She's out cold. Can't say I blame her.

I'm wondering if it's a mercy. This damn elevator is acting like it really wants to kill us.

When I hear the loud grinding noise, feel the mechanism overhead giving way, I think our little reunion is about to end with a life ending splat.

But the spinning, the growling, the brutal plunge stops.

Drops five, maybe ten feet and then catches, jerking us up again.

I'm still gripping the gold banister. My fucking arm nearly rips off my shoulder, burning as the thing bounces once and then catches again.

Miraculously, it holds. Stops. Leaves us suspended, closer to eye-level with the Seattle nightscape. I see the Seattle Great Wheel by the waterfront lit bright and slowly spinning, turning over like a clock counting down the impending end of our lives.

It's stupid, really. I should care more about the prospect of becoming a pancake in a designer suit if we hit the bottom. More about the fact that I'm not sure if the way my arms just jerked back into their sockets will leave permanent damage.

But all I can do is hang off the railing like a monkey, gazing at the woman under me. And for once, she's pinned under my body in a way I never wanted.

She's as beautiful as I remember.

Hell, maybe more.

Hips for ages, chestnut hair, emerald green eyes. The color of those tawny locks I used to love curling my fingers through, she got from her ma. The ripple in her hair came from her old man.

The elder Chenocotts couldn't have created a more perfect wonder. Or a bigger bastard in her brother, Jace. Have to hand it to them: they forged an angel and a demon from the same blood.

Presh groans gently. I forget musing over the good and evil in her family DNA.

Fuck.

Six goddamn years, and this is how we reconnect?

Somewhere, somebody's laughing. It's a colossal cosmic joke, our predicament. A knee-slapping, tongue-biting, sucker-for-punishment sorority prank, and it just might be the last one we ever get to throw an acid laugh at.

A new pain burrows through my shoulder. My wrist tightens, but I can't hold on.

The angle is too steep. My bones can only take so much. I wish I'd kept up rock climbing, but there hasn't been much time for that since leaving Washington in the rear view mirror, piecing my life back together, plotting my revenge.

I grit my teeth. If only it were Jace, not Amy Kay, stuck here with me. I'd go out in a blaze of bloodletting, throwing the fucker who torpedoed my life through the glass.

It's not him, though. It's her.

Unthinkable, abandoned, still hot-as-the-devil's-fireplace Presh.

She, who I wasn't supposed to ever hear from again.

Much less lay eyes on.

Much less wind up trapped in a ruined elevator with.

A woman – and what a woman! – who's blossomed since I turned my back, left her behind, and told myself a million times I had to.

For her good. For mine. For everyone's.

“Trent?” Her lips open, whispering my name, but her eyes stay closed.

First time since our run-in I can't detect raw hatred in her tone. My eyes crawl her limp, half-conscious body. She's slumped against the glass with one heel knocked off, lying in the corner. It's crunched underneath my briefcase, which I lost the first time the elevator went haywire.

“I'm here,” I bite off.

Her eyelids flutter shut. I get nothing back.

Shit.

I'm trying to decide whether to move, wake her the hell up, figure some way out of this together. But she'd just as soon give me the same treatment I've planned for her asshole brother, I'm sure.

Worst part is, I can't even blame her. Not in this lifetime.

Still, she could be hurt. I can't just stand here like an idiot, waiting for her to come back to life and breathe fire. I let my legs give, dangling, rocking my weight, testing the elevator's stability, hoping my weight won't be the last straw. So far, so good.

It won't drop us again. I think.

Only one way to be sure...I let go of the gold railing and let myself fall. I hit the edge of the metal divider between the glass, rolling next to her.

It takes another minute to struggle into a crouching position. The elevator sways gently.

Good. One less worry about the cord or whatever the hell's holding this thing snapping like a twig.

“Presh?” I take her hand, squeezing.

Nothing. Adrenaline hits my veins.

“Presh!” I do it again, adding pressure, watching her eyelids flutter. Hoping she didn't bash her head in harder than I thought. “Come the hell back here. You hear?”

Nothing again. She just twists her neck, moans a little, something soft and small and indistinct.

Goddamn, this better not be a concussion.

For all my brains – and they've worked miracles – I'm not a doctor. I reach up, testing the emergency button for the intercom, yanking the phone off its cradle.

No tone. Dead silence. The more I press it to my ear, the heavier the void.

Fuck.

Whatever caused this one-in-three-million mishap, it's knocked out communications. And I'm betting our cell phones don't work either. The enclosed shafts of these old buildings are notoriously crappy for reception.

Worst part is, I'm too busy to even try. I'm stuck, focused on my breathing, trying to still the fierce ache in my joints. Worried as hell Amy Kay will never wake up again.

Tightening my hold on her hand, my eyes flick to the briefcase.

“Shit!” Growling, I bash my fist into the solid steel part of the wall that's become our floor with everything spun nearly ninety degrees.

This isn't how it was supposed to go down. Not at fucking all.

I was supposed to come up here alone, find a comfy seat to perch for the night, and be there bright and early before the morning crew arrived. I was supposed to make my special delivery to Jace Chenocott in person, documents I've spent the better part of the last year piecing together. Tactical nukes made of paper.

Unbelievable. This entire thing, starting with the fact that he used to be my best friend.

Amy stirs, whimpering a little. With no better options, I scoop her up, hold her to my chest, and send a silent prayer through the glass.

If there's anybody left to hear, I want this over, A-S-A-fucking-P.

But I'd really like her to walk away alive a whole hell of a lot more.

I close my eyes, waiting for her to come back to me, my patience for miracles running thin.

Can't tell what's spinning faster: my head or every breath shaking my lungs.

Before I know it, I'm back in Madison Park, almost a decade ago. You know that load they feed you about facing impending death and having your life flash before your eyes?

I'm living it. Except my life didn't start until age seventeen, world hanging from my balls, face-to-face with the most beautiful woman in the world who'd ever learn to hate me.

