“I’ll talk to him soon,” I assure her, lips pinched. “Got to go! Wouldn’t want to be late.”

As she despises tardiness, her need to lecture me is at war with her desire for propriety. “Well, enjoy your dinner with your roommates. But talk to Noah today.”

“It’s already ten your time. Noah’s likely going to be asleep by the time I finish dinner. But I will call him tomorrow,” I relent reluctantly. Before she can add anything, I say, “Bye!” and hang up.

I sigh deeply. Next to me, Keller snorts. “Let me guess. Feeling guilty about enjoying a good old cock in the ass, so you’re not dealing with the boyfriend.”

I glare at him. “Yes, actually. Isn’t it normal?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

That raises my hackles. “I’m not⁠—”

I pinch my lips together.

Because he’s right. Technically, I’m cheating on Noah.

“I’ll break up with him Friday,” I grumble. “It makes sense to do that kind of thing in person.”

“Sure, if you want to give him the opportunity to rage, guilt-trip, and insult you,” Keller responds lightly.

I shake my head. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“He’ll do exactly that either way, hence why you’re avoiding the issue,” he declares, closing his book, and getting to his feet. “We’d better get going. I think Claudio made pasta for you.”

The abrupt change of subject annoys me. He’s not letting me refute what he’s saying. “What makes you so sure you know my boyfriend more than I do?”

His blue eyes seek mine. “I’ve read all your messages, little ghost. His to you, yours to him, and also his to other people. He doesn’t respect you, or like you much, and he has a history of manipulating you into doing what he wants. So he’ll do all that, and you know it. Ergo, avoidance.”

“You insult me,” I counter. “You call me a cum dumpster, a slut, like I’m some sort of object you can use.”

“You’re a chick in a relationship—with someone else—letting me use you. So, I call it what it is.” He smiles. “Let me know if you’re ready to change that label. After the asshole’s no longer an issue.”

Leaving me slack-jawed and speechless, he saunters to the elevator. I have to jog to catch up with him before the doors closed.

He’s still looking amused, and I just huff in annoyance.

I hate that he has a teeny, tiny bit of a point somewhere beneath the haughty, arrogant condescension.

Asshole.

* * *

Dinner reinforces everything I’ve worked out in twenty-four hours under the Vesper roof: the food is delicious, and everyone is nice except Richard. Nobody likes Richard except for Claudio—but that doesn’t count. Claudio loves everyone.