Our mother once chased a grown man out of the house with a wooden spoon.
I've never forgotten it.
Neither has he.
“She likes Mary,” Ego adds.
“When did she even meet her?”
“She's met her twice with me and Sabrina.”
I shake my head.
Because he's impossible and won’t shut up.
Because somehow he's become the relationship expert.
Because life is unfair.
“Anyway,” he says. “Sabrina wants us all to have dinner next weekend.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what this is.”
“What?”
“A trap.”
“It isn't.”
“It absolutely is.”
“We just want to see you and her together.”
“You already saw us together at the dance.”
“We want to see her with you as your girlfriend.”
“Ego.”
“Kai.”
“No way, this is to good,” he says, snickering like the little prick he is.
“If you don't shut up, I'm telling Sabrina why we call you Ego,” I threaten.
No, I'm not above dirty fighting.
“You wouldn't!”
“I've got pictures, asshole.”
“No way! You said you burned those!”
“I lied.”