* * *

“Another English paper? Jace, what the fuck?” I look up. He doesn't even ask, just drops it on my desk, a shameless grin digging at his dimples.

“Hot date tonight. I'll pay you double to get mine done. Look, I realize old man Matheson is up everybody's ass, wanting us to have some original spin on this James Joyce crap.” He pauses, rolling his eyes. “Guess the old fart's never heard of Google. I could find a ghostwriter overseas to spin college papers all damn day.”

“Dude, don't. It's not just professors lining up to check plagiarism now. You fuck up that bad, you're out of Maynard. Besides, you know you'd get junk-ass quality. I'll write your crap again, okay? Just give me double, like you said. And wrap it the hell up if your date tonight's Georgia. She's been screwing those La Crosse players numb for the past semester.”

Grin growing wider, Jace extends a muscular hand. We're about the same size and strength and it's always a small pissing contest when we shake.

Then I turn back to my screen, cracking my knuckles. Another long night of writing lays ahead instead of trying to get my dick wet.

That's for rich kids who can afford to be irresponsible. Guys like my boy, Jace, who lives in a damn Madison Park mansion. He's got a rotating harem of girls from millionaire families.

My blessing is brains. Better work ethic, too. I'm living about as much as I really want to, taking money to crib Jace's papers, and hell yes I charge him big. If anybody ever found out, I'd be out on my ass like lightning.

It's in my interest to make sure my best friend doesn't do something stupid that gets us both cooked.

Exclusive academies like Maynard don't fuck around. I'm one of the few students there on merit, rather than money or blue blood. There's more pressure than ever on the principal to crackdown lately, too. Ever since the Randolph kid did the unthinkable on school property.

An accident, they said. A bad fight that got out of hand. A complete clusterfuck.

It was the big, ugly finale to a whole lot of corruption tarnishing the academy well before I ever enrolled three years ago.

“You can stay here and work. Ask mom for dinner,” Jace says, tapping his fist next to my laptop. “Shit, sometimes I think my parents like having you around more than me.”

His confidence dims. I give him a crooked smile, unsure what the hell to say to that.

The Chenocotts are good people.

Like any high class Seattle family, they're also demanding. Sometimes, I think they've already given up on Jace. He was grounded for weeks last year after pulling a C in chemistry. It's more likely they're putting their chips on their daughter.

Amy Kay.

Fuck.

Don't even think about her, I tell myself. There's a very good reason.

Amy Kay Chenocott is on my mind way more than she should be. She's everything Jace isn't: soft spoken, sweet, intelligent, and way too fucking young.

She's only in her freshman year. We're Seniors. I've always told myself I won't be one of those assholes who hooks up with the fresh meat and leaves them high and dry. I definitely can't be the prick who does it to his best friend's little sister. For more reasons than I've got time to list.

“I'll get it done and then I'll eat the shit out of your ma's chocolate muffins.” I grin, slapping my friend on the back. I have to deflect the wicked thoughts his little sister always manages to give me somehow.

“Gross, Usher. If you weren't so damn good at what you do, don't know why we'd be friends.”

“Because you need to shore up your GPA if we're heading to Bellingham next year. Blood pact, remember?” I turn back to my screen, well aware he's still staring through me.

“You're a madman for turning down the Ivies. I've seen what's on your desk at home – Yale, Princeton, Stanford. Fucking scholarships out the wazoo. Beats me why the fuck you want to stay local, getting rained on up and down this dreary coast.” Jace walks across the room, yanking an expensive craft root beer off the counter, bringing one for me. “If I had the grades...shit. I'd be down in SoCal so fast and I'd never look back. The world's a whole lot bigger than Seattle and months of no sun.”

I shrug. “Why do a stupid thing like that when there's money to be made? Big coin.”

That gets him smiling. Or maybe he's got me half-tuned out already, picturing his latest conquest. Georgia Evans goes down easy for most guys, and for Jace? He'll probably be home early with her panties in his pocket.

“Seriously, man, I like those ideas you floated a couple weeks ago. Started brainstorming in my little black book. It's a nice distraction during Euro history.” He reaches into his backpack, grabs his small leather notebook out of it, and flips it open. “This solar shit...it's gonna change everything. Won't even be hard to line up the venture capital with my old man's connections. You've got the brains, and I've got –”

“People,” I finish for him.

I don't need him saying the other word, money, rubbing in his status.

I have an idea what it takes to grease the wheels if you want to get anywhere in life. I also know how high a mountain I'd have to climb alone, without him, raising funds for an untested technology startup.

I nod, trying to be encouraging. Truth is, Jace barely understands what a solar panel is.

He hasn't spent the hours like I have, ass deep in government white papers, exploring markets and pinpointing needs that'll make this thing a success, right out of the gates.

“Yeah, that's it. People.” His phone starts buzzing. Throwing his notebook back in his bag, I watch him toss it over his shoulder, and race toward the elevator leading to the garage.

Yes, their house has its own elevator, as insane as that is.

“Gotta run! Email whatever you've got over by midnight and I'll pay up tomorrow. Thanks again, dude, I owe you.”

“Bye, Jace.” He's already out the door.

I should consider myself lucky he's taking this business talk so seriously. His support, his family, can open more doors than any degree. I'm lucky we're friends, even if it's frustrating as hell sometimes.

Whatever his faults, we make a good team.

* * *

“Alone again, Mr. Usher? Where's Jace?” Maxwell Chenocott appears behind me a few hours later, dropping his usual formal greeting. He's a strapping older man who looks like one of the playboy executives from Mad Men. He's a lot more reserved than the guys on TV, though, and more buff than any guy in his fifties should be. Probably the hikes in the Cascades he does religiously.

“Oil change and a library run, I think. Said his car really needed it. I decided to stay here and get cracking on our paper. How's business anyway, Mr. Chenocott?”

“Another day, another dollar.” He smiles, throwing his raincoat on the bamboo hanger by their door, then returning a minute later with a drink in his hand and a coffee for me. “Will you look at that view? Goddamn magnificent this evening.”

