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and bones is not a good look.
    Rose puts her hands up to Connor’s chest, blocking him from
scooting closer. “A brother thing? What’s going on here is not normal between brothers . You don’t see Greg Brady
thanking Peter for not having sex with Marsha.”
    “No because that would be incest,” Connor says.
    She shoots him a look. “It’s not incestuous because Marsha is only the stepsister.”
    “True.” His eyes flit to her lips and back to her sharp gaze.
“And I’m surprised you used the word ‘normal.’ I thought we agreed last week
that it’s arbitrary and too subjective to have any real merit.”
    She gives me a look like why
am I with him again?
    I smile and really want to say: Because you’re two nerd stars, orbiting and meant to kiss. But that
won’t make sense to anyone but me.
    Rose and Connor have had an odd three months together, constantly breaking up over intellectual
disputes like this and reuniting only a week later. Their relationship is
something I can’t quantify or really understand. I think maybe you have to have
a higher IQ or something. But I love watching them like Lo and I do Japanese
cartoons. We can’t comprehend what they’re saying, but it’s still fun to tune
in every week.
    Rose points a manicured finger at his chest. “You can’t
discount an entire word just because you don’t think it has merit, Richard.”
Ooh, she used his real first name. “You’re basically saying Foucault’s entire
sociological studies were worthless.”
    My head hurts trying to listen to them, but I’m strangely
enthralled.
    “Hey,” Lo cuts in, clapping his hands. They both look at us
like we’ve just appeared in the room. “You two can discuss normal people and Faulkner
later.”
    “Foucault,” Rose corrects him.
    “What?”
    “It’s Foucault .
Not Faulkner.”
    “Whatever, they both start with an F ,” Lo snaps. “You know what else starts with an F?”
    “Fuck you,” Connor beats him to it. He also says it so
casually—like he’s trying to answer an Academic Bowl question. I can’t help but
break out into a grin.
    Lo catches me smiling and gives me a look. I press my lips
together to try to contain it, but it’s too hard and I probably seem goofy
instead. The corner of his mouth quirks. My heart flutters because for the
first time in three months, I can see these reactions.
    He draws forward and places a light kiss on my nose. I
didn’t even have to chant kiss me for
him to do it. I bite my bottom lip, giddiness replaced by dangerous thoughts. Of
yanking Lo into the bedroom, easing him onto the mattress, straddling his waist
and skimming my fingers over each ridge in his abs. And then his half-smile
will extend to his whole face, the grin enough to light up my body.
    I could mumble some lame excuse to leave the meeting, but my
throat tightens and guilt festers, even though I haven’t taken a step towards
my bedroom yet. Planning out the events makes me feel like a failure. Why is
that?
    “You look good by the way,” Connor tells Lo.
    “Thanks.”
    I forgot they haven’t seen each other since Lo’s stint in
rehab. I squint at Connor and put him on my pedestal of suspects. Maybe Ryke is
right. In return for the info about my sex addiction, Connor could bribe his
way into Wharton—the prestigious graduate school at Penn where he plans to go
for an MBA.
    Connor meets my gaze, and his brow arches like he knows I’m unlawfully
incriminating him.
    He can see straight through me.
    My cheeks redden, and I immediately overturn my hasty judgments.
There’s no way Connor would sell me out. He finds cheating too easy, and he’s
more moral than 99% of our family’s social circle. So that leaves Ryke. And
Rose. But Rose would be more likely to burn her entire fashion line—Calloway
Couture—than throw me to the cannibalistic media. And she loves her collection
like a mother does a baby.
    Lo isn’t so quick to let Connor go free. “Did you tell
anyone?” he