“You’re pregnant?” Connor’s face goes pale and he bends at the waist, as if someone just sucker-punched him. I’d like to be next.

Liz hops up and tries to take the sheet with her, but it snags under the corner of the couch, exposing half her body. I look away. This isn’t how I imagined I’d see her naked again. Fresh out of Connor’s arms. My heartbroken sister calling her names. She yanks at it as she turns to each of us in confusion. “Connor? I thought you said . . .” Finally the sheet breaks free, and she stumbles back.

“How do you sleep at night?” Della asks her. “Are you really so selfish that you don’t see what you’re doing?”

“Liz,” Connor says, “could you please go? We’ll talk later.”

Liz gapes at him, but then she wraps the sheet tightly under her arms and leaves the room without another word.

“You too, Sam,” Connor says, apology in his eyes. “I need a minute with Della.”

Della runs to him and falls sobbing into his arms, and I back out of the apartment and head to my car, mind spinning, angry at the world. A few seconds later, Liz joins me in the hall, still wrapped in that sheet, her clothes wadded under her arm. She closes the door, then sinks to the floor, curling into herself as if she’s trying to disappear. She’s drawing in choppy breaths, and she looks small and vulnerable.

The last thing I want right now is to feel sorry for her, and when the sympathy surges up, I stomp it back down.

“What just happened?” she whispers.

“What did you expect? That he’d send his girlfriend away for the cheap fuck?”

Anger contorts her features, washing away the vulnerability. “Don’t put this on me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How do you figure?”

“They were over. He was moving on.”

“They were broken up? Officially? He told you that?”

Red creeps up her cheeks as shame takes its rightful place in this conversation. “I thought . . . It seemed like . . .”

“You’re better than this.” Then, because I can’t look at her anymore, I walk away.

Chapter Six

Liz

Riverrat69: Have you thought about it?

The words make my heart triple its pace. Last night, River asked me to meet him. I think I reread the message at least fifteen times, simultaneously hoping it said what I thought and praying I’d misread it.

On the one hand, after fourteen months of abstinence, I am so fucking game for meeting my anonymous friend, for doing all the wicked things he’s described.

I’ve been good—so good and so patient and so abstinent while searching for my something real. But this weekend my twin sister is getting married, and not only am I single, I’m sex deprived. In a nutshell, my plan isn’t working for shit.

Letting this anonymous stranger end my dry spell seems like the best possible coping mechanism for dealing with my loneliness. Only, I’m afraid—or is it hopeful?—this isn’t so anonymous. And I know I wouldn’t be tempted in the slightest if I didn’t hear River’s words in Sam’s voice.

On the other hand, if River really is Sam, I don’t know how he’s going to react when he finds out he’s been talking to the one woman in this world he detests. Have I thought about his invitation to meet him?

Tink24: I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t.

A lot. I’ve thought about it more than I want to admit. I’m not a dumb girl. My mom taught me never to take candy from strangers, and my big sister taught me never to take an unopened drink from a man in a bar. I’m pretty sure meeting a stranger for hot, anonymous sex falls firmly in the same category. I want to meet him. I want to end the secrecy. But I shouldn’t.

Riverrat69: I didn’t mean for it to go this far. You deserve better than what I’m offering, but if I let this end without meeting you . . . without touching you . . . God, I’m not sure I could forgive myself.

I never thought it would come to this either. Those early days we joked around about the concept of Something Real, and I’d tell him about the guys I’d meet from the other sites. River and I talked about nothing and everything. It didn’t start like this—the dirty talk, the rule-breaking pictures, the longing. That came with time. I never would have imagined we’d meet.

But what good could come of it? He doesn’t want the things I do, and if he’s Sam, learning I am Tink24 might make him walk away forever. The truth is, I’m afraid to lose River.

But I can’t deny that I want to meet him, either. I can’t deny that he makes butterflies dance in my stomach.

Tink24: And what exactly are you offering?

Riverrat69: Pleasure. As much or as little as you want.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully compose another reply.

Tink24: I want to, but it’s complicated.

Riverrat69: Nothing complicated about what I want to do to you.

Tink24: What if you’re not attracted to me?

Riverrat69: I swear to you, I’ve seen enough to know that won’t be a problem.

Tink24: I have a lot to think about. Can we talk tomorrow?

Riverrat69: Of course. Don’t do this if you’re not ready. I don’t want to pressure you.

Tink24: Good night, River.

Riverrat69: Sweet dreams.

* * *

Sam

“Is it true?” Shit. Della looks pissed—ready-to-cut-off-someone’s-balls pissed. “Daddy, is it true?”