I turn to where he's staring out the massive windows. It's late evening and the city's lights are a half-smeared twinkle, distorted by the rain and darkness like a Grimshaw painting.

“Always is, Mr. Chenocott. You've got an awesome place.” I'm honest.

Deep down, maybe I'm a little jealous. They've always been good to me, but my folks will never have anything like this. Sometimes the chasm their money opens between us swallows me.

“Don't be covering for my boy if he's left you high and dry, okay?” His voice sharpens and he casts a sideways glance. “Jace has to learn to sink or swim on his own. No carrying his load if he's off screwing around, you hear?”

I do.

Doesn't change the fact there's only one sane thing to do every time he probes me over Jace: lie through my teeth.

“He's getting better at the details. Honest, he is. Just last week, we knocked around business ideas all evening. Even seemed excited to take another crack at the SATs.”

“He'd better. I didn't raise a loser. Hoping something rubs off before he finds himself in a world of hurt, Trent. You're a good kid and a better friend. He'd be worse off without you.”

Before I can say, “thanks,” the door swings open. There's a clatter of shoes.

Mrs. Chenocott sways across the room, falling into her husband's arms, greeting him with an enthusiastic kiss. She's a slender, regal woman. An admiral's daughter, supposedly. I burn my eyes into the screen, ignoring the fifteen year old shadow materializing over me, stabbing my fingers at my keyboard. Harder and harder so I don't have to live her torment.

“You again? Guess that means he isn't here,” Amy Kay whines, lowering her eyes. Her parents stop making out in front of us long enough to give a concerned look. “Jace promised he'd run me over for my uniform tonight.”

“Oh, Orcaettes?” Mrs. Chenocott smiles. I've heard she was on the academy's dance team back in the day, too, which is probably why she still has a trim figure. “I'll take you, hun. Where is Jace, anyway?”

Shit, shit. His cover story's growing thinner by the second. And picturing Amy Kay in the black and white tights that make up our school colors for the dance team does me no favors.

I've never been able to figure out if the Orcaettes get their name from the islands north of here, or the whale. Either way, the girls all look more like mermaids than any lumbering ocean beasts.

“Oil change and library books, Mrs. Chenocott. Should be back soon.” Yeah, I'm a royal heel for BSing like this. But there's a chance it could still be true, if my blood brother finishes getting his dick wet sometime this century and calls it an early night.

“Mom, forget it,” Amy says, shooting me a lingering look. “Too bad you don't have a car yet, Trent.”

“Yeah, too bad.” My family's relative poverty slaps me in the face. I try not to bite my tongue.

“Peanut! Not nice. Mr. Usher does perfectly well with his bicycle, just like most kids. Vehicles are very expensive to operate and often unnecessary. Hideous carbon footprint.” Mr. Chenocott's hand slaps my shoulder, trying to be reassuring.

Fuck, my guts just want to turn inside out. I don't need him coming to my defense, getting on his moral high horse about the environment or the logic of urban living. “Listen to your mom. She'll run you over for the uniform. Why don't you two go now while I figure out dinner?”

“Oh, Maxwell, not more takeout from that sushi place again?” His wife gives him a knowing look.

“Never, dear. It's so much better fresh. We're all going out tonight. Assuming Jace gets the hell back here in the next hour to join us.” He looks at his ten thousand dollar gold watch and taps the glass. “On second thought...screw it. We're not waiting up for him. Trent, I hope you'll join us. Proxy for Jace. It's the least we can do for not having a home cooked meal ready after helping him out.”

“That's very kind, but I'd better check with my folks,” I say, reaching for my phone.

It's just a formality. Ma never says no. Hell, she loves when I hang around the Chenocotts. Their money, prestige, and class impresses her.

I also think it's balm for the guilt she feels, in a twisted way, adopting me and being unable to provide anything like the culture these millionaires can.

Amy Kay's eyes are on me while I'm deep in thought, dialing mom's number.

Despite hanging around Jace and his family, their high culture hasn't exactly rubbed off. Not in my soul. I'm a thousand times more at home in the salt of the earth fish markets by Pike's Place than eating fancy sashimi. Too bad I'd be rude and foolish saying no.

A quick call to mom goes off like I expect. She doesn't even hesitate, tells me to have fun, and enjoy. It makes me just as determined to buy her and Pops a four hundred dollar dinner someday.

While I'm busy talking, the door crashes open again. Jace drags himself inside. Amy Kay and Mrs. Chenocott instantly shoot him dirty looks.

"What? What'd I miss?" Jace locks eyes with me.

He's grinning ear to ear. It's insanely difficult not to shake my head.

"You're just in time," Maxwell says. "Go wash up and see if Trent needs help wrapping up your project. Soon as you boys say you're good, we're calling a ride and going to Satoshi's."

* * *

Dinner is surreal.

I sit next to my best friend, doing my damnedest to pick over raw fish and rice. I'm sure I'm breaching etiquette a hundred times overloading every bite on my chopsticks full of wasabi, but I can't bring myself to care.

Ophelia Chenocott prattles on excitedly, telling us how nice her visit to the local university was with Amy Kay in tow. She dragged her daughter to some cancer research benefit, one of many charities she has a hand in.

I barely hear a word. My eyes are drunk on the site across from me, shyly hoisting bites of sushi to her ruby red lips.

Merciful Christ, is Amy Kay wearing lipstick tonight?

If she is, it looks damn good. Also sends jealousy storming through my blood, imagining who she's wearing it for.

Is this practice for some guy?

Another rich fuckhead I see every day in the halls, rubbing his paws together, hoping he'll be her first? Hell, is she already seeing somebody?

I hope to hell not. And not just because everything involving her and me is a bad idea.

She's too young, too innocent. Practically bait for the rich pricks who make up the majority of Maynard's male population. They're more like Jace than I care to admit. A willing cock carousel who burn through girls like their parents' money.

"Hey, dad, you still going to that thing in Olympic Park this weekend?" The excitement in Jace's tone gets my attention.

