Emmett
IT'S BEEN TWO DAYS since that strange lesson with Kade, and he’s been circling me like a wary animal ever since—close enough that I can’t forget our deal, but distant enough that I’m wondering if he’s changed his mind. Not that I care. If he wants to back out, that’s one less complication in my already complicated life.
As I walk home from campus on Wednesday, my mind drifts to Serena. Three days until she comes over. Part of me is worried Kade would bail on our arrangement, leaving me unprepared and awkward.
As I round the corner to our street, the sound of splashing and laughter drifts through the air. My pace slows. Our backyard comes into view, and there’s Kade in the pool with three friends I recognize from campus. One guy—tall with a sleeve of tattoos—and two girls, both in tiny bikinis that leave little to the imagination. They’re passing around beers and shrieking with laughter as Lulu prances along the edge of the pool, barking excitedly.
I stop at the gate, irritation prickling under my skin. It’s a Wednesday afternoon. I’ve just spent six hours between classes,swim practice, and the library, and Kade is—once again—turning our yard into his personal party venue.
He spots me as I unlock the gate, his face lighting up with that infuriating half-smile.
“Well, look who’s home!” he calls out, raising his beer can in mock salute. “Golden Boy returns from his scholarly pursuits! Come join us! The water’s perfect!”
His friends turn to stare at me with curiosity. I feel suddenly self-conscious in my plain t-shirt and swim team shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder like some high school kid.
“Pass,” I say curtly, continuing toward the guest house without breaking stride.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Kade’s voice follows me. “All work and no play makes Emmett a dull boy!”
His friends laugh as if he’s just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. I ignore them all, focusing on the path ahead. Lulu abandons her pool patrol to trot alongside me, her wet paws leaving dark prints on the concrete.
“At least let Lulu come back!” one of the girls calls. “She was having fun!”
I whistle and Lulu stays with me, her tail wagging as we reach the guest house. Small victories.
Inside, I drop my backpack by the door and head straight to the kitchen. The fridge is sparse—a half-empty milk carton, some eggs, condiments, and Kade’s endless supply of beer. I grab the last yogurt and make a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
Lulu whines at my feet, looking up with hopeful eyes.
“Dinner’s in one hour. You’ll have to wait, buddy,” I tell her, scratching behind her ears. “And I bet Kade has been slipping you treats all afternoon.”
As if on cue, her tail wags harder. Busted.
I change into comfortable clothes and set up my study materials on the coffee table in the living room. The large windows face the pool, and I position myself with my back to them, determined not to be distracted by Kade’s party.
But the sounds filter in anyway—laughter, splashing, music from someone’s portable speaker. Lulu paces between the couch and the door, torn between staying with me and rejoining the fun outside.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. I can’t blame her for preferring party Kade over study Emmett.
My mind drifts to my stepbrother again. He’s been quiet for two days, but something’s changed today and he’s back to his usual annoying self with the partying and the jokes. And why would he even invite me to hang out with him and his friends?
I force myself to focus on my economics textbook, highlighting key passages about fiscal policy and taking notes in the margins. The words swim before my eyes, my concentration fracturing with each burst of laughter from outside. One of the girls squeals—a high-pitched sound that cuts through the walls—followed by male laughter that I recognize as Kade’s.
My jaw tightens. I re-read the same paragraph three times before giving up and reaching for my noise-canceling headphones.
I’ve just settled into a rhythm, classical music drowning out the poolside chaos, when movement in my peripheral visioncatches my attention. I glance up to see Kade padding through the living room. His swim trunks cling to his thighs, droplets of water running down his chest and back. He doesn’t acknowledge me as he heads to the kitchen.
I return to my textbook, though my eyes track his movement through the open doorway. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging half of it in one go. His throat works as he swallows, a droplet of water escaping to trail down his chin, his neck, joining the others on his chest.
I force my gaze back to the page in front of me. Fiscal policy. Government spending. Interest rates. Focus.
The couch dips beside me. I startle, pulling off my headphones to find Kade sitting there, watching me with an amused expression.
“Don’t you have guests?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“They can wait.” He twists the cap back on his water bottle. “They’re having a beer pong competition. I told them I needed a break.”
I eye the puddle forming beneath him on the couch. “You’re getting everything wet.”
