I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure I can only do that so many times until they figure it out. Parker gets jealous pretty damn easily, so I’m capitalizing on that while I can.”
She drops her hand to the counter and traces the daisy design in the wood with her nail. “What if you pick the least awful of the four and push for a quick marriage? That way you get protection without them breaking you.”
Before I can agree, my phone vibrates in my backpack. I whip it out to find a text from Tomas: “We weren’t finished.”
Shoving the phone away only makes Demetra look even more concerned. I try to smile with every reassuring molecule I can muster in my body, but I’m positive I just look terrible right now. My facade is crumbling. I can feel it.
She takes my hand as two girls from school—Melissa Harding and Jolie Archer—join us at the counter. By now, our burger baskets have arrived and I’m torn between offering the girls conversation or shoving fries into my mouth. I opt for fries.
“Hi, Alex,” Melissa greets. Her California beach curls explode around her shoulders as she leans over to grab a menu. “You two going to homecoming?”
With a sigh, I shrug. “Maybe.”
Demetra elbows me. “Hey, that’s a good idea.”
“What?”
“Take one of the guys to homecoming with you.”
My gaping stare alarms Melissa, who reaches over to wave in front of my face. “Dude, are you okay?”
I snap, “Fine.”
Melissa recoils but retains an easy grin. “You’re still dealing with those alpha a-holes?”
“Unfortunately,” I sigh with defeat. My shoulders sag as I push the burger basket away. There goes my appetite. “Just trying to figure things out.”
Demetra beams. “I think it’s a brilliant way to see how one of them acts away from the others. You could promise him something if he offers his protection.”
“You mean like my body.”
“I mean, it’s worth a try, right?”
I nod. “Maybe Lev would be different. I mean, he has been different in the past.”
She frowns. “I don’t know. Frankly, they’re all bad.”
“Well, I have to try someone.”
She holds up four fries, hiding the ends in her palm. “All right,” she says. “Pick one.”
As if that’s going to solve anything.
Still, I pluck a fry.
Because how bad can it be?