“Did you, though?” She pauses. “You look different.”
“Different how?”
“Happy. Like you’re thinking about something.” Her face lights up. “Or someone. Oh my gosh, is it a woman? Please tell me it’s a woman.”
“It’s not…”
“Your love life has been dry. Until now?”
“My love life is fine.”
“Your love life is nonexistent,” Rowan corrects, leaning against the wall. “When was your last actual date?”
“Define actual.”
“A date where you knew her last name and weren’t just there for a hookup.”
I flip him off.
My phone buzzes. Riley gasps when I check it immediately.
“Who are you texting right now?” she asks.
Rowan brings out a bulging trash bag from behind his back. “I raided your room.”
I glance at the full bag and shrug.
He turns to Riley, eyes widening. “He didn’t say anything.”
“It’s someone,” she announces triumphantly. “Rowan, he’s got a girl.”
“I don’t have a girl.”
“Then why are you smiling at your phone like it just proposed?”
I flip her off. She laughs as I read the message.
Ivy:
Okay, I need your opinion on something. Completely hypothetical. If you had to spend several months working closely with someone who saw you in a deeply embarrassing situation, would you A) pretend it never happened B) address it immediately and move on or C) fake your own death and move to Argentina?
I bite back a laugh.
She is absolutely talking about seeing me naked.
King:
Argentina’s tempting. Good food. Fresh start. But first—define deeply embarrassing.
Ivy:
Nice try. Not telling.
King:
Worth a shot. Then I vote option D. Make a joke. Act like you’re not bothered—even if you are.
Ivy:
