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“Promise me you won’t watch the damn thing?” he asks, walking into my room.
“Absolutely.” I wait for him to show signs of relief before I finish with a, “Not. I am totally watching it; are you kidding me? It went viral.”
Shaking his head, he points to the bed, “Go lie down, and I’ll get you some clean tissues.”
“Bathroom’s right there.” I nod to the door as I push down the covers, which I apparently slept on last night instead of under, then slide in, trying to be careful not to bleed on my bedding, because that would be the kiss of death to this pink cloud of comfy.
He walks back into the room with a washcloth in one hand and his other hand full of tissues.
Theo Rivera is in my room. My. Room. And I’m a shitshow, which is arguably his fault. I mean, kinda, sort of.
He looks down before taking the step that would put him within reach and lets out a sigh.
I glance down at the floor and inwardly die.
“You found my other account.”
“In my defense, by the time I was sixteen, I had honed skills that the FBI and CIA wish they had.”
He sets the iPad on my bed, sits down, a soft smile on his lips as he takes away the tissues, and then … then Theo Rivera gently cleans the blood from under my nose.
“I’m surprised that none of my sisters have called me and busted my balls about that damn video.”
“Did the person who posted tag your college account or the other Theo account?”
He chuckles silently. “I would have called it a finsta, but you corrected me last night.”
He pulls the damp cloth away and looks over my face. “All better, but …” He balls up the washcloth and shoots it like a basketball into the clothes basket. Then he lies on his back, scooping up my iPad before lying back down.
“Your sisters are stunning. All long and lean like you, with your mom’s good boobs.”
To that, he shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t really wanna think about their boobs, but I’m sure my mom would appreciate that.”
“Probably not from you, though, right?”
“Probably not.” He chuckles in agreement.
I roll to my side and face him. “The Theo on this page looks like a lot of trouble.”
“You think?”
“Oh yeah, he has the same light in his eyes as Theo at the football game had when he was—”
“Let’s not do third person. It’s freaking me out.” He smiles at a photo.
“Feels a little detached and safer.” I lean in and see that he’s looking at a family photo. I count nine and know there are now seven.
I’m about to ask him about his brother when he sets the iPad on his chest. “You have zero problem saying what you’re thinking, so tell me something, Riley Park: what the hell happened last spring?”
Fuck.
“I wanna try this”—he motions between us—“but unless I know what I did to drive a wedge, then there isn’t anything I can do to ease your pretty little mind or fix my shit. If it’s time, I can promise to give you more. If it’s—”
Fuck it.
“If I tell you, you have to promise to tell me the truth, and you have to promise not to—”
“I’m not telling anyone shit, Ri. Let’s have it.”
