I sat down across from Cassidy. The library slled like old books and furniture polish. Her textbook lay open to a page covered in her color-coded notes, but she wasn’t looking at it. Just staring at the wood grain of the table like it held answers to questions she hadn’t asked yet.
"So," I said.
"So," she echoed.
"You kicked my ass at tennis."
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "Obviously. You held the racket like you were swatting flies."
"I was improvising."
"You were embarrassing yourself." She leaned back in her chair. "But you kept trying anyway. Even when I nailed that serve into your ribs."
"That was accidental."
"Was it though?"
I rubbed my side. Still sore. "You’re a nace."
"And you’re slow." But her voice had lost that sharp edge. Now it just sounded tired. "You did better toward the end. If you actually practiced, you’d probably be decent."
"High praise."
"Don’t let it go to your head."
We fell quiet again. Sowhere in the house, Harlow’s voice carried down the hallway explaining sothing about wig caps to Iris. A clock ticked. The chandelier above us humd.
"You know," I said, "you could probably start your own brand."
Cassidy looked up. "What?"
"Athletic wear. Valentine activewear or sothing. You’ve got the na recognition, and you actually play sports. Half those Instagram fitness people can’t run a mile without stopping."
She blinked. Like the thought had genuinely never occurred to her. "That’s stupid."
"Is it? Harlow has V-Girl. Vivienne has the main line. Sabrina has..." I paused. "Whatever Sabrina does."
"Reading and being creepy."
"Right. But you don’t have anything that’s yours."
Cassidy’s fingers drumd on the table. Her tell when she was thinking. "Mom would never go for it."
"Your mom isn’t the only person who makes decisions."
"In my family she is."
"Then make her listen." I shrugged. "You’re good at being loud."
"Wow. Romantic." But her ears went pink. "Besides, I’d just ss it up. Like everything else."
"You didn’t ss up today."
"I failed the test."
"You finished twenty-two problems."
"Which ans I failed."
"Which ans you tried." I looked at her straight on. "A month ago you would’ve walked out after five minutes. Today you sat there for the full hour and actually answered questions. That’s not failing. That’s fighting."
Her jaw worked. She was doing that thing where she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the ammunition.
"You’re annoying," she finally said.
"So you keep saying."
"I an it."
"Sure."
She made that strangled noise in her throat. The one that ant I’d won the verbal exchange and she hated it.
My brain, because it’s apparently broken, chose that exact mont to rember what Sabrina told once. About how their dad used to calm them down when they spiraled. Apparently it worked on all four of them.
Terrible idea.
Absolute disaster waiting to happen.
I stood up anyway.
Cassidy watched walk around the table. Her eyes tracked my movent like I was a threat she couldn’t figure out.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Sothing stupid."
"That’s your specialty."
I didn’t answer. Just pulled her up by the hand.
She ca with zero resistance, which should’ve been my first warning that this plan was going to backfire spectacularly. We stood there, approximately six inches apart, her looking up at with those purple eyes that were way too sharp for soone who claid to be stupid.
"Scholarship boy?"
"Hm?"
"What are you."
I wrapped my arms around her before I could think better of it. Pulled her in. Her face pressed against my chest, her hands frozen at her sides.
For about three seconds she was completely rigid. Like every muscle in her body locked up at once.
Then she lted.
Just. Completely dissolved into . Her arms ca up around my waist and her fingers grabbed the back of my shirt like she was drowning and I was the only solid thing in reach.
"What," she whispered into my shirt.
"Your dad used to do this. Sabrina ntioned it once. When you guys spiraled, he’d just. Hold you. Until you stopped spinning."
"That’s." Her voice cracked. "That’s really stupid."
"Probably."
"You can’t just. Hug people."
"Seems like I can."
"This is unprofessional."
"So is making your pet if you win the bet."
She pinched my side. Hard. "Shut up."
But she didn’t let go. If anything, she pressed closer. I could feel her breathing, fast and uneven, gradually slowing as the seconds passed. Her hair slled like that fruity shampoo she used. Strawberries and sothing else I couldn’t identify.
"This is weird," she muttered.
"You started it by having a breakdown."
"I’m not having a breakdown."
"Your test says otherwise."
"I hate you."
"You’ve ntioned."
We stood there. The library clock ticked. My arms were getting tired but I wasn’t about to be the first one to let go. That felt like losing, and I was weirdly competitive about stupid things lately.
