“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 bottles, not sure the steps to take. Ryke whispers to me, “So you’ve been distracting him with sex?”
I blush. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he admits, “but it’s not entirely 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 entire cushion separating us.
“He fell off 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 atmefor putting him in this position, but he resists. “I don’t see how that question relates to your article.” 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 starting this now?” Lo snaps.
“No time 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 fine.”
I whisper very softly to Ryke, “You’re annoying him so much that he’s drinkingmore.”
“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 filled 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?”
