Chapter 3
Emmett
IT'S BEEN TWO DAYS since that strange lesson with Kade, and he’s been circling me like a wary animal ever since—close enough that I can’t forget our deal, but distant enough that I’m wondering if he’s changed his mind.
Not that I care. If he wants to back out, that’s one less complication in my already complicated life.
As I walk home from campus on Wednesday, my mind drifts to Serena. Three days until she comes over. Part of me is worried Kade would bail on our arrangement, leaving me unprepared and awkward.
As I round the corner to our street, the sound of splashing and laughter drifts through the air.
My pace slows. Our backyard comes into view, and there’s Kade in the pool with three friends I recognize from campus.
One guy—tall with a sleeve of tattoos—and two girls, both in tiny bikinis that leave little to the imagination.
They’re passing around beers and shrieking with laughter as Lulu prances along the edge of the pool, barking excitedly.
I stop at the gate, irritation prickling under my skin. It’s a Wednesday afternoon. I’ve just spent six hours between classes, swim practice, and the library, and Kade is—once again—turning our yard into his personal party venue.
He spots me as I unlock the gate, his face lighting up with that infuriating half-smile.
“Well, look who’s home!” he calls out, raising his beer can in mock salute. “Golden Boy returns from his scholarly pursuits! Come join us! The water’s perfect!”
His friends turn to stare at me with curiosity. I feel suddenly self-conscious in my plain t-shirt and swim team shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder like some high school kid.
“Pass,” I say curtly, continuing toward the guest house without breaking stride.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Kade’s voice follows me. “All work and no play makes Emmett a dull boy!”
His friends laugh as if he’s just delivered the punchline to the world’s funniest joke. I ignore them all, focusing on the path ahead. Lulu abandons her pool patrol to trot alongside me, her wet paws leaving dark prints on the concrete.
“At least let Lulu come back!” one of the girls calls. “She was having fun!”
I whistle and Lulu stays with me, her tail wagging as we reach the guest house. Small victories.
Inside, I drop my backpack by the door and head straight to the kitchen. The fridge is sparse—a half-empty milk carton, some eggs, condiments, and Kade’s endless supply of beer. I grab the last yogurt and make a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
Lulu whines at my feet, looking up with hopeful eyes.
“Dinner’s in one hour. You’ll have to wait, buddy,” I tell her, scratching behind her ears. “And I bet Kade has been slipping you treats all afternoon.”
As if on cue, her tail wags harder. Busted.
I change into comfortable clothes and set up my study materials on the coffee table in the living room. The large windows face the pool, and I position myself with my back to them, determined not to be distracted by Kade’s party.
But the sounds filter in anyway—laughter, splashing, music from someone’s portable speaker. Lulu paces between the couch and the door, torn between staying with me and rejoining the fun outside.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it. I can’t blame her for preferring party Kade over study Emmett.
My mind drifts to my stepbrother again. He’s been quiet for two days, but something’s changed today and he’s back to his usual annoying self with the partying and the jokes. And why would he even invite me to hang out with him and his friends?
I force myself to focus on my economics textbook, highlighting key passages about fiscal policy and taking notes in the margins.
The words swim before my eyes, my concentration fracturing with each burst of laughter from outside.
One of the girls squeals—a high-pitched sound that cuts through the walls—followed by male laughter that I recognize as Kade’s.
My jaw tightens. I re-read the same paragraph three times before giving up and reaching for my noise-canceling headphones.
I’ve just settled into a rhythm, classical music drowning out the poolside chaos, when movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention.
I glance up to see Kade padding through the living room.
His swim trunks cling to his thighs, droplets of water running down his chest and back.
He doesn’t acknowledge me as he heads to the kitchen.
I return to my textbook, though my eyes track his movement through the open doorway. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, chugging half of it in one go. His throat works as he swallows, a droplet of water escaping to trail down his chin, his neck, joining the others on his chest.
I force my gaze back to the page in front of me. Fiscal policy. Government spending. Interest rates. Focus.
The couch dips beside me. I startle, pulling off my headphones to find Kade sitting there, watching me with an amused expression.
“Don’t you have guests?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“They can wait.” He twists the cap back on his water bottle. “They’re having a beer pong competition. I told them I needed a break.”
I eye the puddle forming beneath him on the couch. “You’re getting everything wet.”
He shrugs. “It’ll dry.”
I set my book aside, accepting that study time is over. “What do you want, Kade?”
“Just checking on my student. Been thinking about our next lesson.”
My stomach tightens at the memory of our first lesson—the way his voice dropped, the unexpected flutter in my chest when he got too close.
“I figured you’d forgotten about our deal.”
“Forgotten? Nah.” Kade drapes one arm across the back of the couch. “Just been planning. Today’s a perfect opportunity.”
“I’m studying,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, I can see that’s going well for you.” He nods toward my book, which I’ve been stuck on the same page ever since he walked in. “Besides, we had a deal.”
I sigh, setting my notebook aside. “Fine. What’s today’s lesson?”
“Touch.”
The single word sends an electric current down my spine. “Touch?”
“Yep.” He shifts to face me fully, his knee bumping against mine. “Words are important, sure, but physical contact is where the real magic happens.”
I lean away from him. “I know how to touch a girl, Kade.”
“Do you, though?” His eyes rake over me. “Because your verbal game was pretty weak, and I’m guessing your physical game isn’t much better.”
The challenge in his voice triggers something competitive in me. “What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing weird,” he says, raising his palms in mock surrender. “Just some basics. Hand-holding, arm touching, that kind of thing.”
I eye him skeptically. “And how are we supposed to practice that?”
“Give me your hand,” he says, extending his own.
“You’re kidding.”
“Dead serious.” He wiggles his fingers. “Come on, Golden Boy. Don’t chicken out now.”
