I rub my eyes. I didn’t sleep much. After leaving Sam’s room, I went back to Grace’s and took a long, hot shower, as if I could wash away the mistake of letting him touch me, letting him fuck me. Use me. When my skin was red from the hot water and my fingertips raisins, I turned off the tap and leaned against the cold tile, where I cried until I was too exhausted to cry anymore. Then I climbed into bed and attempted to sleep.

“So are you and sexy George a thing now?” she asks.

“No. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.” My head is pounding and I wish she’d stop talking.

For a minute, I think she’s heard my mental plea, because she’s quiet for the first time since she got out of bed. Then she asks, “Who’s the guy?”

I turn to her. “What?”

“The one who screwed you up? Is he back home?”

“Yeah. Someone back home. That’s . . . why I left.”

“I’m hoping you’re about to tell me it’s not Sam Bradshaw. I’m hoping you aren’t hopelessly in love with the better half of Sambrina.”

“Sambrina?”

“That’s what they’re calling them. Isn’t it special? So, this is the part where you tell me he’s not the reason you didn’t screw Sexy Boy George’s brains out, but I’m afraid I know better.”

I keep my face neutral, unsure what to say.

She cuts her eyes to me. “We’re going to need to come up with a plan. If Sabrina knows you’re still into her man, you’re as good as fired.”

“We don’t need a plan. I’m not going to have anything to do with him.” The words cut into me, but I force myself to say what I decided last night had to be. “Never again.”

Chapter 10

Sam

I’m in the green room before our interview when my phone rings and I see my sister’s name on the display.

“Hello?”

“Big day, big interview,” Ryann says.

I’m surprised to get a call from my little sister before my television interview with Sabrina. The only time I’ve seen Ryann since the video leaked was briefly at the bank on Friday morning. Every time she looked at me, she feigned a gagging sound. Or maybe she was legitimately gagging, I don’t know. Either way, she’s more than a little disgusted to have seen an unwelcome picture of her big brother’s sex life, so I didn’t expect to hear from her today.

“Thanks, I guess. What do you need?”

“Just calling to say good luck before my brother’s national television debut. Why is that weird?”

“Ryann?”

“I’m wondering if you called Liz. Or saw her. Or . . . anything. I’m wondering about Liz. Worrying about her, I guess.” She sighs into the receiver. “God, I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I know about you and Christine.” Gag. “I knew when it was happening.” Gag, gag. “So I’m pretty sure that’s an old video and it’s not Sabrina. Not that I’ve watched it because . . .” More gagging.

“Never repeat that.”

“I won’t! God, I swear I’m not out to tell anyone, but I was hoping you would tell . . . someone.”

“Who? Why?”

“Did you tell Liz?”

“I didn’t.” I cut my eyes across the room to where Sabrina is chatting up one of the producers. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s concocting some doozy of a story about our first date or some shit.

“Why not?” Ryann asks.

“Because this has nothing to do with her, Ryann.”

“I liked her,” she says softly.

“Yeah, well, apparently that runs in the family.” No need to pretend with Ryann. Ian told her everything about Dad’s account. How Liz was supposed to meet Riverrat at the family cabin that night, but I showed up instead. She knows the whole sordid mess. I’m not sure how my father thought we wouldn’t eventually find out, given he was using a program on which all of his children have administrative rights. Maybe he wanted me to know, since he likes to take things from me. Maybe Liz was just another power play.

“She thought he was you,” Ryann says under her breath. The way she speaks so quietly makes me wonder if our mom is around. “And she stopped talking to him the minute she learned he wasn’t. You read the transcript. You know this.”

“I’m not having this conversation right now.”

Sabrina cocks her head at me from across the room, worry creasing her brow. I attempt a reassuring smile.

“Call her,” Ryann says. “Tell her the truth.” Then she hangs up.

“Is everything okay?” Sabrina calls when I remove the phone from my ear.

“Just fine. Ryann was calling to wish us luck.”

“She’s such a sweetie!”

She returns to her conversation with the producer, and for the fortieth time today I pull up Lizzy’s number on my phone. She’s not replying to my texts or returning my calls, and my gut twists at the sight of her face. The image I assigned to her contact information is a snapshot I took while we were in Chicago. She’s curled up with a book on the couch with one of my button-up shirts on and nothing else. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders and the makeup’s been washed from her face. She’s fucking stunning just like that. I’m the world’s biggest dumb-ass for letting things end the way they did Saturday night.