Page 80 of Tips and Trysts

I exhale slowly, conjuring up my usual aplomb—the polish I’ve perfected to an art form over the last decade. It feels uncomfortable now, like trying to write with my non-dominanthand. “I’m going through a lot,” I admit. And by “a lot,” I mean the entire world is now in technicolor.

“I’ve been there, but I need you to hear me: Now is not the time in your life to rebel.”

“This isn’t a rebellion. You, better than anyone, know it. When have I ever been allowed to live my life?”

His eyebrows rise. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve fought every instinct in me since I was a kid. Put on a tie, play the piano, read Voltaire—eatmeat, for fuck’s sake. Do you know how numbing that is?”

He breathes through his nose. “Like I said, I’ve been there. I know how tough it is to repress who you are for years—and I also know what it’s like to meet a girl who falls for the real version of you. But, Ev, she’s trying to help you win an election you’ve spent your entire life preparing for.”

“I won the debate,” I point out. “My polling data is good. Whether or not I win has nothing to do with Cora going out with some dickhead unregistered voter who doesn’t deserve her.”

“Why would he be unregistered? And more importantly, you know she’s not going to fool around with another guy—unregistered or not.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I snap. “I don’t want anyone to think she’s notmine.”

Lander pulls back his head and straightens. “Well, she’s not yours.”

I scoff. “You once found out someone touched Valeriathree years agoand subsequently punched his fucking face. You have no credibility right now.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Wait…are you guys, like,fucking?”

I pause, finally remembering I haven’t told Lander and Dalton.Shit. Chances are, if Lander knew I was embarking on an era ofconsistently mind-blowing, kind of freaky sex, he’d call me an Uber.

Unfortunately, we don’t have time to rehash every tryst Cora and I have had across the District, so all I can say is, “Move, Lander. Let me do this.”

“Nope.”

“Move before I make you,” I reply, which I immediately regret because it’s the softest threat on record.Move before I make you?Physical intimidation wasn’t included in my politician-in-training lessons, and it shows.

Lander snickers. “What, are you going to fight me?”

I raise an eyebrow.

So does he.

I tilt my head to the side.

So does he.

I clear my throat, kind of hoping he’ll back down.

So does he—and he doesn’t back down.

We both stand there, heads tilted…just, like, staring.

…Well, I suppose wearedoing this again. Sighing, I carefully remove my watch and pocket it, ensuring it won’t slip out when I…tackle him, or whatever.

Lander watches me, one eyebrow still raised, slowly realizing we’re about to throw down. Sort of. “My girl does Muay Thai,” he warns.

It’s my turn to snicker. “Yeah, well my girl doesn’t have a gag reflex, but you don’t see me offering to suck dicks.”

“You probably should. Bet you’d be better at it than fighting.”

“You don’t remember what I did to the shooter?” I present my hand as evidence. The bandages are gone, but it’s still bruised.

He moves toward me, trying to be tall, but we’re the same height, so we end up with our faces super close together. Lander realizes it too and takes a small step backwards while clearing his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be, like,right there—”

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