"It's October, dear. Your father wouldn't miss his last good chance at the trails before they turn freezing for anything." Mrs. Chenocott smiles, waiting until her husband nods. "Speaking of getaways, if you boys promise to behave, we were thinking –"

"Ma, you can trust us anytime. Hell, me and Trent were just planning to box ourselves in all weekend so I can study my SATs,” Jace tells her cheerfully.

I don't even have to look at my friend to know he's already got something diabolical planned.

"You're trying awfully hard to sell us, son. Makes me want to think twice about breaking in my new hiking boots before the season's over." Maxwell stops mid-bite, eyeing Jace through his thick spectacles.

A plump shrimp roll slips out of Amy's chopsticks, slapping the plate underneath. She sighs. "Does this mean I'll be cooped up all weekend with these clowns? Mom?"

I hold her eyes, longer than I need to. Damn, those jade green irises are dangerous – the kind that'll drown a man in stupid if he lets them.

They're also mysterious. Unpredictable. Consuming.

I can't tell if she actually hates my ass or maybe there's another reason she wants under my skin.

"Hon, you can bring a friend over too, if you'd like. I'm sure it'll be okay...we've got Trent to keep everyone in line. Consider yourselves lucky." Mrs. Chenocott runs her hand along Maxwell's. He gives her a knowing look.

Gross. They really need that weekend getaway, probably to finish what they started after she came home today.

Mr. Chenocott nods. “Jace, I'm trusting you. You know the rules: no strangers, no drinking, and don't you dare set foot in the boathouse.”

Jace's eyes are on me, prickly as ever. I wonder if he resents having me appointed big brother, but it seems like he doesn't really care. Having the whole house to ourselves overshadows whatever weird anxieties his parents keep pounding through his head.

I know one thing: this weekend is going to be balls to the walls insane.

"Dad, I don't know. Seems like a bad idea." Amy Kay won't let go. I can't tell who's giving who the dirtier look – her, or Jace.

"Peanut, there's a lesson here for you, too, I'm sure. If it makes you feel better, keep an eye on them, and call us anytime. We'll keep our phones on." Maxwell never says what that lesson is.

Amy Kay's eyes meet mine again for a burning second, before she resumes stuffing her little mouth with sushi. Her hands stay busy the entire time. Clearly, it'll be a while before she makes peace with Jace running the house.

I just hope I'm able to diffuse the wicked heat this girl pumps in my blood, without blowing everything to kingdom come.

* * *

I'm at the Chenocott's place bright and early on Saturday morning. The beer I bought off an older kid's big brother last night swings under my coat, hiding from any servants who might still be lurking around. Same tactic I used with Ma and Pops. The Chenocotts rarely have their cleaning people by on the weekends, but I'm not taking chances.

Jace will be royally pissed if I screw up the booze. Sure, there's greater likelihood any missteps will be on his end, but a small part of me also wants to make the most of having this massive place to ourselves for the weekend.

I only ring the doorbell once. Jace's big hand comes out, grabs me by the wrist, and yanks me inside with all his might. "Get the fuck in here, my dude. We've got clear weather!"

"Weather?" The bottles rattle in my hand, secure in their cardboard container.

Behind us, I hear a shrill giggle. Fucking Georgia.

"Oh, Jaycee, you sure we need this beer with everything else? Hi, T!" Georgia waves. I try really hard to see a brain behind her manikin smile.

I give a weak hello and wave back. Don't know who I feel worse for: Georgia, for hanging off him like a damn puppy, or Jace for leading her on. He's bought himself a hell of a time getting rid of this one after he's had his fun.

"Forget it, babe. The more, the merrier. Usher, we're fucking loaded. Already raided the liquor cabinet dad hasn't touched in ages. Time to hit the waves."

The boat? Shit.

Jace is wasting no time landing us both in hot water.

"The boathouse?" I'm shaking my head, more obviously than I should. "Dude...you heard what your old man said. If anything happens to the Wilkie –"

"Usher?" He pauses, an irritable flicker in his eyes. Jace yanks one of the bottles from the box and rips the cap off, shoving it to my lips. "Drink. It'll help you chill the fuck out and, you know, not blow our only chance in months at finally having some goddamn fun."

Checkmate.

A rich dark Porter bubbles on my tongue. Higher alcohol content, of course, just like he wanted.

I shut my yap and suck it down, following Jace and Georgia through the garage, out the side door, and down the little stone walkway through Ophelia's manicured gardens. It's a decent walk across the huge property to their boathouse.

I've lost the war before it started.

There's no convincing him. He's made up his mind, and when there's pussy involved, Jace always aims to impress. No better way to do that than a four ton stand-in for his dick size that could sail all the way to Alaska. Overkill for Georgia, who's already wide-eyed and starstruck at the crown jewel of the Chenocott's enormous wealth.

Inside the boathouse, even the beer hitting my empty stomach can't completely silence the voice in my head screaming, this is a bad idea. The ship beckons in the dim light, big and proud, a seriously complicated machine.

The SS Wilkie is more than a rich man's yacht. It's a twenty person luxury liner. A freaking whale crafted from the finest wood. Right now, perched safely in its nest for at least a few more minutes.

A small part of me hopes Jace doesn't have a clue how to get this thing off the dock. He's already scrambling up the staircase leading to the main deck, grinning as he helps Georgia along. Predictably, she giggles her little ass off, pecks him on the cheek, and whispers something about "captain."

Awesome. We're not even out to sea, and I'm already fighting the urge to yak up breakfast.

"Usher, you coming?" Jace's tone is a warning. Not a question.

Lucky more booze hits my blood, giving me the liquid courage I need to get on with the insanity. I run up the stairs and bang my fist on his. "There's my man. Let's roll. I'll show you guys how hard I rock at steering this thing.”

He'd better be right.

* * *

It takes over an hour to get the boat into the Puget Sound. Jace doesn't really know what the hell he's doing.

Rather, he knows just enough to spool the engine up and get us cruising along the coast at a lazy clip. Good thing these yachts are meant to be idiot proof.

