I turn around to Rory, but she is no longer standing next to me. I think she got a phone call. Probably her boyfriend whining because he can’t see her after all.

When I turn back to Richards, he’s jumping to his feet, buttoning his jeans, and tucking a joint into the corner of his mouth. He slaps my back.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate you coming to get me. I was getting this weird vibe, you know? Like you didn’t like me very much. Like we didn’t gel.”

He says the word gel like I say the word cunt.

I remove his hand from me. “Couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

Rory

Double shit with a side of crap.

Callum is here. In this building. Checking into a room with the receptionist.

Summer’s work, I’m sure.

After Mal slipped me the napkin with the new developments and our sudden Greek trip, I beckoned Summer for an emergency freak-out. I told her about the chocolate bar incident, which prompted her to slap Mal with the pet name Mal-Teaser. I also heard her plugging her vibrator into the charger and am pretty sure she was swiping left and right on Tinder, trying to find a playmate for the night.

“Please don’t do something stupid.” I closed my eyes and threw my head skyward, praying silently.

“Oh, honey, that’s rich,” she said, “considering you just out-stupided an avocado after less than a week in Ireland. I’m trying to make things better for you. Trust me, okay?”

I didn’t know if I should. I still don’t.

I love Summer, but she has very precise, very definite ideas for my life, and I don’t necessarily agree with them all.

She must’ve told Callum where I was, redirecting him from his pending trip to Ireland to Greece. And he, the charming boyfriend that he is, decided to surprise me. When I got a text from him, I couldn’t stay in the room watching the face-off between Mal and Ashton. I ran down to the lobby, threw my arms over Callum’s neck, and pretended to be elated to see him.

As I should be.

“Missed you, love. Have you lost a little weight?” He frowns, chuckling. “Looks good on you,”

He leans down and gives me his customary peck on the mouth. The kiss seals my guilt on my lips, like a closed envelope.

Mal kissed those lips yesterday afternoon.

Right after shoving a chocolate bar into them that had been shoved between my other pair of lips.

“Let’s get you settled!” I grab his hand.

I already know I’m going to tell Callum what happened. And I already know he is probably—rightfully—going to break up with me. What I have yet to find out is whether it’s possible to live with myself after doing what I did to Callum.

I tug him toward the elevators, frazzled, and punch the button five hundred times, turning back to him with a giant, fake, plastic smile.

“Yay!” I wave my fist around. “Reunited. Again. Awesome.”

Just shut up, you idiot. You’re making it worse.

“Rory.” Callum’s voice is laced with worry, his eyebrows pulled together. “Are you drunk? You know I don’t take well to public lewdness.”

“Totally sober.” I let out a nervous laugh.

The elevator doors slide open, and, of course, Mal is standing on the other side, looking devilishly gorgeous—for a homewrecker, that is.

“I was looking for you.” His expression softens until he notices Callum behind me.

His whole face changes again. It’s painful to watch. He looks…disappointed. Not that he has any right to be.

“Malachy,” Callum greets him from behind me, stepping into the elevator. I step in as well, swiping the electronic card over the screen and pushing the button for Callum’s floor.

“Shiny Boyfriend,” Mal answers, his voice dripping ice.

“How’s the writing going?” Callum asks.

I jump into the conversation before Mal gets the chance to offend Callum.

“Well, Richards is flying back to Ireland, so Mal can see to his arrival. You and I can stay here.”

I just want to save face. Truth is, in approximately ten minutes, I am going to deliver some harsh truths to Callum, after which neither of us will have the ability to stomach my existence.

Tonight is New Year’s Eve, and the party Ashton was planning with Mal back in Ireland has been canceled. It would have been a great opportunity to take pictures, but clearing the air with Cal is of higher importance.

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Callum smiles down at me, and my heart breaks into a trillion pieces.

You did this. You basked in Mal’s warmth, not even realizing he was burning everything around you.

“It really is,” Mal agrees, shifting toward me. “There’s only one, tiny obstacle standing in the way.”

“Which is?” I narrow my eyes.

“Reality,” he deadpans. “Richards and I have decided to stay here until Monday, too. You know, change of scenery and all. Great way to get the creative juices flowing.” Mal grins down at me wolfishly.

Must.

Not.

Kill.

The.

Gorgeous.

Poet.

My jaw locks so hard it’s about to snap, and it occurs to me that Mal is just crazy enough to tell Callum what happened before I get the chance to. Mal is probably reading my mind, because the way he looks at me says trouble.

“Well, we’ll get out of your way, Malachy. Rory and I certainly have a lot of catching up to do.”

Callum turns to me and drops a kiss on my head, no doubt thinly veiling his sexual intentions.

“No truer statement has been spoken in this elevator.” Mal smirks, looking skyward, shaking his head.

Bastard. Why can’t I like the sane one? Why?

I turn my head to flash Mal a warning look, but he refuses eye contact with me, staring straight ahead.

The elevator dings, and Mal gets out, walking right behind us, even taking Callum’s suitcase and rolling it along the corridor. “Before I forget, there’s been a change of plans,” he says. “Richards is throwing a party tonight in his penthouse after all. Stars are coming from all over Europe. I think Alex Winslow is cutting short his vacation with his wife and kids in the south of France just to say hi. It’s going to be wild, and therefore not a place for a sweet lady like our Rory.”

He knows there’s no chance in hell I’m going to leave the hotel now. This is the stuff Ryner dreams about. The kind of crazy, old-school, rock-star party full of familiar faces, where people swing from chandeliers and write songs in the corner of the room and create plaster molds of penises and drive Rolls Royces into swimming pools.

We stop at Callum’s door. I look up at him and play with my nose hoop. He shakes his head with a smile.

“Let’s stay and go to the party. Who cares where we are, as long as I’m inside you?”

Mal is standing in front of us, watching the entire exchange. I want to throw up. I don’t know why Callum said what he just did, but that makes me feel even worse than I did a second ago.

I rise on my tiptoes, giving Callum a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Let’s get inside,” I whisper brokenly.

I slam the door in Mal’s face, leaving him out. Physically. Figuratively.

Leaving him with the lies.