Just for Practice

Chapter 1

Emmett

GOLDEN FUR CLINGS TO the bristles of the brush as I work through Lulu’s coat.

Each stroke reveals more evidence of my stepbrother’s negligence—not just the loose fur, but the unmistakable padding around her midsection.

Lulu pants happily, oblivious to my growing irritation at Kade, who sprawls across the couch, his attention fixed on whatever mindless social media has captured his interest this time.

“Sit still, girl,” I murmur, guiding Lulu back into position as she tries to twist and lick my face.

My hand runs down her side, feeling the extra weight that shouldn’t be there.

It’s gotten worse in the past few weeks—a direct correlation to how often Kade’s been “dog sitting” while I’ve been at swim practice and our parents have been both busy with work.

I glance over at him, taking in the scene of the casual chaos that always surrounds him. Crumpled hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. Empty soda can teetering close to the edge of the coffee table. Half-eaten bag of chips spilling crumbs onto the floor.

“You need to stop giving her so many treats,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my voice. “She’s getting chubby.”

Kade doesn’t even look up from his phone, just scrolls with his thumb and offers a dismissive, “Whatever. It makes her happy.”

My jaw tightens at my infuriating stepbrother. Twenty-one years old and still acting like responsibility is an alien concept.

“I’m serious,” I persist, removing a small tangle near Lulu’s ear. “The vet said golden retrievers are prone to hip problems. Extra weight makes it worse.”

“Christ, Emmett.” Kade finally glances up, his expression a mix of boredom and irritation. “She’s fine. Stop being such a downer. Go swim or meditate or something.”

I grit my teeth. Everything’s a joke to him—my swimming scholarship, my grades, my structured routine. Meanwhile, he’s scraping by in classes, partying four nights a week, and treating life like a big cosmic punchline.

We’re almost the same age—me just one year younger than him—and attend the same college. But that’s where the similarities end. Where I have schedules and goals, Kade has impulses and “vibes.” Where I have a five-year plan, Kade seems to operate on a five-minute one.

“You know,” I say, trying a different approach as I work the brush through a dense patch of undercoat, “just because our campus is close enough to live at home doesn’t mean you get to treat this place like a hotel.”

Kade snorts. “Says the guy whose mom does his laundry.”

“She does yours too,” I point out.

“Yeah, but I don’t pretend I’m all independent and shit.” He rolls to his side, his dark hair falling across his eyes in that messy way that somehow makes girls at parties flock to him. “At least I own my dependency.”

Before I can form a suitably cutting response, my mom’s voice calls from the main house. “Boys! Dinner’s ready!”

Lulu perks up at the word “dinner,” her tail thumping against the floor in anticipation. I dispose of the gathered fur, making sure none escapes to float around the house.

“Come on, girl,” I say, patting her side. “No treats for you, though. We’re getting you back in shape.” Tonight is our weekly family dinner at the main house—the one day a week when Kade and I are expected to put aside our differences and pretend we’re one big, happy family.

Kade stretches and stands, leaving his mess exactly where it is—hoodie, soda can, chip bag, all of it abandoned. He strolls toward the door, fingers combing through his hair in a token effort at presentability.

I take my time using a lint roller to remove the golden strands clinging to my dark jeans and blue button-down.

“Sometime today, Martha Stewart,” Kade calls from the doorway.

I ignore him, giving the living room a final once-over before following him out. Lulu bounds ahead, already anticipating table scraps despite my best efforts to train that behavior out of her.

The walk to the main house is short—just across the back garden from the tiny guest house—our parents’ idea of giving us independence while keeping accommodation costs down during college. It works well enough, except for the part where I have to share the space with Hurricane Kade.

The kitchen smells like lasagna, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

Mom stands at the counter, slicing garlic bread while Kade’s dad, David, pours wine into three glasses—no wine for me, as I still have a few months until I turn twenty-one.

Mom and David make a picture of domestic contentment—a second chance at happiness after their respective divorces.

“There you are,” Mom says, her smile warm as she looks up. Her gaze shifts to Kade, and I catch the slight tightening around her eyes. She’s never said it outright, but I know she worries about his influence on me. “Sit down. Everything’s ready.”

We take our usual places—me beside my mom, Kade beside his dad. Lulu settles under the table, strategically positioning herself between Kade and David, knowing her chances of illicit treats double this way.

“How was practice?” David asks me, passing the salad bowl.

“Good,” I reply, serving myself a careful portion of greens. “Coach thinks we have a shot at regionals this year.”

“That’s fantastic,” Mom beams with pride. She turns to Kade. “And how was your day, Kaden?”

Kade shrugs, already loading his plate with lasagna. “Same old. Classes. Study group.” The casual lie slides off his tongue. I know for a fact he spent most of the afternoon playing video games in the guest house—I could hear the gunfire and explosions through the wall.

Mom nods, clearly not believing him, but unwilling to call him out during dinner. David clears his throat, exchanging a look with her that I can’t quite decipher.