Traffic on the water is light today, thank God. The other owners of fancy docks on this exclusive stretch of coast must be out of town for the weekend like the Chenocotts.

It doesn't take much time with Georgia on his lap before Jace gets distracted either. "Yo, why don't you take over, Usher? It's easy. I want to show my girl the rooms downstairs. Give her a little tour. Think you can handle this big bitch without running us aground?"

Georgia's eyes light up the second he says "my girl.”

Fucking woof. I've never seen any of his conquests happen so fast.

"I'll try," I say, running my eyes along the control panel.

It looks more like the fucking space shuttle than any boat I've ever known. But hell, it's not like I've ever been in the nerve center of anything more complicated than a car. Good thing I like a challenge. “Run along. If I run into trouble, I'll holler.”

"See? Told ya we could count on him." Jace silences Georgia's laughter with a long kiss, and then they're gone.

Shit. I'm buzzed, but not so far gone I've lost my common sense. I plop down in the captain's seat and dig through the cabinet on the right.

Surely, there's a manual. A guide. Something.

I'm practically a genius and a decent driver, despite not having a car yet. I got my license easy and drive Pops' truck somewhere every week. Figuring out how to navigate this thing shouldn't be impossible.

The boat drifts along, stable and safe, buying me precious time to look for the instructions. It's a mess inside the compartment. There are old maps, an atlas, maybe half a dozen thick travel magazines, each of them stuffed with pamphlets for ritzy resorts from old family outings.

The screaming that starts up below deck doesn't help.

What now? At first, I think it's just Jace screwing with her, but she doesn't stop. Georgia is howling bloody murder.

I bolt up, race to the stairs, wondering if somebody fell and broke bones, or if this is just how loud they get when they're drunk and going at it.

Then I hear Jace's voice. "God dammit, Amy Kay! I ought to throw you overboard and make you swim the fuck home."

"Hey, hey...She's just a kid." Georgia's voice. "You said this ship is good for how many? Like twenty people? It's not like she'll interrupt anything if we just let her hang."

"No, Georgia, you don't get it. This little stowaway will rat us the hell out the second she's got her phone to her ear. Speaking of which – where's your phone, sis? Hand it over." More rage floods his tone by the second.

"Jesus, calm down! It's not like I was going to say anything. Honest. Just wanted to know what you guys were up to. We already both know messing around with the Wilkie is a butt kicking in dad's book. We've been out here for more than an hour, Jace.” She pauses, sighing. “Don't you think I'd have called dad by now if I really – hey, hands off!" It's the last thing Amy Kay says before the discussion, if you can even call it that, breaks down into three way teenage screaming.

This is getting out of hand and very fucking dangerous. We can't have a slap fight and nobody at the controls for long. I have to break this shit up.

I pound into the main living area like a tornado. Amy Kay is in tears, locked in a tug of war with her idiot brother, while Georgia looks on and clucks her tongue, making the world's weakest attempt to make peace.

“Guys, for fuck's sake. Guys!” I rush between them, shove Jace off her, ripping at the phone in his hand.

He's caught off guard and goes spinning back against the wall, stabbing a dirty look through me. “Screw you, Usher! What the hell do you think you're doing? Didn't you see –”

“I've got it right here in my hand,” I growl. “You're paranoid, man. I'll keep this safe if you're worried about her squealing.”

Amy stands up, wipes the stray tears off her cheeks, and takes a good long look at me.

I catch her green eyes, try to telegraph a warning into her brain. Quiet. Let me handle this.

“That's not the fucking point!” Jace roars, storming over. He's in my face, shouting, something I've never seen him do in the three years we've known each other. “She always ruins my shit – always. She's a little rat. Her life's so damn boring she's always got to rub her nose in mine, where it doesn't belong.”

“Like I care, asshole! Don't flatter yourself.” She stumbles forward a couple steps.

For once, I'm grateful for Georgia, who grabs her, whispering a few choice words.

Jace ignores the scene, too busy barking more rancor, spitting in my face. “Fuck you, man. You know how wrecked I am if dad finds out we've got his boat? Any fucking clue?”

Yeah. Maxwell will nail him to the wall, put him under house arrest.

Jace'll be lucky if I'm even allowed to drop by to write his papers and help with SAT drills. He'll be useless, set back, an even bigger liability for getting our business off the ground.

I gather my words, ignoring how good it'd feel to punch him in the face.

“Remember what you told me earlier? Relax? That's what we're here to do today, right?” I'm speaking slow, measured, like I'm cornering an escaped beast at the zoo. “She won't be making any calls. Trust me. Let's just forget this crap and have our fun.”

He narrows his eyes. I see it in his face, he doesn't want to let go. “Fine. But damn, any more antics, and I'm dead serious about making her swim.”

“Screw you!” Amy Kay lurches forward, catches Georgia's arms, beaming raw hate at her brother. “You're all lucky I'm here. Somebody needs to be sober on this ship. I swear, Jace, if you bring this boat home beat up, dad'll –”

A high pitched scraping sound drowns her out, giving heart-stopping emphasis to her words. Fuck.

It only lasts a second, maybe two. At least it shuts everyone up. We're glued to the floor, staring at each other, fear replacing anger in Jace's eyes. “Oh, Christ,” he whispers.

“Let me take a look. Amy Kay, you've been out on this thing a few times, haven't you?” I look her way, see the same terror filling up her face. Slowly, she nods. “Come with me. Georgia, Jace, you two stay here. Cool your heels. If we're in deep shit, you'll hear it from me.”

I hear them bantering back and forth while Amy follows me upstairs. She's still blotting at her eyes with her sleeve. It's a maroon sweater and a skirt today, concealing her curves, but barely.

I'll take it. I don't need distractions while I search out what we hit, praying it isn't another boat.

“No manual for this thing?” I ask her, rummaging through the cabinet again after a quick check through the windows. I don't see any obvious collision objects or damage. Maybe – I hope – it was just a huge rock or the edge of a navigation buoy drifting by.

