My stomach drops as Connor’s bare chest fills the screen, his beefy arm slung over Violet’s shoulders. She’s winking at the camera, holding up a shot glass filled with red liquid. Henry’s body stiffens. Oh no. “What the fuck are they doing?” he explodes. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.” What else am I supposed to say? Damn it, Connor. Henry scrambles off me and digs out his phone, takes a quick snap of my laptop screen, and then sends a text to Violet with one word: Explain.
