5. Elliot
ELLIOT
I t took a long time to get to sleep last night. I had to keep telling myself that Connor did not look at me like he wanted to kiss me.
I thought this wishful thinking part of my brain, the part that would spin the most innocent of looks or touches into declarations of love, would have matured by now. Apparently not.
Connor has always had a naturally flirtatious manner.
He’s never thought twice about being tactile with me.
And he’s the kind of person who holds your gaze intensely when you talk to him—making you feel like the most interesting person in the room.
He probably never realized how much it killed me when he’d casually put his arm around me.
Or when he’d slump down next to me on the couch and ask me what I was watching while stealing popcorn from my bowl and letting our legs touch.
How was he supposed to know I’d be holding my breath the entire time, praying he didn’t move?
I managed to convince myself that last night was just one of those times so I could finally fall asleep. But that look in his eyes is still on my mind when I wake up on the cot in Scout’s bedroom the next morning.
She’s still asleep and snoring, and I’m still thinking about Connor looking at me with fire in his eyes, lingering on my lips a second too long.
Scout groans and turns over. I flinch, worried she’ll know just by looking at me that I was thinking about kissing her brother.
We’re up late enough that everyone’s already left to go to work. I keep expecting Connor to pop up from somewhere, but his gym bag is gone from its usual place by the door.
Scout pours the dregs from the coffee machine into two mugs and starts chewing on a cold piece of toast. “Wanna go see a movie or something? They fixed the AC at the Cinemark, so it should be nice and cool.”
“Actually—”
“I swear to God, Eli, if you tell me you’d rather stay home and study, I’ll disown you.”
“You’d never,” I tease.
She squints at me. “It’s fucking summer. You don’t have to study.”
“You know I have to take a summer class to pass Philosophy.”
“It’s an online class, it’s no big deal.” She lowers her gaze to her chipped nail polish. “And you know you can drop that class, right?”
I bristle. “I don’t want to drop it. I want to pass.”
“Eli.” She sighs. “You know you could pass that class if you didn’t have a legitimate reason why it’s so hard for you.”
My voice is smaller than I want it to be when I reply. “Ancient Philosophy is my mom’s field.” I don’t want to drop it because it makes me sad that I can’t ask her for advice, but every time I sit down to read a text I recognize from her bookshelves, my brain shuts down.
I don’t need to say anything more. I’m sure Scout understands why I can’t just push anything that reminds me of my mom aside the way my dad has.
Scout reaches out and strokes my arm. I have to bite the inside of my lip to stop from tearing up.
“Maybe it’s just too soon?”
“It’s been over a year. I shouldn’t still be crying over the slightest reminder.”
She scoffs. “A year is nothing. She was your mom, Eli. It takes as long as it takes. If you need to cry every time you think about her for the rest of your life, that’s your business. No one gets to put a time limit on grief.”
I let her hug me, swallowing the lump in my throat.
She pulls away, putting a hand on my face. “How about this—we take your books out to the pool and I help you study?”
“What do you know about Ancient Philosophy?”
She rolls her eyes. “I go to M.I.T. How hard can some Harvard classes be?”
We get a good hour of discussion in on all the ways Stoicism can be applied to the modern world before Scout calls time on studying.
“I’m gonna take a dip. You coming?” she asks.
“Meh. I’m gonna read for a bit.”
“ Eli? ”
“It’s for pleasure,” I assure her, pulling out my well-worn copy of The Brother’s Karamazov.
“You’re reading Dostoyevsky for pleasure? ”
“Yup.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smirk hiding behind the scowl. “Whatever. See you in there.”
In typical Scout fashion, she cannonballs into the pool, splashing water onto my feet.
As much as she’d loathe to admit it, Scout and Connor aren’t really that different.
Connor also likes to cannonball into the pool and soak everyone within splashing distance.
Except whenever Connor splashed me, I’d be immobilized.
Trying not to move because water from Connor Ryan’s body was touching me.
My face flushes and I’m glad Scout is too busy swimming to see.
CONNOR
Today’s practice was tough. I didn’t realize how hard being an assistant coach would be when I agreed to do it. Or how much being out of practice would kick my ass. It’s a good kind of exhaustion that washes over me as I stand under the spray in the shower, though.
That adrenaline rush you get from a good practice session is there. I guess being around hockey is tricking my brain into thinking nothing’s changed and that I’m actually still playing.
I pass Coach on my way out. He slaps me on the back again and tells me I did a good job. I allow it to pump me up a little, but not too much. This isn’t my plan. Coaching junior hockey isn’t going to get me where I need to be. But I can enjoy knowing I’m acing it while I’m here.
My good mood sours when I get back to the house and spot only Scout’s VW parked outside. Mom and Dad must still be at work .
I know Scout calls everyone losers, but it doesn’t exactly feel good to be on the receiving end of that sharp tongue of hers.
I don’t know when we went from being friends to having all this animosity.
I know she was pissed about me getting into Harvard, but literally anyone would accept their place at fucking Harvard.
And then when she got into M.I.T. and told everyone that M.I.T.
is a better school for S.T.E.M. subjects anyway, I thought we’d be cool again, but no.
I square my shoulders before I let myself into the house, focusing on how hungry I am instead.
Scout and Elliot must be upstairs, despite how warm it is.
They’re not in the living room watching a movie or hanging out in the kitchen.
But then I hear the tinny sound of Scout’s speakers.