“I...can't remember. Dad always steered. Like second nature to him. He had a few years in the navy, spent a few summers with our grandpa's fishing company, I think.” She sniffs, still clearing her tears, shaking her head. “Okay. I've seen him do this a million times...once or twice he even let me have the wheel. Supervised, of course.”

Quietly, she comes close, peering over my shoulder. “Sensors look good. Whatever it was, I don't think it did any major damage, but we should try to dock to look things over.”

I shrug. “If we're not taking on water, I think we're okay. Good for however long Jace wants to stay out here, I mean.”

She twists her lips sourly. “He's a dick. Don't know how you stand him.”

Can't argue today. I'm trying to focus and let go of the shit storm with my best friend.

It's raining, big fall Pacific droplets pelting the hull. So much for the clear weather Jace promised, wiped out by the abrupt rains that always manage to attack a beautiful Seattle day.

I'm hoping this doesn't pick up, or visibility will become a struggle.

I look through the glass, ignoring how she leans on my shoulder. Her heat is another vicious distraction I don't need. “Your brother's not an asshole constantly. Sometimes, hell yeah. No denial. He thinks with his reptile brain and doesn't know how to shut it off.”

“His...huh?”

“Reptile brain. You know, the part where all the animal instincts are. Fight, flight, and –” I stop myself right before I say fucking. “Feeding. Point is, that's what he lets lead him around. Causes a lot of trouble sometimes.”

“Is that why you enable him?” She casts a bitter look. “He'd have flunked out of Maynard or gotten a real tutor by now if you weren't writing his papers. Too bad you can't take his tests, too. Best he ever does on those are Cs.”

I ignore her, eyes ahead of me.

Think I see an island in the distance, one with those small channel harbors where they used to have fisheries and whaling houses a hundred years ago. Probably a heritage marker now. Chances are there's a run down dock or two, the perfect place to wait out this storm, if I can get us there in one piece.

“Sorry, Trent. That was rude of me, I guess.” She sighs, looking down. “His crap isn't your fault. I'm just...really frustrated. We all are.” Her voice softens. So do her fingers, running along my neck, causing something evil and electric to dart through me. “I'm scared he won't come home one day. Mom, too. Or he'll wind up in big trouble, something so bad it hits the whole family. Call it a gut feeling. An ugly one.”

“He's going through some shit. Letting his dick and his inexperience lead him into trouble. Finding himself or whatever. Pretty typical seventeen year old acting out.”

She laughs, a high tinsel sound. A smile digs at my cheeks while I'm looking for the rudder controls, trying to turn this thing, point us toward the docks in the distance. “On your left, old fart. You don't have to correct very much. The computer does it automatically.”

“Old fart?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, you talk like you're not the same age as Jace. Like you've been there, seen that, done it all. Come on. You're a kid, Trent. Just like the rest of us. Or does that tortured high IQ orphan thing make you a wise man, too?”

“Shut up,” I grumble, half-playfully and half-serious. She's touched something I've tried to bury. “Never gone looking for sympathy. Not even once. My parents are great people. They've given me the world, and I'm grateful. Couldn't care less about the nobodies sharing my DNA.”

I bring the ship closer to the island, keeping a safe distance. There's an outline of something on the shore. An old fishery, I think, or maybe just a touristy place with docks.

If I'm right, it'll do.

“Ouch. Sorry for trying to figure you out.” She pats my shoulder playfully. Then she leans over, bringing her lips dangerously close to my ear, a whisper falling out. “Didn't know you were so easily offended, Usher.”

Great. More fuel for those wet dreams I'm trying like hell to forget right now. “Trent, Amy Kay. That's my name. Everybody says my last so much it's been run into the ground and then some.”

“What, I thought you were a Poe fan? House of Usher? You've got that broody, tall, dark mysterious thing going on. Kinda fitting.”

Her voice flows in my ear, thick as honey.

Definitely softer.

Dangerously sweet.

Almost addicting.

Also, so damn close to making me crack and tell her she can call me whatever she pleases.

No. Focus. I'm not running this ship into a cliff because I can't stop imagining what her sassy lips would feel like on mine. She's wearing a new shade of lipstick today, I see, a light maroon that makes her face look more grown up.

I say nothing, easing the ship forward as best I can, until Amy Kay squeezes my shoulder. “You're coming in too fast. Don't crash.”

Turning, I slowly look her over, studying the curved smile on her lips. “You've watched your dad a million times, you said?”

She nods. Slowly.

“Then stop being a tease and show me.” I take my hands off the controls. She laughs, maneuvering her hands down my arms, taking her sweet time on the muscles I've sculpted the last four years in the weight room after school.

“This,” she says, guiding my hand to a lever on the side. “It's just like a brake. It'll help you slow, make sure we don't rip the dock clean off.”

I test it slowly, pushing where she showed. There's a faint creaking sound. We're losing speed. A brutal weight lifts off my shoulders.

It takes ten minutes to guide the boat into a large space tucked in the beat up marina. I see one of the museums perched above it, already closed for the rainy season and the end of the tourist rush.

“You think it's safe? I mean this is private property...” Amy's burst of confidence is gone. I see the sweet, shy daddy's girl again, so afraid Jace's stupidity will land her in the thick of trouble.

“It'll have to do. Rain's picking up. We'll take our chances nobody else notices or cares. Do I need to anchor, or what?” She takes my hand, guiding it to another panel on the side. I push the button and there's another groaning sound, smoother than before.

The swaying from the wind and water eases. We're docked, probably through the evening. Amy's soft hands leave my skin slowly, no longer having an excuse to linger. I watch her smile and trot to the edge of the glass. Her eyes search the rain, the trees, the thickening gray clouds choking off the sky.

“Sucks we can't go on land. I can't believe I forgot my umbrella.”

“It's frigid as hell, Amy Kay. Consider yourself lucky. Hear how hard it's coming down? That's rain like ice.” Finally relaxed, I reach for the beer I brought aboard, cracking open another porter. The rich dark brew helps take the edge off.

