Page 65 of The Risk

“I am not crazy.”

“Yes, you are,” her boyfriend confirms as he waltzes into the room. Fitz’s full-sleeve tattoos ripple as he wraps his arms around Summer from behind, bending his head to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“I hate you two,” I grumble. “You’re so disgustingly happy. Go be happy somewhere else.”

“Sorry, Bee, but we’re not going to hide our love from the world,” Summer says, and begins peppering kisses all over Fitz’s cheek, making loud smooch noises that make me want to vomit.

Well, not quite, but I pretend to gag because she is being ridiculous.

“What are you guys up to?” Fitz glances at me. “I didn’t even realize you were here.”

“You were sleeping when Bee got here,” Summer says. “We’re cleaning out my closet. I’m donating a bunch of stuff.”

He looks at the full closet and then the tiny pile on the bed. “Cool. Did you just get started?”

I snort. “We’ve been at it for more than an hour! In one hour she’s decided to give away a T-shirt.”

“It’s more than a T-shirt,” Summer protests.

Our voices lure Hollis in from the hall. He wanders into Summer’s room and flops down near the foot of her bed. He’s in sweatpants and a wife-beater, and when his bare feet knock over the meager donation pile, he doesn’t even notice.

“Sweet. Are you trying on clothes for us? When do we get to lingerie? Fitz, tell your girlfriend I require a lingerie fashion show as a reward for the emotional distress she’s caused me.”

“What are you babbling about now?” I ask him.

I’m at the head of the bed, so he has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. “Summer told me what you assholes did to me.”

I give him a blank look.

“My stalker?” he prompts. “I know you encouraged it.”

“She’s not stalking you,” Summer argues.

“Are you serious?” Hollis gapes at her. “She’s called meevery single daysince we went out for dinner.”

“You went out on Thursday,” Summer reminds him. “That was literally two days ago. Which means she’s called you twice. Chill the eff out.”

“Twice? I fucking wish! She callsat leastthree times a day.”

“Yeah, and you pick upeverytime,” Summer shoots back, “and talk to her for an hour, sometimes more.”

“Italk?” He rakes both hands through his hair. “Shetalks! That chick doesn’t shut up.”

“I assume we’re talking about Rupi?” I hedge, fighting laughter.

“Of course we’re talking about Rupi!” he roars. “She’s an insane person, you realize that, right? Are you sure she didn’t escape from a mental institution in Bali?”

“Bali?” I echo.

“She said that’s where her mom is from. She’s some movie star in Bali.”

“ABollywoodstar.” Summer giggles. “That means India, not Bali.”

“Oh.” He thinks it over, then shakes his head. “Nope, that doesn’t make it better. She’s still nuts.”

“How did the dinner go?” I ask him.

He twists around to glare at me.

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