The noise is coming from the garden, so I stand at the kitchen window and peer out.
Sure enough, there are Scout’s feet sticking out of the pool while she does a handstand.
All the other shit disappears as I’m reminded of all the hours we’d spend in the pool as kids. Making up our own stupid games, playing basketball with that inflatable hoop. Trying to drown her while she practiced her handstands. Good times.
I glance away from Scout’s feet and find Elliot sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. Shit.
When was the last time I saw Elliot without a shirt on?
I’ve probably seen him a hundred times in nothing but his shorts.
I'm sure he was present for most of those pool basketball games and drowning sessions—I probably tried to drown him at some point, too. It was always natural for him to be around; he’s like a part of the family.
Except the effect of seeing him leaning back on his elbows, his bare chest glistening with pool water, is not the kind of effect family has on you .
His hair is wet and slicked back from his face, and without his glasses on, he couldn’t look more naked if he tried.
When he glances up, his gaze travels toward the window, as if sensing he’s being watched.
He catches me staring at him. Fuck. I try to style it out and wave.
He gives me an uncertain smile and waves back.
Okay, act natural. Elliot cannot know you’re lusting after him. It’s weird. Definitely not allowed. Think … how would I act if I hadn’t suddenly started finding Elliot attractive?
I make my sandwich and bring it outside, perching on the edge of a lounger where a well-read copy of The Brothers Karamazov sits.
I put my plate down next to it and pick it up to study the back.
The glossy surface has little cracks running through it and the picture on the cover is a gloomy painting of two guys in long, dark coats.
I flip it open to the first page and immediately recognize Elliot’s messy handwriting in blue ink.
A weird rush of affection forces me off balance, but I do my best to act natural as I lift my head.
He isn’t even looking at me. He’s too busy watching Scout. She’s still upside down with her head in the water. How long has she been holding her breath? That girl could win a gold medal out of pure stubbornness.
She finally comes up for air. Her hair sticks to her head, making her look like a seal. I hold back from commenting. Now I’m here, I don’t want her to make me leave.
She spots me after she’s rubbed the water from her eyes and her whole demeanor changes. Fuck, why does my baby sister hate me so much?
“What are you doing here?”
I force a smile until my face is uncomfortably tight. “Nice to see you, too, sis. ”
She rolls her eyes and swims over to the edge where Elliot is. I shouldn’t be surprised by how close they are, but when she rests her arms on Elliot’s bare knees and says something to him in a low voice, an ugly sensation suspiciously close to jealousy twists inside me.
They laugh and Scout swims back into the center of the pool.
I watch her do a few leisurely laps in the water while I eat my sandwich, painfully aware of Elliot so nearby.
When he gets up and starts walking toward me, I momentarily forget how to breathe. It’s just Elliot, for fuck’s sake. Pull yourself together.
I realize that I stole his seat when he takes the lounger that Scout’s sunglasses are sitting on.
“You want this spot back?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine.” His neck flushes as he grabs his book.
“ The Brothers Karamazov, ” I say, nodding to the book. Wow, smooth. Some of your best work. Except, I’m not ‘doing my work’ on Elliot. I’m just making polite conversation. Right?
“Have you read it?” he asks.
“Tried it once. Didn’t understand it.”
I expect the same mocking smirk I’d get from Scout, or one of those pretentious guys I tried to date back at college.
Instead, Elliot just offers me an understanding smile.
“I know what you mean,” he says. No, he doesn’t.
I’ve seen those annotations. He gets it.
“But I think people try to make Dostoevsky seem more unattainable than he really is. His work is actually really accessible when you let go of the pretentious, gatekeeping attitude of academics.”
I smile as his cheeks turn an attractive shade of pink.
He probably thinks he’s being embarrassingly nerdy right now.
And okay, yeah, he is being nerdy, but it’s definitely not embarrassing.
In fact, I really wish I wasn’t wearing these flimsy shorts, because if I stand up in the next few minutes, he’ll see how impressed I really am.
“Maybe you could explain it to me sometime?”
Stop it. Stop flirting with Eli.
He looks down at the book and nervously thumbs the already dog-eared corner. “Sure,” he mumbles.
I made it weird. Fix it—now.
“It looks fun, anyway,” I joke, nodding to the gloomy cover.
He snorts. Putting on a slightly dramatic voice, he says, “English writers—I will die for honor, American writers—I will die for freedom, French writers—I will die for love, Russian writers—I will die.”
I bark a laugh so loud, Scout scowls at us from the pool.
“What are you two talking about over there?” she calls.
I ignore her, keeping all my attention focused on Elliot. “Did you make that up?”
“No.” He brushes his hand through his slicked-back hair and blushes deeper. “I read it somewhere. It’s silly.”
“It’s funny.”
“It’s accurate.”
Our eyes meet and I hold his gaze for a moment before he looks away.
Fuck, Elliot has beautiful eyes, and beautiful skin and beautiful lips….
Scout climbs out of the pool and even the water dripping from her hair is unusually aggressive.
“Come on, Eli, let’s go get something to eat.”
Elliot follows her without argument. I have to bite my tongue to stop from asking if that’s what Elliot actually wants.
As he passes me, he splashes water on my leg.
I don’t know if it comes off his hair or body or his shorts, but …
the second I realize water from Elliot is on me, I freeze, staring at the droplets sitting innocently on my bare leg.
Before I can think about what I’m doing, I brush them with my thumb and close my first around them.