Because it might convince Cassidy to turn Quinton in.

There’s a stronger pulling force alongside me now.

Archer gapes at me. “Dude, don’t try it. You knew I’d tell him.”

I scrub a hand over my face, not admitting that he’s right.

“And as far as the Georgia hating me question, I’m not sure how she doesn’t hate me.” He chuckles. “My advice is to do everything in your power to make things right and earn her trust back.”

“It’s hard to earn back her trust when all I can think about is that motherfucker hurting her.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble, brother. You’ve already gone to prison once.”

I shift in my seat. “What would you do if someone did that to Georgia?”

He delivers a dark look at the thought. “Rip their head off and feed it to them through a straw.”

That’s how my brother understands feelings. You ask how he’d feel if it happened to someone he loved. Otherwise, the dude is cold as the Arctic.

“Exactly,” I deadpan. “You can’t expect me to sit back and forget about it. I want to rip his head off and feed it to him through a spoon … it’d be more hands-on.”

Archer holds up a finger. “A. I don’t have a criminal record.” He holds up another. “B. I’m in love with Georgia. Are you in love with Cassidy?”

I stay quiet.

Am I in love with Cassidy?

It’s an internal battle.

I’ve never been in love with anyone. Or so I thought.

But what is love? Is there a specific destination, a specific rhythm your heart follows until a light dings inside your head that says, Hey dumbass, you love this person?

How do you know you love someone when love is an invisible thing?

“Think about it,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Think about the risk and your feelings for her. And then do whatever you need to do to protect her.”

What I’m about to do will create the opposite of convincing Cassidy not to hate me.

But hey, if I already started off by disappointing her in this situation, might as well keep adding to the list that’ll only lead me deeper into the hole of her possibly never speaking to me again.

“I have some information,” I tell Maliki and Rex.

Not only did sleep evade me last night, but I also spent most of the time looking up Quinton. From what it appears on his Instagram, dude is a prick who regularly uses hashtags like #richkids, #getlikeme, #bejealous. His feed is full of photos of him and his frat brothers in their loafers and button-ups, lined up with beers in their hands, and sporting Gucci belts. I had to pour myself a drink out of embarrassment for him.

Hopefully, it’ll change to #iscurrentlyincarcerated next.