Page 210 of Mad Girl

Eleanor had drifted in, knelt down next to us girls, and jerked me against her bony chest. Eleanor’s hug had startled me, because Eleanor didn’t hug.

Gabe—standing opposite our parents, knuckles white as he gripped the back of the other sofa—had stared at my dad with such ferocity behind his dark gaze that it had frightened me. Then he’d left the room, slamming the back door behind him.

Something else about that day niggled at me, but I couldn’t pin down what it was, your voice snapping me back to the present. You ducked to meet my gaze.

“Libby’s finished with the speech,” you said. “It’s over.”

“Oh.” But I didn’t want to give up the warm, tingly feeling of having one whole side of your body pressed to mine, so I grabbed your phone and clicked on your feed, ever-curious for a peek into your private world. A snapshot of Michael and Sienna popped up first, posted to her account. This, of course, received a giant eye roll from me. Next, a shaved Brussels sprouts salad recipe from a foodie account, latte art from a local coffee place, a picture of Rhys playing in the rain via Claire, an account devoted to books, another one devoted to food. I scrolled and scrolled, and pretty soon, I noticed an interesting detail.

“Wow,” I said, eyebrows lifted. “You follow more than one of these fashion influencers.”

“And?”

“And they’re all, like, insanely hot guys.”

You looked over my shoulder. “I haven’t really noticed.”

I laughed out loud.

“What?” you asked innocently, the hint of a smile on your face.

“I find that hard to believe. I mean, let’s say this one right here walked up to me on the street—I’d go a little weak in the knees.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. What about you?”

“I’d probably…chat for a bit, then move on.”

The only reason I could remain so cavalier about this hot stranger on your phone? He lived in Vienna, and therefore posed absolutely no threat to me. “And if he asked for your number? Asked you to go out sometime?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Why are you avoiding these questions?”

You scratched at your jaw, chuckling under your breath. “Isn’t it possible I follow this person for the fashion inspiration I receive from him, and nothing else?”

“But isn’t it also possible you’re attracted to this Adonis, whose ass happens to look amazing in a tight pair of dress pants?”

“Look,” you said, reaching for the phone, “I find him attractive, alright? Can I have my phone back, please?”

“Sure,” I said, pulling the device beyond your grasp. “After you tell me why you’re being so weird about this.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re definitely being weird. You’re trying to avoid having this conversation, even though it’s no secret to me that you’re also attracted to guys. Among other little clues here and there, I did once hear you hit on your own brother…before you knew he was your brother.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, tossing your head back. “Don’t remind me.”

“And we can talk about it, you know? You don’t have to hide that about yourself.”

“I don’t hide it. I just don’t see the point of talking about it.”

“Is this because of your adoptive dad?”

Your gaze flashed. “What does this have to do with my adoptive dad?”

“Michael said⁠—”