It does absolutely nothing to stop her. If anything, it just spurs her on.

"How about the fact that you turned down every guy that tried to hit on you at the club?" she charges.

"That was for a column!"

"Right," she mocks. "Because I'm sure your readers really want to know how to repel men."

"Hey!" I sit up. "Victoria loved that idea. I handed the first draft over today, and she barely had any changes. Well, she had a few. But way less than normal."

"Nice," Bridge comments softly, happy for me, but then hardens her features, getting back on topic. "So you really aren't going to tell me?"

I shake my head. "There's nothing to tell."

I don't miss the flash of disappointment cross over her face. "Fine."

"Fine," I say back, because dammit, even if I wanted to tell her about Ollie, it can't happen like this. Not while we're fighting. Not while he's at work. We're supposed to do it together. And not because we're forced, but because we're ready.

An awkward silence hangs between us.

Bridge is picking at the flaking polish on her toes. I'm staring at the floor.

When my phone buzzes on the coffee table, our gazes snap together.

We hold for one.

Two.

Three.

And then in the same moment, we both dive off the couch, reaching for my cell and falling over each other in the process. I trip over her leg, slamming against the floor, catching her gut with my knee. Bridge goes down. I grab her hands, trying to hold her away. But she outmaneuvers me, clasping my hands tight and then reaching toward my phone with her foot. Freaking dancer with finger toes!

"If that's who I think it is," Bridge growls.

But she's too late.

Somehow I manage to wrestle my fingers free and dive for my phone, yanking it out of reach.

"Aha!"

But Bridge is a sore loser.

And she jumps on me.

Yes, you read that correctly. One moment I'm holding the phone, watching Ollie's name flicker in white lights as I hastily shut the screen off, and the next, I have a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound body landing on my back, reaching around my waist with grabby hands.

"Bridge!" I shout, stumbling around beneath her weight, trying to keep us both from breaking our arms.

"Let me see the phone!"

"Bridge!"

"Let me see the phone!"

She's like a freaking monkey. I can't shake her.

So I bend over at the waist, holding her fully off the ground and drop my hands as low as they can go. Without bothering to see what Ollie sent, I go in and hit Delete All on my text messages.

"Let me see," she huffs.

"I deleted it."

"Tell me who it was."

I sigh. "Can I put you down first?"

"Oh," Bridge says, as though forgetting she's still hanging on my back. To be fair, it's probably much easier to ignore when you're the one on top. After a moment, she slides off. "Sorry."

I stand, stretching as my mind reels, searching for any possible explanation that doesn't sound like a complete lie.

Bridge crosses her arms, hurt and confused. "Skye, what's going on?"

"I-"

"Don't say you don't know, and don't say nothing."

"I wasn't going to," I retaliate. But of course I was, so I breathe for a few seconds, trying to think of a different excuse.

"You know, I thought maybe something was happening with Patrick and you just didn't want to tell me you guys were getting back together until it was all settled, but after seeing him today, I know that's not true. And that just leaves me with one option, one option I can't even believe is crossing my mind, but there's nothing else I can even think of."

Her tone is ice. So I wait. Because of course, the only option flashing across my mind in huge, undeniable flashing lights is, Ollie! Ollie! I'm dating Ollie. I'm dating your brother. Feel free to hate me and banish me from your life for this total betrayal.

"Did you get back together with John?" she asks darkly.

But I'm so relieved I almost feel like laughing. I grin instead. "John?"

Bridge, on the other hand, is stone-faced. "Yes, John. The same John who mysteriously reappeared in our lives the very day you broke up with Patrick. The John who's been trying to weasel his way back into your life ever since you finally got the courage to dump him. The John who woke us all up yesterday and whisked you off for a secret coffee rendezvous that you have yet to discuss with me."

But I'm not paying attention to her.

I'm not paying attention to anything at all.

Because as soon as Bridge says the word John, a whole new realm of possibilities floods my mind-the perfect solution to all of my problems. How do I get the alone time I need with Ollie without Bridge realizing we're together? Tell her I'm dating John. How do I read my text messages with a giddy smile without having Bridge suspicious all the time? Tell her I'm dating John. How do I meet Ollie for a date under Bridge's watchful eye? Tell her I'm dating John. How do I write about a secret relationship in my columns without filling Bridge in on the source of my newfound happiness? Tell her I'm dating John. How do I fulfill the stupid promise I made to go on a date with John without Bridge caring? Tell her I'm dating John.

One by one, it all falls into place.

If Bridge thinks I'm with John, she won't want to hear about it-won't ask me about the dates, won't check in on how it's going, won't grill me for details. I'll be able to have my time with Ollie without worrying about Bridge noticing that I'm in love. I'll be able to write about us for my column knowing Bridge won't bother to read it. I'll finally have the freedom to figure out once and for all if Ollie and I are real, or if we're just the fairy tale I made up in my daydreams.

I mean, she hates John with a fiery passion.

So, yeah, she'll be annoyed.

But I only have four weeks until I promised Ollie we would come clean. Bridge can deal for four weeks. She'll be pissed, but when I tell her the truth, she'll be so relieved I wasn't dating John, she might even be excited it was Ollie the whole time.

It's perfect!

Well, maybe not perfect, but pretty damn close.

At least, I think so.

I hope so.

