Page 46 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
Suddenly, I’m struck with a very real, very nerve-racking thought.
Maybe it’s not the age thing that’s bothering Connor tonight. What if the reason he’s acting weird is because he knows about Wolfie and me? Just the idea sends panic sweeping through me, leaving all my nerve endings raw.
It would certainly explain him canceling the bar crawl, that’s for sure, but he probably would have kicked Wolfie’s ass halfway to the suburbs by now if he knew the truth about us.
I swallow my panic long enough to help Wolfie serve up and distribute the rest of the cake. Once everyone has a plate in hand, the group spreads out throughout the apartment, breaking off into a handful of separate conversations, any one of which I could easily join. But there’s only one person I should be talking to right now.
My brother.
As I head for the living room, Wolfie follows close behind me, and I turn on my heel, gently pressing my palm against his chest for a moment. Not long enough for anyone to notice, I hope.
“Stay here,” I whisper. “I need to talk to Connor alone.”
Wolfie dips his chin in a firm nod, his gray eyes filled with sweet understanding. “I get it. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I squeak back. “I might need it.”
In the living room, I find Connor hunched over on the worn leather couch, pushing a glob of frosting around his plate, which is resting in his lap.
“Is buttercream more of a twenty-eight-year-old thing?” I tease.
He snorts, not even glancing up at me. “Nah. Just no appetite, I guess.”
Now that’s a red flag if I’ve ever seen one. The man who stole my slice of birthday cake isn’t even eating it? He may as well be spelling out SOS in the frosting. But if I’m going to get him to talk, I need to get him totally alone first.
Operation Evacuate Birthday Boy from his Own Party is a go.
I clear my throat, vying for his attention, and set the bait. “So, can I give you your present now?”
As I hoped, it sparks Connor’s curiosity. He looks up from his cake, his gaze narrow and probing. “What are you talking about? We stopped giving each other presents back in middle school.”
I open my mouth to protest, then pause, smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Shoot, I just remembered I left it in the car. Can you come get it with me?”
Connor frowns, lifting one suspicious eyebrow.
Jeez. Would it kill him to play along for once?
I plant my hands on my waist, popping one hip to the side. “Fine. You can stay here. But if something happens to your little sister on the streets of Chicago at night, just know it’s your fault.”
As predicted, that’s enough to get him up from the couch. Moments later, we’re slipping on our coats and heading for the door.
“We’ll be back in just a second!” I promise over my shoulder on our way out. And, God, do I hope I’m right.
The cold November air hits almost as hard as the irony of the moment—stepping out onto the busy streets of the city just to get a bit of privacy. Chatty, unfamiliar faces wander up and down the block, probably heading toward the same bars we were planning to go to tonight.
But Connor doesn’t even notice them. He just squints up and down the street, cringing against the wind. “Where’s your car?”
“Nowhere.” I push my shoulders back, feeling more than a little proud of myself. “I took the el. I just wanted to get you out here away from everyone else for a moment.”
His eyebrows lift as I plant one hand on my hip.
“Now, want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
He whips his head toward me, his lips pulled into a tight frown that matches the disapproval in his eyes. “So you dragged me out into the cold, and there’s not even a present?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course that’s what he’s hung up on.
“Sorry. That was kinda cruel. But I spent two hours making you a homemade cake today. And now my present is my love and concern. Seriously, Connor.” I sigh, mirroring his crossed arms. “You’ve been acting weird all night. What’s going on?”
He lets out a long, slow sigh.
My heart stills as I watch him decide whether to respond. I’ve never been so afraid to hear the answer to a question. But if he knows about Wolfie and me, I should be the one to take the heat. I’m the reason any of this happened, after all.
Connor pushes out a slow, shaky exhale, his shoulders dropping as he scrubs one hand through his messy blond hair. “It’s . . . it’s Beth.”
A cocktail of relief and pure confusion shoots through my veins. So it’s not me. It’s . . . a girl?
