“Not really, no.”

  “Ah, come on, Case. Just let me be the good guy.” Now he offers an adorable pout. “That’s all I’m asking. We don’t have to rush things.”

  “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says, pushing a few strands of hair behind my ear and letting his fingertips gently travel down the side of my neck. “I’m here with you. That’s all I care about now.”

  He’s endearing, but also a little infuriating. Fenn’s exploits are infamous in the prep school circles. It’s not like I’m ignorant of how he used to get around, and pretending otherwise is pointless. And it’s frustrating, because between the two of us, he’s the more seasoned traveler, yet he digs his heels in if I tempt him to venture much further than the front yard.

  “I know, and I’m not trying to rush things…” I slide off Fenn’s lap and cradle Bo’s head when he comes pushing his way under my arm. “But you’re starting to give me a complex.”

  He frowns. “How so?”

  “Every time you stop, I wonder if it’s because I’m…” I feel my cheeks heat up. “I don’t know…bad at this or something. I mean, my resume isn’t extensive.”

  Even before the accident, my dad was a zero-dating tyrant. And Sloane had every guy at Ballard and Sandover scared to come anywhere near me.

  “Your resume?” Fenn sounds completely befuddled.

  “Yeah. There was Corey Spaulding who asked me to Lisa Lesko’s birthday party freshman year and then ended up making out with her cousin in the guest house. Sophomore year I made out with Corey’s best friend, Brad, but mostly to get back at Corey for the Lisa Lesko party betrayal. And then there was A.J. Koppel last year, but I think he only kissed me to get back at Lisa Lesko for cheating on him.” I pause in thought. “Oh my God. I just realized Lisa Lesko is the common denominator in my entire kissing history. What do you think that means?”

  Fenn stares at me for a second before bursting into laughter. “What the fuck’s happening right now? What are you getting at?”

  “You’d tell me if I wasn’t a good kisser, right?”

  He blinks, still chuckling. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Fenn composes his face when he realizes I’m not laughing. “Are you kidding me? You’re a good kisser. Exceptional, in fact. Fucking phenomenal.” He sighs. “Don’t take my hesitation to mean there’s anything wrong with you. This is me trying to do the right thing. For once.”

  He does that a lot, and it makes me a little sad for him. Yeah, he’s had more one-night stands than a highway motel, but he isn’t a bad guy. Somewhere along the way, he got it in his head he’s undeserving.

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it.” He takes my hand to kiss the inside of my wrist. Which basically melts my insides to molten goo and makes me want to tackle him all at once. I don’t know where they teach guys this stuff, but he was paying attention. “There isn’t a single thing about you I’d change.”

  Inside I’m bursting, but I only nod and find a stick to toss for Penny. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to him.

  “Have you really only kissed three dudes?” He looks intrigued by that. “Weren’t you a cheerleader at Ballard?”

  I snicker. “Is kissing a gazillion guys required of being a cheerleader?”

  “Well, no, but…” He glares at me. “Fine. I’m stereotyping.”

  I grin at his grumbled concession. “Yes, I was a cheerleader,” I confirm. “And yes, I’ve only kissed three guys.”

  I was a lot of things at Ballard Academy. A cheerleader. Head of yearbook committee, which is a huge honor for a junior. I had a best friend—Gillian Coates, who I haven’t spoken to since the spring.

  I was popular at Ballard. A different kind of popular than my sister, who all the boys coveted and all the girls feared. Sloane used to tease that I was one of those annoying girls who every boy wants and no girl can hate because I’m too genuine. Whatever that means. I’ve never been anything but myself. And I think Sloane gave me a lot more credit in the “every boy wants me” department, seeing as how I captured the interest of a mere three.

  She wasn’t wrong about one thing—almost everyone at Ballard did like me. Until the rumor mill turned me into a nutcase, and suddenly I was cast aside. And I know for a fact that Gillian and my former friend group still whisper about me. I see it on social media sometimes, the dumb comments about me on people’s posts. It’s embarrassing.

