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He turns to meet my gaze, so close that I can see his eyes track my swallow. “Why do you want to know about Pace?”

“Just…” I swallow again, wondering how much Lex knows. “The last time I saw him, he seemed upset.”

“The last time you saw him,” Lex repeats, twirling my hair around and around. “And when was this?”

My answer is purposefully vague. “Few days ago.”

Pace’s smell is already disappearing from my pillow.

Lex watches me carefully before saying, “Well, Pace is fucking fantastic.” A shadow falls over his face. “Wicker’s the one I’m worried about.”

“Why?”

The crease in his forehead deepens. “He has all those functions to attend this weekend.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but nothing comes. “That’s new?”

He holds my stare. “It’s Mother’s Day weekend, Princess.”

“Oh.” I blink, the conversation from Ashby’s sick version of family dinner—god, more than a month ago—coming back to me. I wince. “Is it going to be that bad?”

Snorting, he says, “A bunch of horny, middle-aged socialites who are gagging for his dick, but are told they can’t have it? Yeah, it’ll be a blast.” He rolls his eyes. “Father gave him a get-out-of-jail-free card, but he won’t use it.”

My face screws up. “Why not?”

He gestures to the whiteboard at the front of the room. “Subjective probability. This weekend will be bad, but next weekend could be worse. He’s saving it for something unbearable.”

I think about this for a long stretch as Professor Winston goes on about empirical probability. “I wouldn’t have expected that from him,” I admit. Wicker’s always so impulsive, driven by his base needs. The thought of him hoarding a treasure instead of consuming it…

My stomach twists.

Shifting, Lex whispers, “He’s been…” but trails off, something complicated crossing his features.

“He’s been what?”

He glances at me, eyes shuttering. “He’s just been unhappy.” I realize then what’s happening. Lex doesn’t want to divulge too much about his brother to me. It’s the same protective glint I see in his eyes whenever Ashby is sniffing around.

“Unhappy.” I frown. “Like Pace.”

Lex scoffs, giving my hair a mindless tug. “Pace isn’t unhappy. Probably because you let him fuck you on Wednesday.”

My head whips toward him, jaw dropping. “How do you know?”

“Please,” he says, giving me a look. “I can spot his post-coital nap fest from a mile away. He was practically comatose until yesterday.”

I wrench my eyes to the front of the room, cheeks warm. “That’s between me and him.”

“What did I say about that?” His fingers touch my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. There’s something calculating in his eyes as he scrutinizes me. “I didn’t realize your month in West End was open for fucking. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have spent the last three weeks crawling out of my goddamn skin.”

“Oh my god,” I breathe when it hits me. “Is that what this is? The coffee, the touching, the hair…” I shove his arm away, hissing, “You’re trying to get into my pants!”

“Obviously,” he says. And then, a glare. “You like my hair.”

My face must be glowing crimson. “Oh my god, and in stats class!” It’s a struggle to keep my voice low when I want to yell at him. I settle for punching his thigh.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Winston? I could fuck you where you sit, and he wouldn’t bat an eye.”

I sink down further in my chair. “Lex! Stop.”