entrance into her room. I’m obviously unwelcome in her sanctuary. I’ve really screwed up this me. “What is there to talk about? You had sex with Loren during my fashion show. I’m done being surprised or hurt or shocked, Lily,” she says, removed from the drama.

“I’m sorry.” I touch my chest. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I promise I’ll be a be er sister.”

Rose shakes her head, brows furrowing. “Stop, Lily. I’m red of your promises. You’ll always choose Lo. And the two of you will never give a shit about anyone else. You’re sel sh, and unless I want to go through life constantly disappointed, I’ve learned to accept that character aw. You should do the same.”

Her cellphone rings in the background and she glances back, s ll not o ering to let me inside. “I have to go. It’s Macy’s.” She shuts the door before I can even u er the word congratula ons. Maybe I should have started with that.

I contemplate her words on the ride home, and wonder if she’s right. If accep ng the fact that I’m sel sh and unable to change will help heal the guilt.

If not—maybe sex will.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I MAKE an e ort to call Rose more o en. For the most part she answers and gives me updates on Calloway Couture. Some mes she’s short with me, but it’s be er than slammed doors. While I try to heal my rela onship with Rose and ignore the rest of my family, Lo spends me with Connor at the gym.

Ryke con nues to follow us around, and since the fashion show where —for one strange moment—Lo and Ryke seemed to band together, they’ve been much more cordial. Ryke has pretended to scribble notes for his fake ar cle, but he usually tries to understand Lo. Last night, they started talking about their experience with nannies. One of Lo’s used to drink strawberry margaritas and was sloshed by noon. Apparently Ryke had a similar situa on, only his nanny let him sip her mimosas and bloody marys. He was only nine.

I pull a brush through my wet hair while Lo rubs a towel through his. Shower sex. Classy.

I almost can’t remember why I was so worried about my lifestyle. I’m more than capable of making everything work.

Today the professor posted the econ grades online. As usual, Lo refuses to divulge his grade, but I earned a C+, which is prac cally an A+ in Connor’s mind. He insisted on celebra ng. Only for Connor Cobalt can achievements wipe slates clean. Lo somehow squirmed back into his good graces too. A er the fashion show stunt, I thought we’d be blacklisted from any events with Connor. But I think it all comes down to Rose. His one human weakness happens to be my sister. And if she’s forgiven me, then she’s probably ordered him to do the same.

I’m s ll trying to untangle my hair when Connor arrives with Ryke. Lo leaves to answer the door and I snap one of the comb’s teeth. Really? How is that even possible? I’ve nally acquired a superpower—indestruc ble hair. Super lame.

My door stands open as I search for another comb. Or be er yet, an actual brush to tackle these knots. I hear the guys in the living room, but they must not realize it because their conversa on turns from the best pizza joints in Philly to me.

“Whose idea was it to ditch the fashion show?” Ryke asks.

“Is this for your ar cle?” Lo wonders.

“No, just curious.”

“I wanted to fuck her. So I did. And didn’t you ditch the show too? What’s your excuse?”

“I have a hot girlfriend that I wanted to fuck,” he banters. “No, really, I had food poisoning from that taco stand around the corner.”

“We eat there all the me,” Lo says. “I’ve never been sick.” Does he think Ryke’s lying? He has no reason to. Actually, he probably wishes he could have stayed to witness my demise.

“Then maybe it was bad milk in my cereal. I don’t fucking know,” he says exasperatedly.

Connor cuts in. “It was really your idea, Lo?”

I close my eyes, hoping Lo rejects some of the blame.

“She wasn’t exactly saying no.” Okay, I thought that would feel be er.

“It takes two to make love and only one person to make a mistake.” Connor must turn to Ryke as he says, “Write that down.”

“It’s all up here.” I imagine him poin ng to his head.

“Do you have any friends?” Lo wonders in an easy tone. “We have to be seriously gra ng on you by now.”

“Lily, de nitely. Connor, maybe. You’re okay.”

“Well you’re not my type of company either, Meadows,” Connor says casually, not o ended.

“I’m de nitely wri ng that one down for the ar cle.”

“You should just quote everything I say, and I expect my name in the headline. Like ‘Children of Tycoons, featuring Connor Cobalt, an upcoming entrepreneur to look out for.’”

“I’ll consider it, but my professor doesn’t like ending things with preposi ons. So I think I’ll end it with, ‘featuring Connor Cobalt: You’ll want to kiss his ass.’”

“Perfect,” Connor exclaims.

I nally nd a brush stu ed in my sock drawer and nish ba ling the knots. When I brace the kitchen, I see Lo pouring a glass of scotch. I sidle up next to him and he wraps an arm around my waist.

Ryke mouths, Distract him.

I shake my head. I am done trying to force Lo to do anything, not at the expense of our rela onship.

Ryke ips me o , and Connor’s too stuck in his cellphone to no ce. I s ck out my tongue at him, really mature, I know.

Lo grabs my chin and turns my head towards him. “Did you just s ck your tongue at him?” He wears an amused grin.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“She did,” Ryke rats me out.

“He ipped me o !” I refute.

Lo kisses me on the lips, shu ng me up. Oh… When he breaks, his warm breath hits my ear. “I love you.” My heart u ers at the words. Before I can reciprocate, his phone vibrates on the counter.

I catch a glimpse of the screen, my stomach dropping. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer it.”

Lo takes the phone and presses the receiver to his ear. “Hey Dad.” He walks towards the bedroom for privacy.

To preoccupy my mind, I go to the fridge and nd a Cherry Fizz, popping the can. I remember I owe Connor a thousand bucks for passing my econ exam. I’m not in the mood to sh out my checkbook right now, but I’ll plan a search for it later. It may very well be hiding underneath my bed. Or in a random purse.

“Connor,” I say, “Can I pay you later for our bet?”

One of Ryke’s eyebrows arches. “What bet?”

Connor distractedly answers and texts at the same me. “A thousand dollars on whether or not she would pass her econ exam. And Lily, I don’t want your money.”

“Oh…”

“However, I’d love a favor.” He has yet to look up at me.

Ryke lets out a short laugh. “You would choose favors over cash.”

Connor doesn’t argue.

“What kind of favor?” I ask.

“When you feel up to it, I think you should work for your sister. It doesn’t have to be now. Maybe some me in the spring. She’s looking to hire an assistant at Calloway Couture, and I know she’d love for you to be involved.”

My stomach sinks. “As much as I’d like to be working with my sister, I know nothing about fashion.”

“That’s why you’re an assistant and not running the company.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” And how will I be able to take sex breaks? I can’t believe that’s all I can think about: how to schedule in porn, how to sneak Lo through her o ces, how to nd me to feed my desires.

“Well, you lost the bet, so you owe me.”

“Can’t I just pay you?”

“No, that’s too easy.”

I sigh, wondering if I’ll be able to squirm out of the deal as it approaches later in my life. Probably not, but by the me it happens, maybe I’ll be okay with my decision. So I nod. “Okay. I’ll be her assistant some me in the future.”

“Near future.” He types something in his phone and then stands. “I have to take this.” He presses the cell to his ear and heads into the living room. Leaving me alone with Ryke.

I hop on the counters by the cabinets and face him.

Ryke glances over his shoulder at the hallway where Lo disappeared. “Does he like his father? I can’t tell.”

I shrug. “It depends on the day.”

He turns back to me. “What’s he like?”

“Jonathan Hale?”

Ryke nods.

“Lo doesn’t talk about him with you?” I’ve managed to dodge their boy ou ngs by having breakfast with Rose the past week. I enjoy it more than I’ll let on.

“Not much,” Ryke says. “Some mes, he curses his father out, and then other mes, he talks about the guy like he’s a god.”

Sounds about right. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“Look.” I lower my voice. “I know you’re not really wri ng an ar cle, so you don’t need to ask these things.”

Ryke rolls his eyes. “I fucking know that, Lily. I’m asking because I’m genuinely curious. No o ense, but I care about your boyfriend more than I care about you.”

I squint. “Are you sure you don’t have a crush on him?”

He groans. “Seriously, Lily?”

“What? It’s an honest ques on. You’re obsessed with Lo.”

“I’m not obsessed. Don’t use that word. I’m just curious. I want to know him. Why do I have to be in love with him to want such a thing?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s weird.” I can’t make sense of the strangeness. I feel like it’s there, but it’s not connec ng. “Are you sure there isn’t something more?”

“No. There’s not. Just go back to my rst ques on. How’s Jonathan Hale complicated?”

I focus on that and open my mouth, trying to form words to an enigma c man. He doesn’t physically hit Lo, but he’s not earning any Father of the Year awards either. In one minute, Jonathan can wrap an arm around him and call him a great son. And then next, he can spit out hateful words. Lo’s mood uctuates with his father’s temper, and whenever he interacts with him, you can see a switch. I assume that’s where Ryke’s concern originates.

