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 isnotthat kind of girl. She’s talented and driven and determined?—”
“I said I wouldprobablymarry 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 fits Ryke perfectly. And he wears a pair of Lo’s jeans, the thighs a little tight but other than that, they fit as well. Neither guy says a word, the tension eking from their stiff postures. Lo settles back beside me while Connor offers up his chair to Ryke.
Ryke nods in thanks and takes a seat. Connor drags the red recliner closer to our little group, and the rumble of the dryer fills the short-lived void.
Connor turns his attention on Ryke and says, “So you’re writing an article 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 flashes 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 participant, and your story will have a happy ending. Everyone wins.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I stiffen, not sure how Ryke’s going to cover this one.
“No, I don’t like it.”That’shis lie? I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t have expected something better.
Lo rubs his lips. “Then you’re not going to follow Connor too?”
Ryke briefly 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 offense, 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 fingers in mine. “Are you going to ask me questions?”
“Do you have something against them?” Ryke wonders. “Question-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 questions is my forte.” I can believe that.
Lo glowers at the ceiling. “Then I have full discretion to ask you anything personal. How’s that for a stipulation?”
“Sounds fair.”
Lo doesn’t need to tell me that he hates the situation. His icy posture says it all. I understand his hesitation. There’s an underlying judgment that comes with surrounding ourselves with other people. We’ve been cut off 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 dimwitted.
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 fine.” He finishes off 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 figure 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 fire extinguisher.”
Ryke nods to me. “Who’s he talking about?”
