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“You were with Pearson.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So what?”

“Why?” Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, and I finally understand what he’s getting at. A jolt goes through me, first making me feel ice cold, and then much too warm. He thinks I went to Pearson to rat him out. I start to feel too warm in an unpleasant way, as I’m flooded with disbelief, disappointment, and then anger that he would actually believe something like that.

“To tell him about us, of course,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Actually, I’m more than a little hurt. I’ve shown more of myself to him than most other people in the world, but he still thinks I could do something like that.

But he can’t know that.

I ignore the voice in my head. I don’t care what he knows or doesn’t know.

“Did you?” There’s panic in his voice, real panic, and I instantly feel guilty.

I remain silent and press my lips together angrily. It’s childish and unnecessary, but I can’t help it. What other people think of me is too important to me. What he thinks of me. I hate it, but I can’t just turn it off.

“Lia, damn it! This isn’t some stupid game, okay? My job is at stake here. Did you tell him or not?” Phoenix snaps.

“No,” I say.

His shoulders slump, and he breathes a noticeable sigh of relief. “Really?”

“Of course I didn’t.” I roll my eyes. “I told you yesterday that it would be just as bad for me as it would for you if the truth comes out. We had a deal, remember? How could you seriously think that I’d run to Pearson the next morning and tell him everything?”

He looks embarrassed. “What else should I think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Something else,” I snap at him. “I was just there to give him some documents from my summer course in London. That’s all.”

“Really? That’s the only reason?”

I snort and then say, “Yes. But it’s nice that you immediately assumed the worst of me.”

“Lia—”

“No, seriously. Give me one reason why you think I would do something like that.” I should shut up, forget about it, leave. But I stand there rooted to the spot, staring at him, too angry and hurt just to walk away.

“Because you think I have a girlfriend and you’re—”

“Do you really think I’m jealous?” I say, interrupting him sharply. There’s a loud rushing sound in my ears, and it doesn’t matter if there’s even a grain of truth in it.

“I don’t know you. I have no idea what you do or why.”

I flinch. His words cut deep into my heart, hurting more than they should.

“Obviously,” I reply, my voice trembling with anger, when what I really want to say is that he’s wrong. He knows me very well, and he just needs to remember that. “I’m not jealous.”

“And I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says quietly, almost as though he’s talking to himself and not to me.

“What?” Confused, my brow creases and my pulse races. He didn’t really just say that, did he? I must have misheard him.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he repeats, his voice strained.

“But you said you did.” Stunned, I stare at him.

“No, you assumed that. I just didn’t correct you.”

“Why not?” My head is spinning.

“Because I’m an idiot. Because I thought it would make things easier. Instead, it just made everything more complicated.”