Connor approaches with the trash bag. “She’s not,” he adds. “I was there.”
My cheeks redden, but they hardly notice. Or maybe they just don’t care. Yeah, that has to be it.
Before I can put the DVDs in the bag myself, Connor picks the bin from the floor and dumps it into the garbage. The fact that he’s in close contact to my porn has seriously knotted my stomach and heated my entire chest.
Connor says to Rose, “That last man was a complete asshat.”
She hesitates to agree with him, though I can tell she does.
“What’d he do?”
Connor ties the bag and sets it by the wall. He casts a furtive glance in Rose’s direction, all secrets, something that I had with Lo. My heart sinks, but I push the thoughts away quickly.
“Well, we showed up to the therapist’s office, and Rose introduced herself and told him her sexual problems—”
“Wait…” I hold up my hands, my eyes bugging. I look between the two of them, and they stand as though nothing is out of the ordinary. As though this story is fucking normal! I blink at Rose. “You did not pretend to be me, did you?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not, Lily.”
I exhale. Good. That would be embarrassing.
“I told him that I was a sex addict, but I gave him my personal information. You’re fine.”
Oh my God. “Why would you want to do that?”
She shrugs. “It was the only way this man would see me. I had to be a patient first.”
I cringe, refusing to look at Connor. I’m more shamed for her than I should be. I realize this may be what I feel soon. Maybe even tenfold. “And what happened?”
Rose scrutinizes my reaction and immediately closes a short gap between our bodies. She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t need to hear this. Not every therapist is like him, and I promise you, Lily, that I would never send you to one that I didn’t think was absolutely perfect.”
Right, but a glimmer of fear still strikes me cold. “Still, I want to know.”
Connor puts a couple fingers to his lips, inspecting me the same way my sister had, wondering if I can handle the truth.
“Please,” I add.
My pout must win them over—or at least Rose because she breaks first. “He asked me what my sexual preferences were, and I told him that I gravitate towards porn and one-night stands but nothing too kinky.” The weekend Lo left for rehab, I actually professed to Rose most of my secrets. I explained my habits of ditching family events （and even told her which ones） for a quickie in the bathroom or hookup at a club. Nothing earthshattering. Get in. Get high. Get out. That’s how I liked it with everyone but Loren Hale.
“And what happened?” I almost go to bite my fingernails, but I decide to cross my arms instead, keeping my palms buried beneath.
“He went through a list of things, asking me if they turned me on,” Rose says, unabashed.
Connor looks equally unaffected. God, they ooze confidence. He chimes in, “Fingering, dildos, vibrators, head, anal, doggy style—”
“She gets it,” Rose snaps.
He grins back, and I swear they have another “moment”—Rose looking like she wants to rip his face off, and Connor looking like he wants to kiss her for it. So weird.
I rub my hot neck. “Have you guys ever been embarrassed?” If this is a smart-person superpower, I totally want it.
Connor stares at the ceiling in thought. “Well, there was that one time…actually, no…” He shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t me.” His dark blue eyes meet mine. “I’m embarrassment free.”
“Me too,” Rose says.
I squint at her. “Really?” There has to have been a time…oh yeah. “What about when you were in sixth grade on a school field trip to D.C.?” I wasn’t with her, but her classmates rehashed the story with such theatrics that only a robot would go without feeling. My mom said she cried angry, embarrassed tears all the way home.
Rose’s eyes widen in alarm. “Do you want to know what the therapist said or not?”
“Are you blushing?” Connor asks Rose with a laugh. Connor: 2. Rose: 0. She’s going to kill me.
“Let’s get back to the subject at hand,” I say, trying to cover for her, but the damage is done.
Connor nudges her hip with his elbow. “What is it? Did you fall into the Reflecting Pool?”
“No,” she deadpans, glaring at the wall.
“Did you misquote Abraham Lincoln’s speech?”