I glance at him, surprised and grateful, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are on Parker.
“You want milk?” he asks my brother.
“Nah.” Parker sips his mug, watching Nate carefully. “I like it black as my soul.”
I snort, to cover my nervousness.
Parker’s gaze flips to me. “You’re never going to catch a man if you keep snorting. I’ll have to call you Miss Piggy instead of Sweet P.”
I shoot him a death glare. “How’s the parade of Victoria’s Secret models treating you, Parker? Have you figured out that happiness does not reside at the end of the bimbo rainbow?”
His grin is shameless. “You know what they say about that rainbow, kiddo?”
My eyebrows lift.
“Tasteit.”
I gag again. “I think that pertains to Skittles, not slut-bags.”
Nate chuckles under his breath.
“Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to.” Parker takes another sip of coffee. “At least Ihavea love life.”
“Love?” I scoff. “Lust, maybe.”
“That’s quite a high horse you’re riding, P.” His eyes narrow. “Are you still dating that guy? Diego, is it?”
I sense Nate go suddenly tense. Just a tiny shift — his fingers curling a little tighter around his mug, his stance widening a fraction of an inch. If I weren’t so attuned to his presence, I wouldn’t notice it at all.
Swallowing hard, I try to keep my voice steady. “Not really.”
“What does that mean?Not really? You’re either dating the guy or you aren’t.” Parker’s eyes are fixed on my face, searching for signs that I’m lying.
Crap on whole wheat, extra pickles.
Truth is, everything about Diego is a lie. There neverwasan Diego. Not one that I dated, anyway.
See, Parker called me one night last spring from whatever tropical island he was exploring, and I happened to be in class at the time. Naturally, I told him I couldn’t talk because I was with Diego, but that I’d call him back later.
It’s notmy faultthat Parker assumed Diego was my boyfriend instead of, uh, the TA of my Senior Design class.
It may or may not be my fault that I’ve failed to correct his assumption for the past year, though — which, let me tell you, was pretty freaking tricky when Parker flew in for the MIT graduation and wanted to meet my imaginary boyfriend. (Unfortunately for Parker, my beloved Diego joined Doctors Without Borders and shipped out just days before the ceremonies.Shame.)
I know, I know — I’m a dirty rotten liar. But I was tired of listening to Parker make those concerned big-brother noises every time he called and asked if I was dating anyone. There’s only so many times you can lie and say, “No one serious!” before people start to wonder if you’re asexual.
“Well?” Parker prompts.
“We broke up,” I say, trying not to fidget.
Both men stare at me for a moment, expressions unreadable.
“Do I have to beat him up?” Parker asks, entirely serious. “Because if he hurt my baby sister, I will kick his ass.”
“No! No.” I swallow a nervous sip of coffee. “Definitely not necessary. We parted amicably.”
Amicably?
What am I, a cast member of Downton Abbey?