Rose points a manicured finger at his chest. “You can’t discount an entire word just because you don’t think it has merit, Richard.” Ooh, she used his real first name. “You’re basically saying Foucault’s entire sociological studies were worthless.”
My head hurts trying to listen to them, but I’m strangely enthralled.
“Hey,” Lo cuts in, clapping his hands. They both look at us like we’ve just appeared in the room. “You two can discuss normal people and Faulkner later.”
“Foucault,” Rose corrects him.
“What?”
“It’s Foucault. Not Faulkner.”
“Whatever, they both start with an F,” Lo snaps. “You know what else starts with an F?”
“Fuck you,” Connor beats him to it. He also says it so casually—like he’s trying to answer an Academic Bowl question. I can’t help but break out into a grin.
Lo catches me smiling and gives me a look. I press my lips together to try to contain it, but it’s too hard and I probably seem goofy instead. The corner of his mouth quirks. My heart flutters because for the first time in three months, I can see these reactions.
He draws forward and places a light kiss on my nose. I didn’t even have to chant kiss me for him to do it. I bite my bottom lip, giddiness replaced by dangerous thoughts. Of yanking Lo into the bedroom, easing him onto the mattress, straddling his waist and skimming my fingers over each ridge in his abs. And then his half-smile will extend to his whole face, the grin enough to light up my body.
I could mumble some lame excuse to leave the meeting, but my throat tightens and guilt festers, even though I haven’t taken a step towards my bedroom yet. Planning out the events makes me feel like a failure. Why is that?
“You look good by the way,” Connor tells Lo.
“Thanks.”
I forgot they haven’t seen each other since Lo’s stint in rehab. I squint at Connor and put him on my pedestal of suspects. Maybe Ryke is right. In return for the info about my sex addiction, Connor could bribe his way into Wharton—the prestigious graduate school at Penn where he plans to go for an MBA.
Connor meets my gaze, and his brow arches like he knows I’m unlawfully incriminating him.
He can see straight through me.
My cheeks redden, and I immediately overturn my hasty judgments. There’s no way Connor would sell me out. He finds cheating too easy, and he’s more moral than 99% of our family’s social circle. So that leaves Ryke. And Rose. But Rose would be more likely to burn her entire fashion line—Calloway Couture—than throw me to the cannibalistic media. And she loves her collection like a mother does a baby.
Lo isn’t so quick to let Connor go free. “Did you tell anyone?” he asks.
“No one,” he says calmly.
Lo scratches the back of his neck. “We spent years without anyone knowing Lily’s secret. Then she tells you guys, and a few months later, she’s being threatened about it. I may have dropped out of college, but I can fucking add those pieces together.”
Connor looks him over once. “You were expelled from college, but it’s nice to hear that you’re taking accountability.”
Somehow that insult didn’t seem so bad. It’s all true.
Penn kicked Lo out after he stopped showing up to class, and he could have attended another college, but he decided to go to rehab and work on getting sober instead.
Lo sighs heavily, frustrated. He just wants answers. I think we all do.
“You’re missing a piece,” Connor tells him.
Lo tenses, and a little bit of hope surges through me. If anyone can uncover this mystery, it’ll be Connor Cobalt. And most likely Rose too.
“Lily just started seeing a sex therapist that specializes in addiction.”
“You think someone saw her go into the office?” Lo asks.
“It’s probable. Why don’t you try tracing the number?”
“It’s unknown.”
“So?”
“I’m sorry. Hacking into phone numbers just isn’t in my repertoire. Lily, you?” He looks to me, and I shake my head. “Didn’t think so.”
“Oh, no,” Connor says quickly, “I know you can’t do something that difficult. I just thought maybe you knew someone who could.”
Ryke cuts in, “You’re actually admitting you can’t do something, Cobalt?” He looks about ready to jump off the Queen Anne and call the press. Oh wait, he is the press. Maybe he’ll write an article about it tomorrow in The Philadelphia Chronicle and title it: “Connor Cobalt Doesn’t Know Everything!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Connor says, poker-faced. “I know how to do it. But I won’t. It’s illegal.”
Ryke rolls his eyes and grips his water bottle tighter. I guess that article won’t be happening.
Rose takes a dainty sip from her tea and says, “It’s still illegal if you pay someone to do it for you.”
“And if you’re smart about it, you won’t be caught.”
That thing I said about Connor being moral? Scratch that. He masks his emotions so much that I didn’t see his cunning ways. Still, I don’t think he would risk losing Rose for a seat at Wharton. At least, I hope not.
“Lo and I already discussed tracing the number,” I speak up. “All my contacts know my family. My parents would start asking questions if I hired a private investigator.” And the whole goal is to keep them in the dark as long as possible. I’m thinking forever is a good amount of time.
Lo nods. “We also don’t want to involve any unreliable third parties. I don’t want to be screwed over by them.”
I perk up as I think of an example. “Like a hacker that lives in his parent’s basement.”
“Yeah,” Lo says. “I don’t see that going very well.”
“I have a trustworthy PI that I can hire,” Connor says. “That’s not a problem.”
Rose smiles into her last sip of tea.
“I’ll pay you back,” I tell Connor.
“I prefer favors.”
Okay, that sounds sexual. When I think of favors, I picture blow jobs.
My face immediately heats, and I try looking away but everyone is already staring at me. I’m doomed.
“Lily!” I hear three voices in varying pitches chastise me. Lo puts an arm over my shoulder and I restrain myself from hiding in his bicep. I will not cower.
I point to Connor accusingly. “He said it, not me!”
“I wasn’t talking about sexual favors,” Connor refutes calmly.
I point to my chest now. “Sex addict, here. My brain has an automatic setting. I’m not going to be thinking party favors.”
Bringing up the words sex addict was a bad idea, and I regret it as soon as Ryke says, “Speaking of being a sex addict.” I could punch him. “How’s your recovery going to work now that Lo’s back? Are you two allowed to have sex together?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter. “And I don’t think I should be discussing it with you.”
“She can have some sex,” Lo clarifies, apparently un-complicating it.
I want to disintegrate just a little.
“What is some sex?” Ryke asks.
Okay, a lot—I want to disintegrate a lot, a lot.
“I can’t talk about it,” Lo says evasively. But really he means: I can’t talk about it in front of Lily. Because I have no idea what “some” entails either. It’s going to drive me bonkers.
I also don’t like that Lo is so quick to share intimate details of our private lives, but I guess he’s trying to be better about opening up. And it must be easier to focus on my addiction than his own.