A er I fail at describing Jonathan aloud, Ryke changes ques ons. “Do you talk to him a lot?”

I shake my head. “He makes an e ort to ignore me unless he wants to blame someone for Lo’s poor grades. Otherwise, I steer clear of the Hale household.”

“Has he remarried?”

“No. He brings a lot of girls over at night.” A er Lo’s mom le when he was a baby, Jonathan hired a nanny and started da ng again. The number of women stumbling out of the house in the morning, wearing the same dress the night before, grew exponen ally as the years cked by.

When I was sixteen, I remember shoveling scrambled eggs into my mouth while Lo tried to unlock his father’s liquor cabinet. Jonathan overslept a er a night of his own debauchery. A woman in a slim black dress carried her red pumps and shu ed through the kitchen. She refused to look at us, instead keeping her sight on the door like it was a nish line in a 5K race. And I had a sudden urge to bolt up from my chair and pull her aside. To ask her if she liked the thrill of one-night stands as much as me. To talk and gossip about being two girls completely in control of their bodies. At the me, I felt closeted, like a slut with a secret. But I stayed in my seat, le ng her leave and fantasizing about what she might have told me.

I don’t know if Lo realizes that I learned about one-night stands from his father’s numerous ings. I hope not. And I’d never tell him.

I return my focus back on Ryke who watches me too closely, as though reading my expression for his answers.

Lo enters the kitchen with a clenched jaw and a pocketed phone. Oh no.

“Everything okay?” Ryke asks.

“Fine,” Lo says unconvincingly. He grabs his jacket o the chair and a bo le of bourbon from the counter. “Let’s go.”

Ryke and I exchange worry, and we both follow Lo in close pursuit.

THE NECKLACE I gave Lo thumps against his chest as he dances with me. I touch the arrowhead and he clasps his hands in mine. He plants a light kiss on my cheek before distancing himself. I reach out, but he’s already gone, delega ng himself king of the bar stool.

He orders a slew of drinks while sweat gathers at the base of my neck, and I solo-dance on the oor, shedding o insecuri es with the hypno c music. I keep glancing back at the bar. Each me, Lo holds a new drink. I’ve evaded the phone call topic because Connor and Ryke always hang around him, and I’d rather not broach the subject in front of them.

A er three shots of tequila for Connor and Ryke, they head to the bathroom, and I grab my chance to speak to Lo alone.

“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder and slide into the nearby stool. Distracted, he stares at his glass of amber liquid—his mind far away from here. “What did your father want?”

Lo shakes his head and cups the glass ghter. “Nothing.”

I frown and try to push away the hurt from his unwillingness to share. The rejec on s ngs, but it may just be the wrong me. He catches my despondence and looks back towards the bathrooms to make sure Ryke and Connor aren’t returning soon. Then he twists his body towards me. Our knees knock together, and I have a sudden urge to lean in closer, to intertwine our legs and feel his lean muscles against my body. This is serious, I remind myself, pushing away those sel sh thoughts.

“It was about my mom,” Lo confesses. All dirty images evaporate, being replaced by sheer concern. “Somehow, he found out I contacted her.” Lo pauses and rubs his lips in deep thought. “He told me that she wanted nothing to do with me.” My chest constricts. “He told me that she doesn’t deserve to think about me or to even hear my voice.” He lets out a short, bi er laugh. “He said she was a fucking cunt.”

I cringe.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Lil, I think…I think I agree with him.” Wrinkles crease his forehead in u er confusion as he struggles to make sense of his warring emo ons.

“Your mother le you,” I say. “It’s okay to be angry at her. It doesn’t make you him.”

His lips press together as he processes my words, and I wish I had more to o er. He leans forward and kisses me lightly on the temple, a small thank you, before he turns around on his stool and ags down the bartender for another drink.

She pours bourbon in a Riedel glass and slides it into his hand.

“How long before you want to go to the bathroom?” I ask.

“I don’t know. My bladder is pre y big. I could wait at least another couple hours,” Lo says. He smiles into his glass, and I give him a sharp look.

He hooks his foot under the rung of my stool and slides it forward. Oh wow. My hip knocks into his, and he snakes an arm around my waist, melding me to his side. This is kind of nice. I feel his hand run up underneath my shirt and rub the so skin on my back.

I start dreaming about having sex right here. Lo taking me across the bar in a sultry heat. Fucking on a bar.

It’d be like our addic ons making love.

His lips ckle my ear. Back to reality. “What are you thinking?”

I think he knows because he smiles and nibbles my ear.

“Get a room,” Connor exclaims, sidling up beside me while Ryke sits down beside Lo.

“Or be er yet,” Ryke says, “a car.”

“How about Connor’s limo?” Lo asks with a smile. “Do you think your driver would mind?”

“I would mind,” Connor tells him. “You’re charming, Lo, but not enough to make me want to sit in your—”

“Stop.” I cringe and cover my ears. Gross. Guy-talk. No.

All three of them laugh, and I wave down the bartender. “What do you want?” Lo asks me.

“Just a beer.”

He nods and lets me order for myself. I slide my fake ID to the bartender, and she hands me a Blue Moon.

“You don’t want to go in those bathrooms,” Connor tells Lo. “They’re disgus ng. I think I might call the CDC when we leave. You need a hazmat suit just to walk in there.”

Lo grins at me and raises an eyebrow. No! Connor is just being over drama c.

“You rarely venture into smoky clubs,” I tell Connor. “I’m sure you’re just not used to a place that doesn’t have a bathroom a endant and complimentary mints a er you pee.”

“I’ve lowered myself to these standards before, but there are some places no human being should go.”

Lo smiles into another big gulp from his drink. I let the issue drop but plan to sneak into the restrooms later to make my own conclusions.

A er a couple more drinks, Lo starts asking Ryke ques ons and I struggle to hear over the cacophony of sounds: drunken college students, newly blas ng music, and Connor prac cally yelling into his phone as he talks to my sister.

“Yeah! I’d wear a peacoat!”

What? Is Rose asking him for fashion advice? The world really has gone mad.

He grimaces. “I can’t hear you! Hold on!” He presses his palm to the speaker. “Lily, can you save my seat?” Before I can agree he’s hopping o the stool and charging towards the door. Connor Cobalt doesn’t push his way through bodies; he saunters into the masses and waits with an impa ent scowl before people part and make man-made paths for him. I smile in amusement and turn back to place my coat on the stool.

But a blonde rushes to take it before I can claim the spot. Oops.

“I don’t have any siblings.” I overhear Ryke say. “It’s been pre y much my mom and me since I was a kid.”

Lo shi s, uncomfortable by the topic of mothers, especially a er his phone call with his father. So he redirects the conversa on. “How did you get into running?”

I’m surprised Lo chooses to ask ques ons and not be evasive like usual.

“When I was li le, my mom put me in a lot of races. She told me it was either tennis or track, and I picked track.” He laughs to himself. “I have a thing for running towards nish lines.” I can believe that.

“That’s funny,” Lo says bi erly, “My father always tells me that I run away from everything.”

“Do you?”

Lo’s cheeks sharpen, his lips forming a pout.

“Forget it,” Ryke says quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“How much of what I’m telling you are you going to exploit?” Lo asks.

Ryke frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“The ar cle,” Lo reminds him. “I’m expec ng to be in the tabloids by the end of the semester.”

“I wouldn’t sell you out.”

“Isn’t that what they all say?” Lo turns back to the bar and orders another drink. To me, he asks, “Want another beer?”

I shake my head. What I really want doesn’t reside at a bar, but Lo has jumped into the rabbit hole of self-involved drinking. I can’t pry the shot of whiskey from his ngers, and he’s had enough liquor to forget about my problems.

“We need to toast,” he tells us and holds up his drink in salute. “To Sara Hale. For being a fucking bitch.” He throws back his shot and I steal a glance at Ryke.

His eyes narrow to hard stone. “Maybe you should switch to water.”

“If I’m bothering you, you can always run towards the door.” He takes his next shot in hand.

Ryke tensely leans back and shoots me a wide-eyed look like do something.

No, I mouth. There’s nothing I can do. I see the end of the night. Lo wants to pass out. He wants to reach that point so he can drown his feelings. No ma er what I say, he’ll con nue to do it. Even if I plead and scream and beg Lo to stop, he won’t.

I wouldn’t.

He needs to wake up by himself, and nagging Lo will only push him from me. That’s not what I want. Or what I need.

Ryke shakes his head at me in disapproval and watches as Lo curses his mom again in a more callous toast.