My body tenses at the taunt. I hesitate, then extend my right hand. Kade’s hand hovers over mine for a moment before his fingers close around it. His palm is warm, slightly calloused where it presses against mine.
“See, this is mistake number one,” he says, his voice taking on that instructional tone from our first lesson. “You’re just letting your hand lie there like a dead fish. You need to engage.”
“Engage how?”
“Like this.” He adjusts his grip, interlocking our fingers. “Feel the difference? It’s more intimate.”
I do feel the difference. The pressure of his fingers between mine sends a shiver through me.
“Now, the secret is applying just the right amount of pressure.” His thumb begins to move, tracing small circles on the side of my hand. “Too limp, and you seem disinterested. Too tight, and you come off as desperate or controlling.”
My mouth goes dry as his thumb continues its methodical motion against my skin. The sensation is oddly hypnotic.
“Subtle movements are key. Little touches with your thumb, like this. It creates a constant connection, a silent conversation beneath whatever you’re saying out loud.”
I try to focus on his words, on the technical aspects of what he’s teaching, but all I can feel is the warmth spreading from our connected hands up my arm.
“Your turn,” Kade says, loosening his grip. “Show me what you’d do.”
I clear my throat, trying to remember what he just showed. I adjust my fingers, mimicking the interlock, and apply what I hope is the right amount of pressure.
“Better,” he nods. “Now add some movement.”
Hesitantly, I move my thumb, tracing the edge of his hand in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation of his skin beneath my finger is distracting, making it difficult to focus on what I’m supposed to be learning.
“Good,” he murmurs. “But don’t overthink it. It should feel natural.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m certain he can hear it. I try to dismiss these reactions as normal nervousness—after all, physical contact with anyone after a long dry spell would feel intense—but my body isn’t buying that explanation.
A visible shiver runs through me when his thumb traces a particular spot on my palm.
Kade notices. His eyes flick up to mine. “Sensitive?” he asks, his voice rougher than before.
“Just wasn’t expecting it,” I manage.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “That’s the point. You want to keep her guessing, create moments of surprise. It builds anticipation.”
I nod stiffly, hoping he attributes the flush creeping up my neck to embarrassment rather than the way my body is responding to his touch.
“Let’s move on,” Kade says, releasing my hand. The loss of contact leaves an emptiness that confuses me. “Hand-holding is basic. Face touching is the next level.”
My heart skips a beat. “Face touching?”
“Yeah. It’s more intimate, more direct.” He shifts closer, our knees now pressed together. “But you have to do it right. Too soon, and it’s creepy. Too rough, and it’s threatening. Too soft, and it’s forgettable.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Kade leans into my personal space. His lip ring catches the light as he smirks at me. “Relax, Golden Boy,” he says, cupping my jaw with unexpected gentleness.
My breath hitches as his thumb traces my cheekbone, then slides down to brush against my lower lip. The contact sends a jolt through me I feel all the way to my toes.
“See how I’m cupping your jaw? Firm enough to guide, gentle enough not to intimidate. It creates a feeling of control without force.”
I try to nod, but his grip makes it difficult. All I can do is stare at him, aware of every point of contact between us—his hand on my face, our knees pressed together, the faint brush of his breath against my cheek.
Something shifts in Kade’s demeanor as he watches me. His pupils dilate, and a flush spreads across his neck and chest. He seems as surprised by his reaction as I am by mine.
Wait, what is happening here?
I’m clearly affected by Kade’s touch—just as I was affected by his words the other day—but it seems that Kade is affected, too. The realization sends another wave of heat through me.
His grip on my jaw tightens, and he tilts my face up. “Sometimes,” he says, “taking control like this can be…effective.”
To my horror, I realize I enjoy it—the firm pressure of his fingers, the way he’s directing me, the subtle display of dominance. I struggle to maintain my aloof facade while my body responds to each touch.
For a few long moments, we both seem to forget where we are, who we are. The air between us grows thick with something dangerous. Kade’s gaze drops to my mouth, and for one wild, impossible second, I think he might—
“Kade! Where’d you go? We’re waiting for you!”
The female voice calling through the doorway shatters the moment. Kade blinks, as if waking from a trance, and drops his hand from my face. He stands up, creating distance between us.
“We’ll continue tomorrow. Same time?” There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, masked by his typical cockiness.
I manage a curt nod, not trusting my voice. As soon as he turns to leave, I stand and make a beeline for my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
Alone in my room, I press my palms against my face, trying to regain control of my racing thoughts and my body’s lingering response to Kade’s touch. What the hell was that? I should be learning how to seduce Serena, not…whatever just happened with Kade.
I drop my hands and catch sight of myself in the mirror mounted on my closet door. Flushed cheeks. Dilated pupils. Parted lips. The evidence of my reaction is undeniable.
“Fuck,” I whisper to my reflection.
This was supposed to be a transaction. Kade teaches me how to flirt, I do his chores. Clean. Uncomplicated. But there’s nothing simple about the way my skin still tingles where he touched me, or how I can still feel the phantom pressure of his fingers on my jaw.
The worst part is that I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s lesson despite myself. Anticipating it in a way that has nothing to do with Serena and everything to do with the strange electricity that sparks between Kade and me when we’re alone.
I need to regain control of this situation before it spirals any further. I pace the length of my room, mind racing. Kade has the upper hand because he’s more experienced, more confident. But there must be something I can bring to the table, some way to level the playing field.
An idea forms slowly, taking shape with each pass across my room. What if I turned the tables? What if, instead of being the awkward student, I showed Kade that I can be good at something too? That I can make him react the way he made me react?
A hint of a smile tugs at my lips. Tomorrow, Kade won’t be the only one giving lessons. It’s time to show my stepbrother that two can play this game.