“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 time. You’re useless until 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 still undecided about being here. My cowardly side says to go back to the kitchen and wait for Lo to talk, to apologize, to dosomething before I confront him with simmering heat in my pupils.
But here I am. Not able to move forward. Not able to flee. 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 first 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 question.
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 unfiltered words. He swallows and glances towards the wall of cabinets where his crutch hides. I can almost see him counting in his head before he turns his attention 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 fingernails. “So…you didn’t think I had sex with him?”
His eyes fall to the floor, and then very softly, he says, “I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you did.”
My lungs suffocate 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 time 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 relationship? At being with me? At trying to drink less? He doesn’t elaborate whatthisactually means. So I’m left to guess. He finds a beer in his drawer and twists off the cap, a surprising choice considering the low alcohol content. Weirdly, it’s almost like a peace offering, an “I’m sorry” for Loren Hale. Only he can apologize with alcohol.
“Why didn’t you answer your calls?”
“My phone died sometime during the night. I didn’t know it until I woke up.” He motions to his desk where his cell docks in the charger. Then he edges closer to me and pries my hand off the door, intertwining his fingers in mine. He spends an awfully long time staring at the way they lace together.
“Where were you?” I breathe.
He licks beer off 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 lifts my arms around his shoulders and then slides his hands on my hips. Lo sways to the beat, drifting, 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 little, appearing confused.
“Maybe you’ll feel better 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 letting words slide off his tongue. “I called my mom.” Before I can ask, he says, “I don’t know why. I don’t know…” His nose flares, holding back an avalanche of emotion.
