“Thanks.” Our eyes hold for what feels like too long. I clear my throat. “Are you going to bed, too?”

“Not yet.”

“You are not allowed to read more oil spill stuff, Liam.”

“Then maybe I’ll just play a bit.”

“Without Calvin?” I cock my head. “Didn’t you say Calvin would come over?”

“He was supposed to.”

“You know what?” I run a hand through my hair. It’s a split-second decision. “I’m actually not that sleepy, either. Should I play with you?”

He laughs. “Really?”

“Yes. What?” I take off my shoes, grab a blanket—the one he put on me that first night, the one that’s been in this room ever since—and let myself fall onto the couch, right next to him. A little too close, maybe, but Liam doesn’t complain. “I have a Ph.D. I can pretend to kill bad guys using a . . . joystick?”

“Controller.” He shakes his head, but he looks . . . happy, I think. “Have you ever played a video game?”

“Nope. Full disclosure, they look awful and I’m not sure why an obviously smart person with a bunch of Ivy League degrees that cost more than my internal organs would be so into this pew-pew crap, but I run a Bachelor blog, so I have no leg to stand on.” I shrug. “So, what happened to Calvin?”

“Couldn’t make it.”

“Playing with someone else?”

“A date.”

I hum. “Maybe you should have joined him. Was Emma busy?”

He gives me a look that I cannot quite decipher. As though there’s something catastrophically wrong about what I said. “I told you, Emma doesn’t want to date me any more than I want to date her.”

I doubt it. Who wouldn’t? Also, how freaked out would you be if I told you that the other night I dreamt of you and Emma, sitting side by side in the kitchen, and I was sad? But only for a little. Because after a while it wasn’t you and Emma. It was you and me and you were standing between my legs and you put your hands on my inner thighs and you pushed them open, wider, to make room for yourself and— “You could date someone else, then,” I blurt out. To put a halt to what’s going on in my head.

“I don’t think I want to, Mara.”

“Right.” My heart hiccups. “You wouldn’t enjoy good food and pleasant conversation and getting laid.”

“Is that how your date went?” he asks softly, not looking at me anymore.

“I just meant—” I’m flustered. “You might enjoy dating the right person.”

“Stop channeling Helena.”

I laugh. “Gotta keep up the household tradition of being nosy about people’s personal lives.” Something occurs to me, and I gasp. “You know what’s really shocking?”

“What?”

“That Helena never tried to set us up. Like, you and me. Together.”

“Yeah, that’s—” Liam falls silent abruptly, as though something occurred to him, too. He stares into the middle distance for a moment and then lets out a low, deep laugh. “Helena.”