“We have some news,” he says, reaching for his glass. “Caroline and I have decided to take a little getaway next weekend. Just Friday to Sunday, up to that wine country resort we’ve been talking about.”

“That’s great,” I say, happy for them. They both work hard—Mom as an interior designer, David managing his own small construction company. They deserve a break.

“We’re hoping you boys can hold down the fort,” Mom adds, her expression turning a touch anxious. “Take care of Lulu, and…well, behave yourselves.”

There’s a weight to her words that makes me look up. She’s staring at Kade, who’s slouched in his chair, barely participating in the conversation.

“No wild parties,” David says firmly, following her gaze. “Just a quiet weekend taking care of the house and the dog.”

“What, you don’t trust us?” Kade asks, his tone hovering somewhere between amusement and offense.

“We trust Emmett,” David says to his son. “And we’re hoping some of his responsibility might rub off on you.”

I stab at my lasagna, uncomfortable being cast as the good son. It’s a role I’m used to, but one that has created a steady undercurrent of resentment between Kade and me. Every time our parents praise my responsibility, it’s an implicit criticism of his lack thereof.

“Don’t worry,” I say, hoping to ease the tension. “We’ll keep things under control.”

As the conversation shifts to vacation plans—which wineries they’ll visit, which restaurants they’ve booked—my mind starts racing with possibilities. A weekend without parents. The house to myself. Well, almost to myself.

My thoughts jump to Serena Blake, the girl I’ve been on a few dates with.

Serena, with her long brown hair that she tosses back when she laughs. Serena, whose sharp hazel eyes seem to see right through everyone’s bullshit. Serena, who sits two rows ahead of me in Economics and smells like something expensive and subtle that I can’t name.

All our dates have been nice enough, but they didn’t lead to anything. We kissed once, but she never invited me over to her dorm. But a homemade dinner and a cozy movie night might help progress our relationship further…

My excitement quickly sours into anxiety. I’m really not a player. I don’t know how to ‘woo’ girls, and I’m out of practice in the dating space, what with my studies and swimming scholarship.

I steal a glance at Kade, who’s slouched in his chair, tearing a piece of garlic bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

For all his flaws, there’s one thing my stepbrother excels at—charm.

Especially with women. The parade of giggling, gorgeous girls I’ve seen coming and going from our shared space is evidence enough of that.

The idea that forms next is so absurd I almost dismiss it. But as dessert arrives—some kind of berry crumble that I mechanically serve myself while my internal debate rages—it takes root.

Kade could help me. He could tell me what to say, how to act, how to make this date with Serena perfect. The thought of asking him makes my stomach twist, but the alternative—fumbling through an awkward evening, watching Serena’s interest fade—is worse.

By the time we’re clearing the table, I’ve convinced myself it’s the only logical solution. Swallowing my pride is a small price to pay for a shot with Serena.

After helping our parents with the dishes—Kade conveniently disappearing the moment cleanup begins—I head back to our house. The night air is cool against my face as I trudge along the garden path, rehearsing what I’ll say. Behind me, I hear the screen door slam and Kade’s footsteps catching up.

We walk in tense silence, the only sound our shoes on the gravel. The security light flickers on as we approach our house, casting long shadows across the lawn.

I feel like if I don’t ask him now, I’ll lose my nerve altogether.

“I need your help with something.” The words burst out of me before I can reconsider, sounding stiff even to my own ears.

Kade snorts in disbelief. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that. Sounded like Mr. Perfect just asked for my help.”

I stop walking, turning to face him. His expression is guarded, suspicious, as if waiting for the punchline.

“Look,” I say, forcing each word out through gritted teeth. “Our parents will be gone that weekend. I want to invite Serena Blake over for dinner.”

“Serena?” His eyebrows shoot up, surprise crossing his features. “Damn, shooting high, aren’t we? What do you need me for?”

I stare at the ground, hating this moment, hating my inexperience, hating that I need him. “I’m…out of practice. With dating.”

“Out of practice?” Kade repeats, a slow grin spreading across his face. “As in, you’ve never actually been in practice?”

“I’ve dated,” I snap. “Just not…recently. Swimming takes up most of my time, and classes, and—”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kade cuts me off, enjoying my discomfort. “You want dating advice from me? From the loser stepbrother?”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

His amusement shifts to calculation, eyes narrowing. “What’s in it for me?”

I’ve expected this. “I’ll do your chores for a week. Dishes, trash, everything.”

Kade considers this, tilting his head. “A month,” he counters. “And you do my laundry, too. We’ll give your mom a break.”

“Two weeks,” I attempt, but the gleam in his eye tells me he knows he has the upper hand.

“A month,” he repeats. “Take it or leave it.”

I weigh my options. A month of extra chores versus the possibility of a relationship with Serena. When viewed that way, it’s not even a contest.

“Fine,” I concede. “A month.”

Kade’s grin widens as he extends his arm. “Deal. Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

As I take his hand and we shake, a cold certainty settles in my gut.

I think I’ve just made a terrible mistake.