Scary, or hot? I clenched my thighs beneath the table. Both.

“Whips,” I repeated dumbly.

“Crazy, right?” Katie yawned and covered her mouth, which was lined with pale pink lipstick. She looked perfectly put-together—the type of girl I always envied—hair straightened and highlighted, designer clothes, flawless makeup.

I was about to ask what other “really hardcore stuff” Bethany had mentioned when a pale-faced Chrissy touched my shoulder.

I jumped in my chair.

“Oh, hey.” I stood, but curiosity tethered me to the table. “Sorry, Katie, I have to go. Could we maybe talk again sometime?”

“Well, we seem to keep bumping into one another.”

“Yeah. Maybe we could—” Get drinks this weekend, I wanted to say, and talk more. Was that too forward? I couldn’t tell what sounded normal right now. Visions of whips and Matt filled my mind. Rough sex, the way we liked it. The fine line between pleasure and pain. Passing that line, obliterating it.

“I need to sit down,” Chrissy said. She moved away and I lingered.

“I hope I see you again,” I said to Katie. “I’d like that.”

Katie smiled and nodded.

Too rough … he’d hit her … whips.

My thoughts swirled as I took a seat across from my sister.

The things Katie said hadn’t frightened me. If anything, I missed Matt and I wanted to hold him and remember how real he felt. I had hurt him last night when I questioned our engagement. God, how stupid could I be? First he had cold feet, now it was my turn.

“Thanks for coming,” I said to Chrissy. “You look better today.”

She did look better, but only because she was wearing real clothes—a loose gray T-shirt dress and flip-flops. Her hair was growing out, the black mop stiff with product, and silver hoops lined her ears. She lit a cigarette. I snatched it from her fingers and put it out.

“What the hell?” she growled.

“Uh, you’re pregnant?”

“Yeah, like I fucking forgot.” Chrissy rolled her eyes and started to light another.

“If this is how you’re going to be, I’ll leave.”

“So leave.” She took a drag. “You’re the one who wanted to talk to me.”

“What, you don’t want to talk to anyone?”

She slanted her gaze toward the deli. Last night’s vulnerability was gone. Today, she’d tucked her concerns behind a snarky exterior, and suddenly the pregnancy was no big deal.

“It’s not like I plan to keep it anyway.”

“So you’ve definitely decided on an abortion?”

“I hate that word,” she snapped, “and I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well, shouldn’t you…” I took a deep breath. This was what I didn’t want Matt to know. “Shouldn’t you tell Seth? I mean, if you’re sure he’s—”

“It’s him. There hasn’t been anyone else for a while.”

I closed my eyes and chilled in the late spring heat. Seth Sky, Matt’s brother, was the father of my sister’s child? How completely fucked-up.

“Do you know how far along you are?”

“About eight weeks.”

“Okay…” I tracked back mentally to the end of April. It was a bad time, and because of that, I remembered it well. I was hiding at the Econo Lodge, separated from Matt. Chrissy kept me company some nights. She’d tried to cheer me up. She’d even …

My eyes widened swiftly.

Two months ago, Chrissy had coaxed me out of my motel room and took me to a suite at Four Seasons, where Seth and his bandmates were staying. Chrissy had a thing with the bass guitarist. But she also had a huge crush on Seth.

That was the night I gave Seth a hand job.

Then I left.

I left my sister with those deadbeats, in that drug-ridden hotel room.

Cue imagination.

Seth exits the bedroom, depressed, prowling. He sees Wiley and Chrissy. Wants me. I’m gone. Maybe he offers her coke, the way he offered it to me. Maybe she tries it, the way I tried it. Whatever really happened, I know how that night ended.

It ended with Seth and my sister having sex.

“At Four Seasons,” I whispered.

Chrissy frowned. “Yeah, that night. How did you know?”

“Good guess. And you haven’t talked to him since?”

“No,” she said. “It was a one-night kind of deal.”

“Are you still dancing?”

“Dancing”—that’s how we referred to my sister’s job at the Dynamite Club, a strip club in Boulder. The job suited her well. She was wild and exhibitionistic.

“Yeah, but the morning sickness is messing with my sleep. Plus, I can kiss my job good-bye if I blow up with a baby. I’m kind of screwed.”

“Well, don’t let that influence your decision. Do you need money?”

“I’ve got some saved. I mean, not enough to pay for…”

The abortion. She couldn’t or wouldn’t say it. And, obviously, she still lived without insurance, as she had for the last several years.

“I’ll pay,” I said, “if you decide to go that route. Or if you keep it. I’ll help you no matter what. Don’t worry about anything.”

My sister straightened in her chair.

“Do you even have that kind of money?”

“I do.” Reflexively, I pulled my left hand onto my lap. “We do.”