“He has a point,” Conner tells me.
Uh, shouldn’t he be siding with me? He’s my tutor. “Don’t tell me you find small talk draining. That’s your thing.”
Connor cups his champagne glass. “It sounds exhausting for him. I’d enjoy a talk with your sisters.”
“By the way,” I say. “How was your conversation with Rose? You’re still in one piece, so I presume it went well.”
Lo chokes on a sip of whatever’s in his flask, and I pat his back. “Excuse me,” Lo says. “You talked with Rose? Like had a fully formed conversation?”
Connor nods. “I even invited her tonight.”
Lo groans. “You did not invite the ice queen here.”
“Hey,” I shoot back. “That’s my sister. She has a good heart.” I pause. “You just have to be liked by her first.”
“Or be related to her,” Lo points out. True.
“So she’s coming?” I wonder, kind of nervous. I’d rather not explain Lo’s intoxication to her, especially since he’s supposed to be reformed from his boozing, careless days. It’s his birthday, and she’ll add that to his list of negative attributes and reasons why he’s not good for me.
Connor says, “She’s not coming.” Is that disappointment in his voice? “She said she’d rather skin my cat.” He smiles. Like actually smiles at that. Oh my God, were they flirting with each other over the phone?
Lo relaxes and mutters, “Thank God.”
Connor nods to me. “By the way, what are you supposed to be?”
Am I going to get asked that all night? I guess I should prepare. I flash my plastic claws. “X-23.”
He squints, confused.
“The girl version of Wolverine, technically his female clone.”
“Oh. Okay, cool. You kind of look like a hooker with knives though.” What?! That is not helping my confidence. “Lo, you need to prepare yourself for this party. So many guys are going to hit on her.”
Just when I thought I snuffed out my insecurities.
Lo gives me an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. The thought of guys everywhere used to be exciting—a playground for my compulsions—but now, I couldn’t be more scared. Maybe a party is a bad idea.
To Connor, Lo says, “Good, it’ll give her practice saying no.” Oh, that was mean. I push him off, untangling his arms from mine. He focuses on tipping bourbon into the tiny opening of his flask, not caring anyway. He would have before he talked to his dad. He might have teased me back and whispered something dirty in my ear. Now, his mind has switched tracks.
“I can say no,” I defend with an unconvincing mutter. I haven’t tested this theory since we’ve started dating.
Lo caps his flask and looks to Connor. “If you see her flirting with someone, just yank her off him.”
“Lo,” I warn with wild eyes. What the hell is Connor going to think? That I really am a whore with claws?! My entire body heats and I struggle not to bury my face into my hands.
“You two are so weird,” Connor says, very casually.
Being called weird by Connor is like a unicorn calling a horse magical. It makes no damn sense, which is why Lo and I break into smiles, even if Lo’s mood has somewhat shifted since the phone call.
Abruptly, the car jerks to a stop. Gilligan mumbles out a “we’re here” and unlocks the doors. I press my nose to the window, ritzy suburbs right in view. A glowing mansion sits at the top of a steep hill, lighting up the dark sky. Out of all the parties, Connor said he picked the one that would have the best food. In the same sentence, he mentioned that I looked like I needed a good meal.
More cars roll up to the circular drive, and we climb out to confront the hoopla. A fountain crests the center, red, bloody water spurting from the stone. Zombies are staked in the green lawn, so life-like that I thought the gory limbs and droopy mouths were facilitated by paid models. Upon closer inspection, they’re nothing but silicon, prosthetics and paint.
We follow Connor up the stone stoops, and he bangs a bronze knocker. While we wait for an answer, more people gather behind us.
The door whips open quickly, loud music booming from inside. George Washington or possibly Mozart stands in the archway, holding a champagne glass. A white pill fizzles at the bottom of the gold liquid.
“Connor Cobalt!” He grins and sways on his feet, the white wig slightly off-kilter.
“Hey.” They go in for the bro-hug. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”