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I take a long pull of coffee. It’s too hot. I burn the roof of my mouth and take another sip.

“That one’s my tutor,” I say. “Bea.”

“Ah! I get it. Of course she is.” He winks.

“She really is. She is my A&P tutor.”

“Cal, did you fuck your tutor? Because that is so unbelievably cool.”

“No.”

“Cal, come on, man. I’m your brother. You can tell me these things. This is the foundational function of a brother⁠—”

“I did not fuck my tutor, Drew.”

“Okay. Fine…” He looks out the window. “But did you at least try?”

“No.”

“Did you kiss her?”

I take another sip my too hot coffee and try not to strangle my own sibling. “No.”

“Ah, but…” He leans in, delighted, eighteen and merciless. “You wanted to.” He boops me on the nose with his finger.

I reel back. “Drew,” I warn.

“You wanted to, and you didn’t. Why didn’t you?” He scoffs. “You’re the Callum Fox,” he mocks. “I don’t know if there is a woman on earth who wouldn’t go for you.”

I have several reasons, the first one being I’m still not sure if she even wants me like that.

I shrug. “We’ll see.”

Hannah arrives with the pancakes. Sets them down. Gives me a quick once over, then retreats. Drew watches her go again, mournful. He drowns the stack in about a third of a bottle of syrup. For about three minutes we eat in silence. Drew’s capable of silence, but only with food in front of him; it’s the one reliable mute button for my brother.

Which leaves me alone with my own head, and my own head is replaying, without my permission, Bea on her side on that bed, facing me and the memory is giving me a semi right now just thinking about her perfect lips.

“So,” Drew says, mouth full and interrupting my dirty thoughts, “Dad’s making me take economics.”

Nothing to kill your horniness like that sentence. “What?”

“Next semester. Economics. And”—he points his fork at me like it’s evidence—”accounting, Cal. Accounting.”

“Why.”

“Because, and I quote, you need to know how to manage your money before you have it.”

I put my fork down. “Ah, you mean our locked-up Trust.”

“Finish school, Trust unlocks.” He mocks our Dad’s voice. “It’s not exactly a hardship for me; I was going anyway.” He catches something on my face and stops. “Sorry, Cal. I know that’s probably annoying to hear.”

It’s fine. Drew’s future has had college in it since he could walk. He’s basically a math savant—the kind of frustrating genius who skips half his classes and aces every test, the kind teachers complain about in the staff room and then write recommendation letters for anyway because he’s that good and charms them.

“Oh,” Drew says, fork half-loaded, “Mabel said hi.”

“You saw Mabel?”

“Last weekend. She texted me saying she’d baked cookies.” Drew shrugs. “I ate them while we chatted. It was nice.”