Margaret pushed Jack against the opposite wall, mirroring Genni, and began to nibble at Jack’s neck. His head was thrown back, eyes half-lidded, and his hair was messy and untamed, and he was—

It was stupid. They were all so stupid.

Theo hated them all.

He tried not to remember that they had hated him first. That he’d scared almost everyone off with his natural, ingrained cruelty. Cruelty he’d learned from his father.

What a waste of a life, trying to be like him.

He was still kissing Genni. He wrapped one arm low around her waist, brought the other hand up to cradle her jaw, but kept his eyes open—and Margaret must have bitten down a little harder on Jack’s neck, because he gasped and opened his own eyes wide.

And Jack saw him.

Theo held on to Genni, tried to focus on her, but he watched Jack, their eyes linked, and the kiss started to feel—he felt something more, listening to Jack’s hard breathing, watching him as he rested his hands on Margaret’s tight behind. Genni moaned into the kiss, laughed a little, rubbing against him and feeling—

Jack’s mouth parted, and he was staring with unwavering focus, and the look on his face—

Theo felt something building in him, and he was hot, the cold glass against his back, Jack’s blue eyes and the way he wasn’t kissing Margaret but was looking right at him, defiant and angry and something else, something he didn’t want to see, because—

Fuck. It was true.

Had always been true.

He didn’t want this.

Genni thrust up against him, her pert breasts pushed onto his chest, and she grabbed him, rubbing, and he was turned on, tuned out like static on a television, and he thought, Maybe, if I can just hold on to this, the image, this horrible secret confrontation, I can love Genni properly.

He could just—pretend.

Like he was doing with everything else.

He kissed her more firmly and let Jack’s face burn itself into him, and he held on to those perfectly proportioned hips, and it felt so good, so right, and yes, it wasn’t good or right, he had no fucking conscience, but it was—it was better than nothing.

Jack made a sound, and Margaret laughed her unrestrained and inelegant laugh, and Genni pulled away, distracted. She looked at them and made an ugly face.

And then she turned back. Looked at Theo, her eyes trailing down, and she saw—and he could see the moment when she realized that he had never, until tonight, responded like—

“Oh.” Her voice was small, and her eyes were hurt. “Not her.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her back into his body, and he put his lips right next to her ear. “No. Not...her,” and he dropped his forehead on her shoulder, and said, “Don’t—”