“No, of course not.” I groan, dropping onto the couch beside her. I’m obviously not escaping without a little-sister lecture, so I may as well get it over with. “And contrary to what everyone assumes, I have not actually fucked him.”My increasingly meaningless line in the sand.
“But something’s going on, Coen. Even James could see it.”
“Once you threw it in his face.”
“And Echo helped with that too, didn’t he?”
“What’s your point, Elke?”
“My firstquestion, Coen, is why did you try to hide the relationship from James in the first place? That was obviously your idea. And before you go all denial on me, it’s also obvious thereisa relationship, whether you’re calling it ‘fucking’ or not.”
I could go around all day on that latter point, but I’m not sure which of us I’d be lying to, so I answer the question instead.
“Because I knew how the night would go if James found out. And I was right. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“It went that way because he didn’t find out from you. You seriously think if you’d taken him aside right away, or hell, prepared him with a phone call, it still would have imploded so badly?”
“Maybe not.” I scrub my hand over my face. “But the long-term repercussions will be the same. James will tell Lara, Lara will get hurt and then be pissed, and then she’ll start telling everyone we know, including my contacts at Cirque. And no one will care that he’s of legal age. All they’ll see is another older guy in a position of power, coercing sex from an impressionable young talent.”
“They’ll say that until they meet Echo,” she scoffs. “It’s pretty obvious who’s calling the shots around here.”
“Please don’t let him hear you say that. He’s barely housebroken as it is.”
“Well, you’re the one choosing to mess around with a child.”
“He’s not a child.”Not in the ways that matter.
“He was acting a bit like one tonight,” she observes.
“You’re one to talk. And you’ve got six years on him.”
“Don’t get all defensive.” She curls her legs up onto the couch and turns to face me, setting the magazine aside. “I don’t wantto fight with you about what Echo is or isn’t. I just want to make sure you’re being careful.”
“Are you seriously giving me the safe-sex talk right now?”
“No, dork. I’m sure even you can remember how to use a condom.”
“I thought we agreed you’d stop talking about my dick.”
“I’m talking about yourheart, you big dumb lug. The one you like to hand away like candy for anyone to break a piece off? I want you to protect yourselfemotionallyfor a change. You’re terrible at that, and you know it.”
“You think Echo is going to break my heart?” I put disbelief in my voice like I can conjure the sheer ridiculousness of the suggestion.
“Well, is he?” she asks, not fooled.
Into a million pieces.
“No. It’s not like that.”It’s treading dangerously close to those waters.“Christ, Elke, we haven’t even had sex.”
“Not yet.” She deliberately echoes Echo’s statement from before, and the irony is not lost on me.
“That was just Echo being—”
“A brat?”
“—Echo.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that’s reassuring.” She pats my cheek the way our gram used to when we were children and were trying to get out of cleaning up some mess we’d made. Irritated, I swat her hand away. “So, what, then?” she presses. “What is it likeif it’s not ‘like that’?” And then, because she’s goddamn Elke and always thinks she knows better than anyone, she answers her own questions with a statement. “You have to know he’s using you.”