Page 83 of The Last Hope

I hesitate but continue on, “Depending on the couple, sometimes kissing.”

“What’s kissing?” he teases, his smile overtaking his face.

I catch on and glower. “You already know what coupling is, don’t you?”

He scrunches his brows as mine knot. “I never said I didn’t.”

I groan and chuck a pillow at him, landing a ways off. “You implied it!”

“You assumed it.” He laughs once and sweeps my reddened face. “And I haven’t ‘coupled’ before.” He wags two fingers on each hand. Seems oddly suggestive.

I swallow hard, pulse thumping low.Gods, no.

Not now.

Not him.

I try to extinguish a building swelter. I’m hot from hate. Hate is hot. I repeat the thought over and over again.

My jaw clenches—not me.Court.He’s sitting up in bed, a book half-opened on his thigh. If I could mutter without appearing strange, I’d mouth words like—I feel nothing but angerandI’m all right—just so he could read my lips through our link.

I’m not feeding any selfish desires tonight or any night with Stork. Court shouldn’t worry. I do my best to send this promise through my emotions.

He’s still gritting down.

Nostrils even flare—Mykal.

I tuck my legs to my chest. The link is a burden some days.

“Earth to Franny,” Stork says loudly.

I flinch. “What?”

He’s smiling. “You spaced out.”

Zimmer yawns into his bicep. “She does that a fykking ton.”

I swear to the gods, Stork is staring right through me. Clasping my gaze with too muchknowingness,he says, “I bet she does.”

“Why?” I ask.

He lifts his brows, opens his mouth, and then shuts his lips with a bitter smile. Gods, some sort of answer is on his tongue. He mutters a halfhearted, “Because why not?”

“What were you like as a child?” I ask.

He loosely crosses his arms, features indecipherable. I blame the booze he chugged. “What was I ‘like’ as a kid?” He does the two-finger wag again.

Zimmer notices. “Where I come from, you must be asking for someone’s knees to drop and hands to—”

“They’re air quotes.” Stork almost laughs. “Lord, don’t overthink it.”

Zimmer slouches against the headboard. “No problem for me, Storky. Overthinking is for Influentials.”

“Did you always want to be a C-Jay?” I question while constructing a pillow mound between me and Zimmer.

Stork straightens off the door and measures out another drink. “What was your job on Saltare-3?”

I want to answer, but my tongue is tied. Wordless noise in my throat. Maybe his evasiveness pressures me to do the same and safeguard my heart. And all that I love about myself.