“What?”

  “How grown up you sound.”

  “That’s bad?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “No, it’s good.” He looks at me and smiles. “It’s the point of good parenting, actually. You do everything right it means your kids don’t need you anymore.”

  “I still need you, Dad,” I grab the pass off my desk. “You pay for my parking.”

  He laughs. “Smart ass.”

  I chuckle as I roll my desk chair closer to him. “Dad, I’ll be fine. My mother works at my school and I’m still living at home. How much trouble can I really get into?”

  He snorts. “You’ve met your brothers.”

  “Alex and Ben go looking for trouble,” I say. “I don’t.”

  “Fair point.” He sighs, his dark eyes reflecting mine. “I just can’t believe we’re here. Feels like only yesterday you were in the NICU sq—”

  “Squeezing my pinkie,” I finish it with him.

  “Hey.” The lines of his face harden. “Those were the scariest days of my life. Alex and Ben, they came out fine, but you didn’t. You didn’t take a single breath on your own for six days.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Your mom and Daisy took care of the boys, but I sat in the hospital with you the whole time, surrounded by machines and doctors and nurses keeping you alive. So, I’m sorry if I need a little extra time getting used to you...” he waves a hand, “being out there, and not here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, reaching for his hand.

  On cue, he extends his pinkie, and I curl my fingers around it. Once upon a time, my grip barely managed around his thick knuckles. Now, my fingertips easily touch my palm, but the ritual is no less meaningful.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I say.

  My father stares at our entwined hands for a moment, then smiles as he looks up. “Love you, too, kiddo.”

  “But you gotta lighten up, man.”

  He chuckles. “You promise me E-lot and I’ll lighten up.”

  “I could collapse anywhere on campus. Why does it matter where my car is parked?”

  He frowns.

  I smile. “Deal.”

  “Good girl.” He rises, taking a moment to admire me again. “You sure about joining Beta Kappa, though?”

  “Dad.”

  He holds up his hands. “All right. All right. I’m lightening up. This is me lightening up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Want me to close the door?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Goodnight, honey.”

  “Goodnight, Dad. Thanks again for the parking pass.”

  He smiles and closes the door behind him. I sigh.

  You sure about joining Beta Kappa, though?

  It’s a fair question. Not pledging would mean I wouldn’t have to worry about Rush Week. About the Delta Xi boys sniffing me out, as Courtney put it. I could wait for someone special, as Connor said. I could be Daddy’s little princess forever and ever, always staying out of trouble.

  Or I could reinvent myself. That’s what you’re supposed to do at college, right? It’s a magical place where the awkward kid can break out, free to be whoever they want to be with no one knowing who they used to be. I could take risks and park my car wherever I want to and — dammit — I could have sex.

  Connor was a dead end, but there are plenty of other fish in the sea — or Northies on campus, to be more accurate.

  I’ll catch one.

  Even if I have to go looking for trouble.

  CHAPTER 6

  CONNOR

  I swipe my membership card slowly at the door of Champion’s Gym, Chicago’s best elite training and fitness facility. The card nearly comes apart after years of abuse. The son of a professional football legend never skips leg day.

  And neither does his sister.

  Courtney had gone back to her apartment by the time I made it home last night, or else I would have spoken to her then.

  And we have something very important to discuss.

  I give Kelly a wave as I pass by the front desk.

  “Looking for the big guy?” he asks, noting my casual clothes and lack of a gym bag.

  “Looking for big sister, actually.”

  “Ah.” He points his arm toward the back corner, showing off his dynamite forearms. Employees get free all-access memberships, and Kelly definitely uses his. “Squat racks last I saw,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  I continue forward, moving fast through the valley of cardio equipment toward the squat racks and power towers along the back.

  “Connor?”

  I stop, nearly running into my father’s wide shoulder as I round a corner. “Oh. Hey, Dad.”

  He lowers his clipboard to his side, keeping one eye on the guy performing a bench press beside us — the bar easily weighing twice his body weight. One of my father’s current clients. He only takes on a few at a time. Those who make the cut take it seriously.

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” he asks me.

  “Uh, not until eleven,” I say. “I think.”

  “You think? Son, you should know.”

  I raise my hands as I slink past him. “I just came to talk to Court, and then I’ll head straight to campus.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I say, prompting a blink. “Can’t a guy chat with his big sister?” Before he can reply, I widen my stride to get away. “I’ll catch you later, Dad.”

  I find Courtney at the squat racks like Kelly said. She’s wearing a jet black sports bra and navy blue tights, her ears covered with a pair of wireless headphones that scream talk to me and die. I know better than to interrupt her mid-set, so I stay back and wait for her to finish before getting her attention. The bar digs into her back as she rises out of her squat; her form perfect, her cheeks puffy and red. A few guys passing by slow down to watch, but it’s not the tights they’re focused on.

  Not sure why people are always so surprised to see that Courtney Morgan is fucking jacked.

  Courtney rolls the bar onto the rack and straightens up. I step into her eyeline. She glances up, bobbing her chin as she slides her headphones to rest on the back of her neck.

  “Hey, little brother,” she says, pointing at my feet. “Hand me that bottle, will ya?”

  I bend to grab the bottle of water and bring it within reach.

  “Thanks.” She takes a sip and smiles, catching her breath. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “Later,” I say. That is going to get annoying. “Did you talk to Dana last night?”

  She squints. “We all did. She was in our house.”

  “Right, but did you tell her…”

  I pause. All the times I rehearsed this in my head, and it’s not coming out any easier.

  “Did I… tell her what?” Courtney asks.

  I take a breath, stalling again. “Did you tell her she should ask a guy friend… to take her virginity?”

  “Yes,” she answers with a shrug.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” She dabs her forehead with her towel. “Everybody does it.”

  “Everybody does not do that,” I argue. “Do they?”

  “I did.”

  I cringe.

  “Mom did,” she adds.

  “Mom did?”

  “Yeah. Back when she lived in New York. Before she met Dad.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Uncle Grant told me,” she says. “He’s full of good stories about the shit they got into back when they all went to Chicago North.” She leans forward. “Did you know Dad had a sex van?”

  “A sex van?” I repeat.

  “Yeah.”

  “Like… a van? For sex?”

  “Right?” She chuckles. “Gross.”

  I ease back, this conversation already full of information I did not need to know. Ever.

  “Was there a reason for this interruption?” Courtney asks. “We’re officially hogging the rack.”

  “Dana,” I remind her.

  “Oh, right. Dana’s innocence.” She takes another sip of water. “Why do you care?”

  I don’t answer. At least, not out loud. I stare at her until she figures it out for herself.

  It doesn’t take long.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  I bite down. “Court—”

  “That is so cute!”

  “Cute?”

  “What a twist! Though…” She tilts her head, shaking a bead of sweat loose from her brow. “Not that surprising, actually.”

  I pause at that. “Why not?”

  “Well, you’re the only platonic male friend she has. Makes sense she’d go to you. Wouldn’t have expected her to act so quickly, though. Gotta respect a girl with hustle.”

  I exhale slowly, giving a glare to a guy eying the squat rack. He backs away. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask.

  “Her.”

  “I’m being serious, Court.”

  “So am I.”

  “I am not having—” I lower my voice. “I am not having sex with Dana Kirby.”

  “Why not?” she whispers, matching my volume. “You’ve wanted to for years.”

  I frown. “No, I haven’t.”

  Courtney raises a sharp brow. “Bro.”

  “I have not!”

  “Oh, please. You’re madly in love with her. You’ve always been. It’s so obvious.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, stabbing every word.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like a delicate, wounded lamb.”

  “I look at her like a friend. A friend I’ve known since I was born. A friend whose brothers would tar and feather me if they even found out about this conversation.”

  “You know, I’m hearing a lot of excuses and not a lot of good reasons.”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “What’s the big deal?” she asks. “It’s just sex. It’s bumping uglies with a pretty girl for fun. Nothing you haven’t done before, right, Heartbreaker? The irresistible quarterback? Everybody gets a pass?”

  I fix my jaw. This isn’t a question of whether I could. Could I have sex with Dana Kirby? Of course I could.

  It’s whether I should.

  And I definitely shouldn’t.

  “I can’t,” I say again.

  Courtney touches her headphones. “Well, if you won’t, someone else will. How’s that sit with you?” she asks, sliding them back on as she shifts beneath the squat bar again. “Now, shoo. These yams don’t pump themselves.”

  I step away, letting her get back to her workout.

  Someone else will.

  “I have other candidates in mind.”

  Those six words kept me up all night. That Dana would be with somebody else, somebody who doesn’t care about her like I do.

  Not that Courtney was right or anything. I’m not in love with her.

  I’m not.

  “Hey, buddy. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  I halt before walking right into a man I’ve known for as long as I’ve known Dana. Tall. Thick in the shoulders but narrow in the waist. Built for speed over strength, but no less powerful. John Kirby. Co-owner of Champion’s Gym. My best friends’ dad.

  “Connor?”

  Dana’s dad.

  “You okay?”

  Yeah.

  Totally not thinking about maybe popping your daughter’s cherry.

  “I’m good,” I spit out. “Just stopped by to talk to Courtney.” About sex. With your daughter. “On my way to campus right now, sir.” Where I will very much not be having sex. With your daughter.

  “Good.” John folds his arms, the sleeves of his Champion’s Gym T-shirt stretching over his biceps. There’s yet another reason I shouldn’t be considering this. I’d never make it down the block before he caught up and beat me to death. “Go to class. Every class,” he says, chuckling. “Don’t believe me, just ask your dad what academic probation is like.”

  I nod, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry, sir. I believe you.”

  He pats my arm as he passes, leaving me lingering between two guys grunting mid-bench press.

  Go to class. Every class.

  Try not to think about Dana.

  CHAPTER 7

  DANA

  I fold the campus map, shoving it into my jeans pocket as I enter Talon Hall. I don’t really need it. I walked the main area of campus countless times this summer, but I still keep it close for some reason. I’m a bright-eyed, bushy tailed freshman. A newbie. A virgin, in more ways than one.

  But I won’t be forever.

  Taking a breath, I navigate the lobby. It’s huge, with vaulted ceilings towering above my head. Several hallways extend in every direction like limbs on a spider, the main signs navigating toward the auditorium. Talon Hall is dedicated to theatre and arts majors. Not the place I expected to be very often.

  I check my class schedule again. Playwriting 101. Room 224. Second floor, probably.

  “You are lost.”

  I twitch up, noting the towering male presence in front of me. He’s tall and skinny, dressed in black from head-to-toe, but has a pair of kind eyes behind bleached blonde bangs hanging down to scratch his eyebrows.

  “No,” I say, purely instinctual. “Not at all.”

  “Then, where are you going?” he asks, his tone pleasant, as if we’ve been friends for years.

  “Um...” I glance at my schedule again to be sure. “Room two twenty—”

  He snatches the paper from my hand.

  “Excuse me.” I reach for it. “That’s mine.”

  He exhales, disappointed. “Damn,” he murmurs as he reads it. “Thought you were the one.”

  “The one?”

  I attempt to take it back again, but he holds it out of my reach.

  “Playwriting, but no other theatre credits,” he says, his smooth brow barely wrinkling as he furrows. “Why?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I say as I successfully take my schedule back.

  He eyes me again. “You’re not very friendly, are you?”

  “I’m friendly with friends.”

  He scoffs, but his smirk remains, seemingly a permanent feature on his face.

  “Dana?”

  I turn toward the familiar voice behind me. “Grant,” I greet him with a genuine smile as he crosses toward me from the entrance doors with a to-go cup of coffee in one hand. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. I thought I saw your name pop up on my roster last night,” he says, pausing beside me.

  The Grant Wilson I know rarely wears anything other than a T-shirt and slacks outside of opening nights, but today he wears a buttoned shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up fashionably. First day of classes. Need to set the tone.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Connor mentioned you were teaching a writing class, so I looked into it and saw you still had an open seat, so...” I shrug, punctuating my ramble.

  “I would have made room for you. Should have just asked.”

  “Oh. I, uh… didn’t know you could do that.”

  He leans a little closer. “They give me so much power. It’s borderline irresponsible.”

  I laugh.

  He smiles. “I’m happy to have you, Dana. I’ll see you upstairs. Don’t be late, or I’ll have you expelled.”

  “You can do that?”

  “No, but fear is a big part of my teaching philosophy.”

  I laugh harder, feeling good about my decision to join his class. “I’ll be right up!” I say.

  I watch him leave, walking straight toward the stairwell on the far side of the lobby.

  Definitely second floor.

  I move to follow, but a firm tug on my bag holds me in place. I glance behind me, making eye contact with this random guy again, his finger firmly hooked around my bag’s strap.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, very much over… whatever this guy’s problem is.

  “You,” he says, his eyes wider than before. “Who are you? Why are you on a first name basis with Grant Wilson?”

  I gently pry my bag from his hook. “He’s a friend of my family,” I say. “I’ve known him my whole life.”

  “Do you know Alyssa Morgan, too?”

  “Yes.”

  He gasps. “Really?”

  I smile. Makes sense that Grant and Alyssa have admirers here — within the same halls they learned and mastered their craft. “She used to bake me cookies,” I say, happy to play that card.

  His smirk returns. “Dana, was it?”

  I glare at his extended hand for a moment before shaking it. “Yes,” I say.

  “Hello, Dana. I’m Dylan. We should get to class.”

  “We?”

  He hooks our arms, friendly as ever, guiding me with him up the stairs. “Playwriting 101. Room two twenty-four.”

  “You’re in this class?” I ask.

  He snorts. “Are you kidding? I signed up for it the moment class registration went live. It filled up in less than ten minutes.”

  “It did?” I frown. “Then how did I get in last night?”

  “Fate works in mysterious ways.”

  “You think fate put me in this class?”

  “And sat you right next to me.”

  “Why would fate do that?”

  Dylan stops us on the second-floor landing with a sigh, glaring at me as if the answer were obvious. “Because you’re the one.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Look, I came to Chicago North University for one purpose and one purpose only: to become the next Grant Wilson. And for every Grant Wilson,” he motions toward me, “there’s an Alyssa Morgan.”

  “Oh, I’m not an actor,” I say before he gets the wrong idea.

  “Obviously. Your class schedule told me that. Even if it didn’t, you’re clearly lacking in the charisma department.”

  “Hey, I—”

  “But I have a gut feeling,” he says over me. “You’re not an actor, but you’re a writer, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Then you’ll write for me. Grant Wilson doesn’t act much anymore, but he’s a brilliant writer and Alyssa Morgan has earned countless accolades reciting his words. Are you a brilliant writer?”

  “I don’t know.”