"Because we're related. That's why we shouldn't have been dancing like that. It's not okay."
"We aren't related," I said hotly, watching her face. "We weren't ever related."
"Close enough." She shrugged.
"If we actually wanted to be together, we could, you know." I felt a knot forming in my stomach as I waited to hear what she'd say.
She shook her head. "Not really. We lived together when we were kids—that makes it icky. Besides, your father hates me. And my mother hates you."
"So what? Icky is subjective. I don't think it's icky. And I don't care what either of our parents have to say." Again, I waited on edge to see what she'd say. I felt like a lovesick teenager, and I'd never even been a lovesick teenager.
You've got all the cards, Lo. Show me one. Not having the upper hand sucked balls.
She just looked at me, as if she wanted to ask me a question but wouldn't.
"What?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. All that's bad enough—about our families. Then there's the fact that you're a male escort. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but can you imagine what the press would do if they found out?"
"No," I lied. "I can't."
I knew exactly what would happen. Her reputation would be ruined, my father would reach the emotional state beyond livid, and I would never escape the reality of the bad choices I'd made. My story would be available forever, courtesy of a little technological advance called the Internet.
I stood and noticed I was clenching my fists. Frustration and sour disappointment coursed through me. "I'm really tired. I'm going to bed." I walked out of the room before she could see my face.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Just tired," I called and slammed my door. Of everything I'm not.
I clicked open my phone and stared at the picture of the two of us, wishing it wasn't a lie. If I'd been looking for an answer from her, I'd just gotten it.
It just wasn't the one I wanted.
* * *
The following morning, I got up before Lo and called Elena at AccommoDating.
"How's it going, all-star?" she asked, picking up after the first ring and sounding slightly out of breath.
I looked at the clock, incredulous. Five thirty in the morning. "Do you ever sleep, Elena?"
"I just finished my Kundalini workout. Why're you calling me if you thought I'd be asleep?" She was quiet for a second. "Oh no, Kyle. Do not fuck with me. Not now."
"What?" I asked innocently. "I didn't even say anything!"
"Why're you calling me at five thirty in the morning, Kyle? After you were out dancing with my client until midnight?"
I made a fist and watched my knuckles turn white.
"I don't have time for this. My girls are gonna get up in twenty minutes for school. Speak," she commanded. I could just picture her short hair spiked with sweat, a pristine white workout towel draped around her neck.
"I can't do this anymore."
She sighed. "But you're doing a great job. The press loves you. I haven't received communication from the client, but she wired in another payment on top of the retainer. She must be pleased, or I would have heard something."
"I think she's happy with my services," I mumbled, watching my fist.
"You two look ah-mazing together, and everyone loves your story," she said encouragingly.