Page 58 of Twisted Needs

“Okay,” Aviva says, pointing at me. “Your turn. Let’s see what nightmare you picked out.”

I grab my pile of clothes and disappear into the dressing room.

I tug on a pair of oversized gray cargo shorts first, then pull the sheer black lace top over my head. The thing is objectively ridiculous, which is exactly why I grabbed it. I lace up the Doc Martens I stole from somebody else’s abandoned pile and wrap a scarf loosely around my neck for dramatic effect before sliding on giant sunglasses.

By the time I step out, Charlie physically doubles over laughing.

“Oh, this is horrific,” Aviva wheezes.

“You don’t understand the vision.”

“No, I do,” Charlie says immediately. “The vision is bisexual Coachella drug dealer.”

I snort. “That’s exactly the vision.”

Aviva walks a slow circle around me like she’s inspecting a museum exhibit. “Why does the lingerie top kind of work?”

“Because he’s annoyingly built,” Charlie says bitterly. “What’s the word—twunk?” Before I can stop her, she lifts the hem of the shirt slightly and groans dramatically. “Jesus Christ. These abs are getting unethical. Anders, I’m like—wet.”

I shove her away laughing. “Lee’s been trying to kill me in the gym.”

“Well it’s working,” Aviva says. “If academia fails, you could absolutely become some rich man’s trophy husband.”

That makes me laugh harder than it should. Mostly because Parker said something almost identical to me once after I came back from the gym in one of his old sweatshirts. “You could genuinely become somebody’s trophy husband if you stopped talking for long enough.” The memory hits so suddenly it knocks the breath from my lungs a little.

God. This is becoming a problem.

Everything stupid little thing somehow loops back to him lately. It’s like my brain’s become one giant Parker-shaped infestation, which would probably be easier to manage if he didn’t basically just drop off the face of the earth. Like he already knew there was something wrong and was trying not to scare it into becoming real.

“Earth to twunk,” Aviva says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I blink hard. “What?”

“You disappeared.”

“Sorry. I was dissociating.”

“Fashionably, though,” Charlie says, nodding supportively.

A few minutes later, Aviva disappears into the dressing room herself. When she finally emerges, she’s wearing a navy-blue ballgown, a glittery white cowboy hat, and yellow rain boots. I stare at her. Charlie stares at her. Then both of us start laughing at the exact same time.

“Oh, this is devastating,” Charlie gasps.

“It’s giving American Girl doll abandoned in attic storage,” I add.

Aviva claps excitedly. “Yes! You get it.”

“My Samantha doll literally had that exact dress,” Charlie says.

“Mine too,” Aviva says. “Her hair looked electrocuted by the end.”

Aviva disappears back into the dressing room to change. A minute later she pokes her head back out holding my phone. “Anders,” she says. “Your brother’s calling.”

My stomach drops immediately, but I answer anyway. “Hey,” I say quickly, turning away from the girls slightly. “I’m busy right now. I’ll call you later.”

There’s a pause. “What are you doing?” Luca asks. His voice is calm. Too calm. Something is up.

“I’m with my friends.”