She turns, wrinkling her nose when she sees me flopped back in the captain's seat. “Can't believe you're drinking that stuff. We're definitely screwed if the cops pull up for an inspection. No boat license, underage, and intoxicated. I thought you were like crazy smart?”

I lean forward, smiling. “Here's a tip, Amy Kay: your brain gets bigger when you learn to pull that stick out of your ass. Quit worrying and live a little.”

Her jaw falls open. Somehow, I like her a whole lot more when she's looking at me bewildered.

Makes the fierce urges running through my blood a whole lot easier to control. “Whatever. Not sure I'd call screwing off and almost flunking classes living, Trent. Or stealing dad's prized baby just so I can have a fancy room for a quick lay. That girl, Georgia...she'll be in tears next week. Jace is just sad.” She whips her head around, then looks back, adding, “So are you.”

Standing, I walk forward, taking another swig off my bottle. “Sad? You say that like it's a bad thing. No yin in this life without the yang. Sad has its place, darling. Sometimes sad means being young and stupid, making mistakes. Living just to learn.”

I'm closer than I intend. She turns, her eyes widening.

They're huge, green, and so fucking bright.

Just for once, I wonder what they'd look like truly lit. Like if I take her little face in my hand, pull her in, and leave her with something electric.

Something worth thinking about far more than fretting over her dumbass brother.

“I don't need a lecture, Mr. Usher.” She imitates her dad's voice when she says my name. “Look, I know you've got my parents and everybody else fooled. They think you're the good son they never had. Brains, morals, nose to the grindstone, wizard-like responsibility. They all trust you.”

My hand grazes her cheek. She gasps, her sweet body wriggling under the maroon sweater. Deep purple dipped in rust red, a color calling to every dirty, dark thing I've had on my mind since the first time Jace invited me over a year ago, and I saw his little sister for the very first time.

“And you don't?” Can't figure out if it's the booze warping my mind or just her sass.

Fuck. I'm playing with fire, throwing it around in fistfuls, begging to have my ass kicked if Jace or Georgia wander up here while I've got my hand on Amy's face.

“No.” She says firmly, but I sense hesitation. “If you were really so different from Jace, you wouldn't be hanging around him all the time. Definitely wouldn't be planning to take off to college together, hatching your silly solar business. I'm not stupid, Trent. You're using my brother, my family. It's money you're after, isn't it? Ours.”

That...that isn't fucking true. Arrow, meet chest. My playful smirk fades. It's hard not to pinch her cheek until she squeals.

I mean, in a round about way, part of the Chenocott allure is what they can do for me. No denying it. But hell, I didn't creep up to Jace in gym the day we met just for money, offering to spot for him while he hit the bench press. I didn't have a clue how rich he was then, or why his take-no-shit attitude pissed off most of the other guys in our class.

I damn sure didn't start hanging around to bleed him dry. I'm not a manipulator. I actually appreciate my little chats with Maxwell Chenocott, and if I've got an ulterior motive with Ophelia, it's scarfing down her latest batch of cookies.

“What? Too real for you?” Amy Kay whispers, her green eyes twitching as they pour into mine. They're nervous.

A wry laugh rattles in my throat. She stares harder while I shake my head. “You're precious, Amy Kay. Never change. I mean it, too. Nobody else but you could insult me to my face and get away with it, calling me some kind of fucked up gold digger who's just out to leech because I'm the orphan kid, or whatever.”

“Hey, now. I didn't say you wanted to marry him or anything. Don't think Jace swings that way.” She thinks she's being funny.

Fuck this. I've had it with her insults, her insufferable looks, her words. Everything she's patented to make my blood run so hot it scorches my blue veins black.

Tightening my hold on her face, I bring my lips home. I kiss the brat with half my soul. Plus a wild need to shut her up.

She melts in a fury of shock and awe and disbelief, her little tongue bending against mine. More eager than I expected, soon as she's gotten over the initial shock.

Sweet. Fucking. Mercy.

Her taste is equal parts temptation and wrong. So off limits, so good, so real I don't want to stop.

But I haven't lost it. However much I'd love to drink her over and over, let my hands roam freely across her, I realize our predicament.

Jace and his latest fuck are too near. We're marooned here until this rain stops. And if I keep drinking with Amy Kay Chenocott in close quarters, we might do things that'll land me in far deeper shit than any reckless driving with this yacht.

I can't let that happen. Not with my best friend's little sister. Not with a girl who's a freshman.

I tear myself away, leaving her lungs working overtime. She flattens herself against the huge window for support. “What...why...why did you stop?”

“Stay precious, Presh. You can't do that if the dirty orphan boy you don't trust is the first to break you in.” I turn, grabbing my beer, heading for the stairs.

It's the only sensible thing. I don't have a death wish.

“Trent? You...you're disgusting!” She belts out the last two words when I'm well on my way below deck, whistling to myself to drown her out.

Fuck.

I'm smiling when I find the empty room at the end of the hall and flop down on the bed. Behind the wall, I hear heavy breathing, grunting, the sound of something heavy and solid creaking like it'll break.

Jace and Georgia are going at it. Thank God for the beer, or I think I'd have the world's worst case of blue balls.

I work through my beers slowly, playing with my phone, staring out into the twisted, rain-beat beauty of the Washington coast.

It's hell getting my mind off that kiss. Meaning it's even worse for her, somewhere on this ship, wherever she slunk off to after we got up close and personal.

I meant to leave her breathless, shaken, humbled.

Instead, I'm the asshole feeling rustled, wondering if it was too much, too soon.

Is she somewhere on this ship crying her little eyes out? Fuck, was that her first kiss?

Don't know why I care about the answers.

She's a spoiled, annoying, beautiful brat. Sooner or later someone was bound to teach her some respect. Not like this, though.

Goddammit. Having a conscience sucks.

After a couple hours, flat on the bed, listening to Jace snoring in the other room while him and Georgia take a breather, I've reached my limit.

I get up, push through the narrow door, and walk into the main living space. Amy Kay lays curled up on the big leather sectional built into the ship, a gas fire going nearby for extra warmth. She looks so fragile asleep.

