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Bea heads toward the kitchen, and my attention follows her automatically—the sway of her hips, the bare line of her legs.

“I’ll go get you one. You can go make charming small talk with everyone at this party while I handle something.”

“Pink-dress-related business?”

“Keep talking, and I’ll tell everyone Mom still buys your underwear.”

His mouth closes.

“Excellent.” I clap him on the shoulder and head for the kitchen.

I make it four feet before a small woman in a sparkly gold outfit steps directly into my path.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey.”

Her eyes narrow. “You have no idea who I am.”

I study her face for half a second too long.

“It’s fine,” she says quickly. “Completely fine. I’m Sydney. This is my house, my party and, ha, my birthday.”

“Oh!” Out comes the lazy grin. “Sydney. Sorry—I’m hopeless with faces unless I’ve seen them three or four times in person. Happy birthday.” I take her hand and kiss it.

Her eyes go a fraction wider.

“Thanks so much for the invite,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind I brought my brother too.”

“Uh, of course not. That’s totally fine. It’s alright.” She pats my arm. Her hand’s shaking a little.

“Bea’s a really good friend. Is she a good tutor?” She waves a hand.

“The very best.” I scan my eyes for her.

“Oh! Drinks—it’s all bottom-shelf, I’m sorry. I know you’re used to the good stuff, but the punch is actually incredible. Bea helped make it. She’s all into chemicals and stuff, so I figure she knows the exact ratio of sweet to alcohol. That’s basically what pre-med is, right?”

“I think it’s more about understanding the human body.” I look at her from head to toe. She’s very cute. The short hair suits her, and her smile is infectious.

“Oh! Don’t flirt with me, Mr. Fox.” She winks. “Drink the punch. Drink all the punch. You are my favorite guest tonight.”

“Sydney, you’re the best.” She blushes.

“Is that your brother?” She glances past me. “The handsome one you came in with?”

“Yup. He’s eighteen and used to drinking, don’t worry.”

“I’m going to introduce myself to him.”

“Please don’t corrupt my brother,” I warn.

“Honey.” She looks at me with something close to pity. “Your brother’s going to corrupt himself within the hour. I’m just going to make sure he survives it.”

I let her go. Across the room, Drew’s already at the center of a small ring of girls, mid-story, demonstrating something with his hands that’s either a football play or a plane crash. Sydney cuts through. I watch Drew light up like a pinball machine. The kid has made roughly fourteen friends in three minutes, which has been his standard rate since he was a toddler. I try not to let the jealousy bubble up in me, but it’s hard when you’re siblings with someone who always just seems to have all the answers all the time.

The blond by the punch bowl glances up when I reach the kitchen counter.

“Callum Fox,” she says.