Must be catching whatever disease Cassidy had.
After approximately five minutes, she shifted. Pulled back just enough to look up at . Her eyes were still red around the edges but clearer now.
"This is uncomfortable," she said.
"The hug?"
"The chair thing. Standing. My legs hurt from tennis and." She looked away. "Can we. Sowhere else. This feels weird doing it here."
My brain took that statent and ran seventeen different directions with it. All bad. Mostly involving Iris’s rules and my general policy of not dying.
"First you cuss out for touching you," I said. "Now you want to go sowhere more comfortable so I can touch you more?"
Her face went nuclear. "That’s not. I didn’t an." She hit my chest with her fist. Not hard. Just enough to make her point. "Shut up! You’re making it sound weird!"
"You’re the one who said it."
"Because standing in the library hugging my tutor is normal?"
"Fair point."
She took a breath. Then another. Her hands were still fisted in my shirt. "My room?"
I gave her a look.
"What?" she said. "What is that look for?"
"Your room."
"Yes. My room. I have a couch. It’s comfortable. We can." She gestured vaguely. "Sit."
"Cassidy."
"What?"
"Your mother already thinks I’m dating you because of those photos. If soone sees going into your room."
"No one’s going to see. Vivi’s in her study doing spreadsheet things. Harlow’s with your sister. Sabrina’s probably reading in the dark sowhere being creepy." She pulled on my shirt. "Co on. Please?"
The please did it. Cassidy Valentine didn’t say please. Ever. The fact that she was using it now ant she was either desperate or I was in serious trouble.
Possibly both.
"Fine," I said. "But if your mom finds out and fires ."
"She won’t."
"You don’t know that."
"I’ll tell her it was my idea. That I demanded you co. That you were being professional and I was being." She paused. "."
"That’s not reassuring."
"It’s the best you’re getting."
She grabbed my hand and pulled. I followed because apparently my sense of self-preservation died sowhere between the tennis court and the kitchen.
We walked through the quiet hallways. Past the aquarium room. Past the sitting rooms and guest suites and approximately seventeen portraits of dead Valentines who were definitely judging my life choices.
Cassidy’s room was at the end of the east wing. She pushed open the door and pulled inside before I could reconsider.
The space was chaos. Organized chaos, but still. Tennis equipnt piled in one corner. Gaming setup on the desk with RGB lights that probably cost more than my rent. Posters on the walls, a mix of bands and athletes. Clothes draped over chairs. A shelf full of trophies that she’d probably won then imdiately stopped caring about.
The couch sat against the far wall. Black leather. Big enough for three people.
Cassidy locked the door.
"That’s unnecessary," I said.
"Harlow walks in on people. Constantly. Last week she caught changing and just started talking about button placents like my entire chest wasn’t out."
"That’s. Concerning."
"That’s Harlow." She walked to the couch and sat down. Patted the space next to her. "You going to stand there all night?"
"I’m considering it."
"Isaiah."
"This is a bad idea."
"Everything involving is a bad idea." She looked at . "But you’re here anyway."
Couldn’t argue with that.
I sat down. Left about two feet between us because I still had so survival instinct remaining.
Cassidy imdiately closed the gap. Leaned into my side and put her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickled my jaw.
"This okay?" she asked.
"You’re asking now?"
"Trying to be. I don’t know. Considerate?"
"That’s new."
"Shut up." But there was no heat in it. Just. Tired. "Your heart’s still beating fast."
"Cardio from tennis."
"You barely moved during tennis."
"Emotional cardio."
She snorted. "That’s not a thing."
"It is now."
We sat there. My arm went around her shoulders because where else was it going to go? She shifted closer. Her hand ca to rest on my chest, fingers spreading across my ribs like she was checking I was real.
"You’re warm," she said.
"You’re cold."
"Always am." She paused. "Thanks. For. This."
"For what?"
"I don’t know. Existing? Not being a dick about the test? Take your pick."
"High standards."
"The highest." She was quiet for a minute. Then: "Do you really think I could do the athletic brand thing?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because you’re good at sports. Because people know who you are. Because." I hesitated. "Because you deserve to have sothing that’s yours. Not Vivi’s or Harlow’s or the company’s. Just yours."
Her hand fisted in my shirt. "You can’t just say stuff like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes want to believe you."
"So believe ."
"It’s not that simple."
"It is though."
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