Guilt stabs at my chest. Again when I see the faint salt lines left on her cheeks, the slight redness lingering around her eyes, obviously from crying.

Ass. Hole.

You pushed her too far.

Still, I won't apologize outright. Drifting behind her, I put my hands on her shoulders, point my lips at her ear, and whisper as slow and careful as I can without waking her. “Didn't mean to come down so hard, Amy Kay. Leaving you in knots was the last thing I ever wanted. Yeah, you piss me off with your entitled, know-it-all crap, but you're a sweet girl at heart. Never change. Never. Not from Jace's antics, not for any guy, not for me. Stay forever precious.”

Precious. The word echoes in my head over and over like a bad guitar riff.

Only because it's true.

She might be a thousand things in the years to come: actress, singer, scientist, wife, mother.

To me, she'll always be the same playful Tinkerbell with the lush green eyes and the lips that never know when to quit. Precious.

Presh to her very soul, too deep, and far too deep in mine.

She murmurs, turning over, clutching at my hand. I freeze, wondering if she's heard everything, but her lips move in the sleepy sing-song way that only happens in dreams. “Trent...”

I close my eyes. Hearing my name on her soft, tired lips – the same I want to taste again – is fucking torture.

What's one more sneaky taste? Giving her little fingers another squeeze, I bring her hand up, and plant my lips gently on her skin.

She stirs again, harder, my cue to get the hell back to my room for the night.

The next twenty-four hours are a blur. I'm tossing and turning long after midnight, trying to fight the Chenocotts out of my head. Both Jace's BS and Presh's weird crush, now hanging out in the open, haunting me.

I can't make a bad situation worse. I have to let her down easy. Best way to do that is pretending nothing happened here, in a boat we shouldn't have, on this island that might as well be at the end of the earth.

I vaguely remember hearing Jace and Georgia going at it again, fixing a pizza in the kitchenette, then my best friend screaming in the rain, wild and high as a kite.

Clearly, booze wasn't the only thing he snuck on board. I crack my window, smelling smoke from at least one joint.

I'm the only one sober or awake the next day. Remembering what Amy showed me, I manage to get the ship back to the Chenocott boathouse. A hung over Jace slaps my fist on the way out. He's already giving Georgia the cold shoulder, and it just gets worse when he steps down, sees the huge scratch in the yacht's side, and belt's out the world's most panicked, “Shit!”

We spend the rest of the weekend frantically calling repair places. I'm sure he pays off the family gardener to keep quiet.

Amy Kay – Presh – treats us both like we're radioactive.

Predictably shitty of her, but warranted. I can't avoid the damage my lips did forever.

Sunday, while Jace is still busy racing to hide the damage the Wilkie took on that rock, I ease up to her door and knock. I have to smooth this over, one way or another. “Precious? Let me in.”

“No.” Her voice is small. Angry. Bitter.

“Listen, what happened yesterday...I fucked up. I'll admit it. I was drunk. You pushed my buttons, but it's no excuse. Didn't mean to lead you on, or worse, make you feel like an idiot. I put you in your place and got carried away. Hoping you'll forgive and forget?” Easier said than done. Even now, I'm craving another taste of her, and that's all I need to know who the idiot really is here.

Silence answers me.

“Presh? Come on!” My fist bangs against the door. I want to pound harder, but I hear Jace pacing upstairs, waiting by the front, swearing and muttering to himself. One more guy is coming to buff out the scratches in the hull, and we're not sure if he'll make it before his folks return by dinner. “Please. Talk to me.”

I'm about to give the fuck up when I hear her little feet shuffling on the ground. They're slow, calculated, and when she rips the door open, I get the ultimate kick in the balls.

She can't even hide the hurt. It's written on her face in messy red blotches and shameful, not-so-secret tears.

“You're right about one thing,” she hisses.

“Yeah?”

“Forget it. Forget the kiss. Forget everything. There's no other way.”

I swallow. It's harder than it should be. “Right. That's all I'm trying to say. Glad we're on the same page. I'm sorry, again. If it wasn't for the beer, the tension, the rain, nothing ever would've –”

“Trent.” My name crackles off her lips, silencing the thousand and one excuses wanting to pour out. “Just...go. Go home. I can't have you here. Plus Jace deserves to stew in his own trouble, for once.”

She isn't wrong. Stifling a reluctant growl, I turn my back, head past my best friend, and walk the hell out.

Luckily, he's so preoccupied by the Wilkie he doesn't chase me down. I'll text him later.

Mom has a nice steaming pot of chowder ready with fresh baked bread the second I'm through the door. Pops starts cracking jokes right away about my 'fishing trip.'

I feed him fake memories. Happy things that never happened, tell him how we got lucky with a break in the rain, caught some big ones, and spent the evening watching harbor seals.

I lie my ass off. Crafting stories and dunking my bread in that soup is the only thing that keeps me from punching a hole through the fucking wall.

The mountain of homework to catch up on – mine and Jace's – is a welcome distraction.

It'll take time to lick my wounds. To forget I ever flew too close to the precious sun, and walked away humiliated and burned. Maybe it's karma for trashing Amy Kay ten times worse, I don't know.

And I shouldn't fucking care.

That's still the scariest part. I need her to go back to being my wet dream, my best friend's little sister, and nothing else, like yesterday. Because if I can't bleach her from my memory, if we start sharing dirty, secret looks every time I'm over at their place, if we remember how goddamn good that kiss we had really was...

There's no happy ending. It isn't happening. It can't.

I'm not destroying myself obsessing over Amy Kay. I'm not that stupid or desperate or hellbent on leaving my dreams a smoldering wreck.

I'll take my own advice: forget.

Forget her crush. Forget the kiss. Forget fucking everything.

If only I'd been able to follow through.

We wouldn't have wound up with our hearts in tatters, egos drunk on hate, ready to spend our final moments lashing each other to pieces in a broken metal box suspended above the Seattle skyline.