Chapter 8
“Google him.” Nash grabbed his phone on my nightstand. “What’s his name, Wilhelm Knight, right?”
“No!” I jerked the phone out of his fingers. “Don’t.” My tone was almost brutal. I clutched Nash’s phone.
He stared at me, searching my face for a moment. It was Saturday, and we were lying over the covers on my bed, both waking from a short catnap. “I don’t wanna spy on him,” I said more softly.
“It’s not spying. It’s Googling.” Nash’s voice was tense. He hadn’t appreciated my brusque reaction. “Don’t you wanna at least see if he’s on f*******: and find out his relationship status or something?”
Of course I was dying to. Of course I wanted to go searching the whole internet for any tidbit of information on Lei’s life, but no, I wouldn’t give into my impulsive curiosity. “I wanna
