The best thing about both Grayson twins is knowing you can say something like that and neither one will express even the tiniest bit of interest in digging any further. Sabrina just nods and shuffles the cards.

I don’t know why I hold my breath when she draws the first one; it’s not like I know the first thing about tarot, or what any of the cards suggest. But when she places it down in front of me, I wanna gag.

The Lovers. Fantastic.

Sabrina, meanwhile, is delighted. “The Lovers! This card represents relationships, connections. This bodes well for you partnering up, if you’re so inclined.”

Orrrr it knows I already partnered up and it was a terrible idea. The pair on the tarot card looks like Adam and Eve—the ultimate couple of mass destruction. That sounds about right. “Next.”

She rolls her eyes, but puts down the second card. “Ooh, the Nine of Wands. This means you’ll have to work hard to get with this lover—”

“Stop saying ‘lover.’”

“To get with this lover,” she repeats, louder, “will require much self-improvement, sacrifice.”

Oh, I sacrificed. And I’m working on self-improvement. But I would not like to return to any of my past “lovers” anytime soon, thank you. “Is there a ‘win the lottery’ card in there somewhere? I’d like to hear something good.”

“This isn’t about bad or good,” says Sabrina, tapping the deck. “We’re just gaining some insight into your life, maybe helping guide your choices for the future. And you’re not even old enough to play the lottery, smart-ass.”

She flips over the third card and breaks into a huge smile. “The Knight of Cups. This card symbolizes creativity, romance, maybe a slow burn … man, this deck really wants you to get laid, ideally by an artist.”

“This deck needs to mind its own business and gets its own social life.” I fold my arms behind my head and lie back on the floor, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Boy drama is such bullshit.”

“Yep.”

There’s a note in her voice that suggests I’ve struck a nerve, and I rise up on an elbow. “Got some experience in that department, do you?”

“Literally none, in fact.”

“Come on, do you really never have any? Like truly any?”

“Never,” she says flatly, and I get the feeling even my question is somehow disappointing her. I’m so wrapped up in my own ridiculousness that it takes me a minute of awkward silence to figure it out.

“You don’t like boys, do you.”

“Nope,” she replies, just loud enough to be heard over the shuffling of the cards.

“You’ve had some girl drama, haven’t you.”

“Yep.” The p pops like a verbal gunshot. She turns to put away the cards, and I take the moment to try to decipher whether to keep asking questions or just change the subject.