Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
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.