And I'm so blinded by my eureka moment, so excited, I don't hesitate. I don't think of the downsides. I don't spare a moment to ask myself how Ollie will react. I don't stop to consider the many, many ways this can go oh so terribly wrong. I do what I do best-make a rash and probably stupid decision. I meet Bridge's blazing green eyes, and say, "You're right. I got back together with John."

She sits back as though hit. "What?"

But I'm charging ahead. "I got back together with John. And I knew you'd be mad, so I wanted to keep it a secret until I figured out how to tell you."

But she's been struck dumb. "You got back together with John?"

I nod.

"You got back together with John?" she asks again, voice a little louder.

I lick my lips as my brows press together, nervous. "Yes..."

Bridge's hands fold into fists. Her lips curl. There seriously might be steam coming out of her ears, I'm not even kidding. And her eyes turn red. "You got back together with John!" Only this time it's not a question. "I can't believe you! After what he did? After the way he treated you? You just, he just, you-I can't even. I have to go."

"Huh?" I murmur, trying to follow.

But she's already gone, slamming her bedroom door and leaving me alone.

Dramatic much? I think as my eyes continue to linger on the empty space Bridge filled before her grandiose exit. Yet, part of me knows that wasn't just Bridge being Bridge. This is different. This is something new. An anger I'm not sure I've ever seen directed toward me before.

One thing suddenly becomes very clear.

I have no idea what I've gotten myself into.

Bridge and I never fight. The last time we purposely didn't speak to each other was when we got caught skipping school in seventh grade to get ice cream with her crush. I was so mad she forced me to go that I wouldn't answer the notes she kept passing me in detention. I lasted a whole hour before I finally relented and forgave her. But Bridge is a lot more stubborn than I am-I have no idea how long I'll need to wait before she cracks.

The apartment is eerily quiet when I get home the next day. Not an empty silence. But that sort of permeating stillness of the calm before the storm, when the whole earth seems to be on pause, waiting anxiously for the coming thunder.

I'm the rabbit tucked away and hiding.

Bridge is the hurricane.

And when I enter the living room to see her sitting on the couch, playing mutely with her phone, a wave of anxiety races through me, making my heart feel on fire.

"Hey," I murmur softly.

She doesn't look up.

"Hey," a deep voice comments.

I turn to the side, spotting Ollie in the kitchen. A burst of pleasure runs through me at the sight of him, warming my entire body, removing any lingering winter chill. "What are you doing home?"

"The restaurant got rented out for an event tonight, but they only wanted an open bar with light hors d'oeuvres." He shrugs. "I got the rest of the night off."

Normally, I'd be ecstatic. But I was sort of hoping for some alone time to figure things out with Bridge, seeing as the tension is palpable enough that even Ollie noticed. He glances at me questioningly as though he's been hiding out in the kitchen, waiting for me to come home.

"What's going on?" he mouths.

I shake my head. Too much to explain.

Too much that I should have explained last night when he crawled into my bed and wrapped his arms around me, but I was too tired, and the moment was too blissful, and I just didn't want to ruin it all with a fight. Because I know Ollie. And I know, after having the entire day to ruminate, that he'll be just as pissed as Bridge is. But I still stand by my decision. I know I'll be able to get him on my side if I have just a few minutes to explain. At least, I think so.

I hope so.

I really, really hope so.

With a sigh, I turn back toward the living room. Bridge's head is glued to her phone, but I have the distinct feeling of someone watching me, examining my every move, so I just walk slowly by and make my way to my bedroom. Hiding out won't do me any good-unlike the rabbit, this storm will find me no matter what I do. But it'll be easier to weather in sweatpants and fuzzy socks, so I don them like armor before heading back into the wild and taking the seat across from Bridge on the couch.

She doesn't look up.

I refuse to turn away.

The soundless battle continues like this for a few minutes. Bridge is very obviously ignoring me, and I'm very obnoxiously studying her. No one breaks until Ollie walks in, crashing into the tiny spot between us on the couch, half sitting on us both.

We groan in unison.

I smile a touch, tossing a side-glance at Bridge, but her face is stone. My gaze flickers to Ollie, who watches me with a worried crease across his brows as he settles into the couch, pushing his sister's legs to the ground to make some more room for himself. Both of his arms rest across the back cushions, behind our heads, and ever so subtly, his fingers brush against the base of my neck, fueled with electric fire. His chef's calluses are just a little scratchy, but the extra friction sends a shiver right through me, heightening the pleasure.

"Your slave is taking the night off from cooking," he announces. "What should we order in?"

"Chinese," Bridge and I both say.

I grin again. She doesn't.

Ollie just nods. After one more brush of his fingers, he pulls his arms back in and digs out his phone. I already miss the warm comfort of his touch. "Okay, General Tso's for Bridge. Kung Pao chicken for Skye. And I'll grab some fried rice and, hmm, how about Szechuan beef with broccoli. Done."

He clicks his tongue a few times.

Might as well be crickets because the awkward silence just elongates, stretching from Bridge, over Ollie, and onto me, bubbling out until it presses against the four walls of our small living room, suffocating.

"Okay," Ollie mutters, cracking. I'm positive the curiosity is killing him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Bridge murmurs.

I frown, rolling my eyes because her tone gives her away completely. No one else could ever say a single word with such hidden rage. Her voice comes off as nonchalant almost-if you didn't know her, that is. But I know her better than I know myself and so does Ollie. Which is why his eyebrows rise, coming to points at the top of his forehead.