  “Not to change the subject,” Fenn says then, “but have you noticed Sloane being weird? Because RJ’s starting to worry me.”

  I think it over. On the drive home after school, she was definitely less than chatty. But I didn’t dwell on it because it meant I got to skip the daily debrief when she drills down into everyone who was mean to me that day. Whose ass she needs to kick. Which tires to slash. My older sister is my ultimate protector, even when I don’t need protecting. Honestly, I’d let her leave bags of flaming dog turds in every locker on campus if I thought it’d make a difference, but as intimidating as Sloane is, there isn’t a machine conceived by woman or man that can halt the gears of high school gossip.

  In general, though, I don’t know if I’d classify her behavior as weird so much as lovesick. Ever since she got back together with RJ, she’s been sort of obsessed, walking around inside the opaque aura of a love haze. I’m happy for her, but it’s sort of creepy. Sloane used to shun the notion of romance. Now she’s peddling love to everyone like she’s running a multilevel marketing scheme door-to-door.

  “She’s been pretty distracted this week,” I answer. “All she does is text RJ. If I didn’t know better, I’d think those two were getting ready to run away together.”

  Fenn shrugs. “If they did, I’d have our room to myself, so…”

  “I’d say it’s normal for a new relationship, but nothing about Sloane is normal lately, so what do I know. They’re in their own bubble, I guess.”

  “Yeah, well, good for them, but RJ needs to get over it.”

  Fenn’s consternation is sort of endearing. He only just patched things up with his stepbrother, and I get the sense he’s feeling a little jealous. Starved for attention, maybe.

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” he adds. “Every time I look at him, it’s like he’s trying to figure out how to tell me my grandma died or something.”

  Huh. “Okay, that’s a little strange. Maybe that’s just how his face looks?”

  RJ’s a nice guy, but he does have strong antisocial tendencies. Sort of like a resting bitch face. For an extroverted guy like Fenn, it must be downright alien.

  “Like a couple days ago, I came into our room after practice and caught him on the phone. With Sloane, I assume. But he looks up at me like a deer in the headlights, and his eyes shift away. It’s stupid, but I swear I saw that same look every time someone talked about my mom being sick. When they were all afraid to tell me how bad it was getting.”

  “I’m sorry.” I reach for Fenn’s hand and entwine it with mine, holding it in my lap.

  I know what it’s like to lose your mother, although mine didn’t die from a drawn-out illness. She died suddenly, no warning at all. A freak drowning that nobody saw coming. And I was only five years old, young enough that I don’t remember much from those days. Only brief moments. Glimpses of the funeral, all the people constantly in our house for days afterward, while my sister and I tried coming to terms with the concept of death and the scary notion that Mommy was never coming back.

  “My dad was already checking out at that point,” Fenn says absently, rubbing circles into my skin with his thumb. “Obviously he was at her side every second, but I was invisible to him. He knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer, so he totally shut down.”

  Silence falls between us. I feel the sadness emanating from him and wish I could make it better. I think about my own loss, that huge hole left in my life after Mom died. I barely remember her, which makes it worse. I don’t even have some cache of warm, wonderful memories to crack open whenever I find myself missing her.

  I do have one cope, which is kind of embarrassing, but I bite my lip and decide to voice it, because I hate to see Fenn hurting.

  “I talk to her sometimes,” I admit shyly. “My mom.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s dumb, I know.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  I shrug, because silly as it is, I couldn’t stop if I tried. “When I get overwhelmed or scared, or even if I’m really happy about something. I imagine she can hear me, that she’s in the room somewhere, and I just talk to her.”

  “What do you say?”

  “Anything. Everything. Like when it suddenly hit me that I want to be a veterinarian, I told my mom before I said anything to Dad or Sloane.” A bittersweet smile tugs on my lips. “I know I was probably imagining it, but I swear I felt her presence that day. That she was proud of me for figuring out my path.”

  Fenn throws his arm over my shoulder and pulls me closer. “Wish I could do that. I haven’t felt my mom in a long time. It was empty after she was gone. That was it.”

  My throat tightens, heart squeezing in acknowledgment of his pain. I rest my head against his bare shoulder and once again wish I could offer something more than platitudes and silly tips to soothe him. Fenn’s still so haunted by the loss of her. It’s always there. In the moments when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking. In the way he knows without words how I’m feeling when I think about my own mother. In the dozen ways he sort of hates himself, even if he doesn’t think I notice.

  At least he lets me see him. I’m one of the few who do, and I’m grateful for that. It takes courage to be a little broken.

  “Hi,” he says. Gives me a little shake.

  “Hi.” I feel the smile in his voice. Sure enough, when I tip my head, his lips are curved in a playful grin.

  “What do you think about me taking you on a real date?” he asks quietly.

  My heart skips a beat. “And what does a real date look like?”

  “How do you feel about picnics? Saturday afternoon we can take the dogs for a walk and find a nice spot to set up.”

  It’s hard to picture Fenn Bishop skipping through the forest with a picnic basket, but I’d pay money to see what he comes up with.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter 3

  Fenn

  My stepbrother is caught in a perpetual trance lately. Used to be you couldn’t pry his eyes away from his computer screen, but at least he’d occasionally mumble a response to conversation. Now I can’t seem to get so much as a grunt out of him while we get ready for class in the morning. His head has been buried in his phone since the second he woke up.

  “Dude.” I throw a tennis ball across the room that flies past his head to thump the wall.

  RJ whips around in his desk chair. “Fuck’s sake. What?”

  “Have you heard anything I’ve said for the last ten minutes?”

  “No? I don’t know. Christ. What do you want from me before eight a.m.?”

  “I get you’re pussy-whipped these days, but how about sparing a little time for your friends now and then?”

  Fuck. That sounded clingy. Was it clingy? I don’t know how to do this whole brother thing. I was an only child my entire life. And now I’ve got this stepbrother who ended up being cooler than I anticipated.

  When we met five seconds before our parents’ wedding and were standing there in our tuxes sizing each other up, I honestly didn’t expect to ever like the dude. Hell, it took me a couple of weeks to even remember his name. But then my dad got RJ into Sandover, and we were thrown together as roommates, and now…well, I guess we’ve bonded. Sounds cheesy as hell, but it’s true. We might come from vastly different backgrounds and are polar opposites in terms of our attitudes toward socializing, but somehow this weird new familial relationship works.

  Or at least it did before he went and fell for Sloane frickin’ Tresscott. Of all the chicks he could’ve gone after, he picks the headmaster’s daughter. The ice princess. The girl who’d rip my balls off if she knew I’ve had my tongue in her little sister’s mouth every day this week.

  “Did you have a point, or are you just being needy?” RJ finally puts his phone down and hauls himself out of his chair to start getting dressed. As it is, we’ll only have time to grab a quick pastry at the dining hall before first bell.

  “You have to do me a solid this weekend. I’m taking Casey out for a picnic on Saturday.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder. I think I catch something of a grimace before he turns back to his closet.

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Keep Sloane busy for me.” I sit on the couch in the middle of our spacious dorm room and put my shoes on. “I know she’s not Team Fenn on this, and I don’t want every date with Casey turning into a standoff.”

  “So, this is happening?” RJ furrows his brow as he throws his bag over his shoulder. His tie is undone around his neck like it’s a statement against The Man. In reality, he’s been at Sandover for two months and still can’t tie the thing without my help most days. “You and Casey?”

  The question catches me as odd. And he takes on a strange demeanor full of mysterious subtext that makes me uneasy. “Yeah, and…?”

  “What are your intentions there?” he asks.

  “Intentions?”

  What the hell? Granted, we aren’t great at the heart-to-hearts, but I thought RJ understood how I feel about Casey. She’s not some conquest to me. This girl is special.

  “Did Sloane put you up to this?” I ask warily.

  “Just asking the question,” he says with a shrug that’s a bit more pointed than his words suggest.

  He’s not entirely wrong to be suspicious. Not even a little. Under the surface of what he knows about me, there’s a ship-killer of guilt lurking in the darkness. Because I’m an asshole for wanting her, and an even bigger asshole for letting this happen against my better judgment. With every day, every kiss, I’m a little closer to ruining her.

  RJ stands between me and the door, a not-so-subtle signal of the sincerity of his interest. I asked for his attention, and now I’m not getting out of here until I’ve satisfied it.

  “I’d never hurt her,” I tell him, my voice coming out gruff. I want it to be true. And that’s the best kind of honesty I can give him.

  Appraising me, RJ clearly wants to say something else, but my phone buzzes in my pocket. I release a breath, surprised at the relief to be let off the hook. Then I see my dad’s number on the screen and curse under my breath.

  “It’s my dad,” I mutter, then put the call on speakerphone with a curt, “Yeah?”

  I’d have let it go to voicemail if I wasn’t somewhat thankful for the rescue. This stare down with RJ was getting intense. I can’t imagine where his interest is coming from except that Sloane is far more put out over our relationship than I had assumed. Part of me wonders if she might be on a campaign to turn RJ against me, so long as Casey and I are together. I know it comes from a good place—she wants to protect her little sister—but Sloane is ruthless when she wants to be.

  “Good morning,” my dad answers with a pathetically cheerful voice I assume he’s doing for the benefit of RJ’s mom on the other end. “Did I catch you before breakfast?”

  “Yeah, what do you want?”

  These days he’s on my phone more times than in the last several years of my life combined. It’s all part of his sudden character turn toward some network TV dad impersonation that’s both disturbing and insulting. Ever since Michelle came along, it’s like he’s discovered his paternal roots and is trying to make up for a decade of benign neglect. Or at least he wants RJ and his mom to believe he’s trying to be a better father.

  I’m not buying it. People don’t change overnight. Hell, I’m not convinced people change at all. They just get better at hiding their malfunctions. So, no, I don’t believe my father suddenly stopped being a selfish prick and now cares about pesky matters like “family.”

  Where was Mr. Family Man after Mom died? Nowhere near me, that’s for sure. Before her death, he and I were close. We laughed together, went sailing. I even got him to play video games with me sometimes. We used to have fun.

  Then she was gone, and Dad completely iced me out. He buried himself in work and relegated me to afterthought territory. When he did remember my existence, he’d feel guilty and throw money at me, then disappear again.

  And eventually, I liked being left alone. I mean, what teenager wouldn’t want to run wild with zero consequences? No matter what I did, what crazy shit I got into, Dad didn’t even bat an eye. The summer before sophomore year—back when I was still at Ballard like seventy-five percent of the rejects who now attend Sandover—I threw a party at our house in Greenwich that resulted in the entire place being trashed and the cops showing up after a dozen noise complaints—and Dad couldn’t care less. He just hired a cleaning service and then went into his study to finalize some deal he was negotiating with a tech company in Japan. When I was expelled from Ballard and that snooty Swiss prep school? He didn’t even blink. Merely wrote another check and shipped me off to Sandover.

  So whatever this is, this unwelcome olive branch he keeps trying to wave in my face, I’m not interested. I lost interest years ago.

  “I hoped we could talk again about Christmas break,” Dad tells me. “Taking a little family vacation with all of us.”

  “Uh, yeah. I think it’s a little late for that trip to Disney World, Dad.”

  “Michelle suggested we go somewhere with mountains. Maybe some skiing?”

  “What do I care? Do whatever you want. I’ve got other plans.”

  “Think about it,” he urges, apparently choosing to ignore my blatant rudeness as some sort of psychological warfare. “In the meantime, Michelle and I wanted to come out for a visit sometime soon. We could take you boys out for a nice dinner. How does that sound?”