Excerpt of Pros & Cons by Sydney Logan

“It’s this girl.”

“A girl?” My mother’s face brightens.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated.”

“Love usually is.”

I snort. “Love? This isn’t love. This is . . .”

Intense sexual attraction to the point of pain.

“Lust?” Mom smiles knowingly.

I frown. “No, it’s not that, either. Not entirely, anyway.”

“So it’s somewhere between love and lust.”

“It’s far, far away from love. Eons away from love.”

“Hmm.”

I’m immediately on the defensive. That hum is what she reserves for her patients—or for me—when she doesn’t believe what we’re saying.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hum. I am not in love with this girl.”

Mom raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, you’re not in love with this girl.”

“Thank you.”

“But she’s obviously gotten under your skin. You look like someone who’s lost their puppy. Your hair is standing on end—a sure sign you’re frustrated. And you haven’t touched your pancakes.

“Maybe I’m just not hungry.”

“Hmm.”

“Fine! I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t have the first clue what to do about it.”

Chuckling softly, Mom pours me another glass of juice. “Why don’t you tell me about her, and then maybe we’ll figure out what you should do about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to share. I know how private you are.”

“You know why I have to be.”

“For our protection. And for yours. I know. But just this once, I’d love if you’d let me be your mother. So please tell me what it is about this girl that has you twisted into such knots.”

I’m really not sure where to start, so I go with the basics.

“Her name’s Jenna.”

Too basic, if the shocked expression on my mother’s face is any indication. Naturally, she’d recognize the name.

“Jenna York?”

I nod.

Mom sighs. “And here I was hoping this girl might actually convince you to leave this life behind. Of course you’d fall for another con artist. You do remember that Bonnie and Clyde got shot in the end, don’t you?”

“We aren’t Bonnie and Clyde, and I haven’t fallen for her.”

Mom eyes me skeptically before waving for me to continue.

“Anyway,” I mutter, already regretting this, “there’s a connection there. We understand each other on a level that nobody else can.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “I’m sorry. Of course I do. Tell your story. I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

“What story?” Dad asks, making his way into the kitchen. Mom springs from her seat to pour him a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Ethan.”

“Morning.”

Dad kisses Mom’s cheek, and she hands him an omelet.

“Thank you, sweetheart. So?” he asks as he takes his place at the table. “What story?”

“Ethan’s having trouble with a girl.”

His head swivels toward me. “Is that so? You know, son, I always thought a girl was exactly what you needed. A sweet, sensible girl who can convince you to settle down and start living a normal life.”

Mom laughs, and that’s when I officially give up.

“Enjoy your breakfast. I’m going to the den.”

“But you didn’t eat your—”

“I’ll eat later.”

I head downstairs and search through the media cabinet until I find the stack of video games I played as a teenager. The next hour is spent playing Grand Theft Auto, and it’s just the violent distraction I need to take my mind off everything. Conversations with my parents always make me nuts. While I’m used to discussions about my chosen profession, I’m not prepared to talk to them about my feelings for Jenna.

Whatever those feelings might be.

Even the game bores me after a while, so I toss my controller aside and reach for my cell. I quickly scan through my messages. There’s nothing from her—not that I really expected there to be. There is a text from Coop that looks interesting . . . something about a Greek billionaire eager to get his hands on some diamond. Technically, we’re on vacation, so I make a mental note to ask for details later.

I keep scrolling until I find the message I’m looking for, and I can’t help but grin at the picture of Jenna and the Mexican waitress. Their kiss was silly. Nothing more than a joke.

Our kiss wasn’t a joke. Not at all.

I decide to send her a message.

I can still taste your lip gloss.

It’s only after I hit send that I realize I really can taste it, and I want to taste it again.