He’d texted, upset about the latest thing his ass of a father had done.

Gavin’s parents were at Pebble Beach for the weekend—his dad knocking around golf balls and terms like valuation and hockey stick growth and his mom marinating herself in seaweed wraps and aloe martinis. Back at home, Gavin had been checking their travel itinerary after realizing that the credit card he had on their account had expired. He’d noticed his father was signed up for a father-son golf tournament, party of two.

Gavin was an only child.

He’d asked her to come over. She went. And she listened as his venting about his father transitioned into something else: the reason the itinerary had affected him so much. He’d been eleven the last—and only—time he’d played in a father-son golf competition with his dad. His first off hit had led to more, fueled by the strain on his father’s face and Gavin’s nerves. Knowing he’d disappointed his father, he was shy and self-conscious at the luncheon afterward. He made excuses and explained to his dad’s friends how he’d work to improve for next year. His dad nodded right along, and then, first chance he got, he dragged Gavin to the men’s locker room.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s golf or pissing in a tin can; you don’t have to be the best, you just have to act like you are,” he’d spat at his son.

“I’m sorry I’m not,” Gavin had said.

“Not what?”

“The best.”

“You and me both, kid.”

Lucy had comforted Gavin, and they’d shared a bottle of red from deep in his dad’s cellar. Things spiraled that night. The drinks, the people, the party, her life.

She lied. She never told her mom she missed the Stanford interview entirely, sleeping off all she’d imbibed the night before with half a dozen classmates on the floor of Gavin’s basement. His basement. Not even his room. She’d opened his bedroom door before leaving and slammed it shut so quickly she didn’t even know who it was in his bed. All she knew was that it wasn’t her. And she’d given up Stanford. Stanford. For this? For who? And how? How? How? How?

“Listen, Luce,” Gavin said, sauntering deeper into the room. “I missed this morning’s lecture. And I know how diligent you are about taking notes.”

“And you thought I’d let you borrow them?”

“Why not? I’d do the same for you.”

Lucy snorted. “Only if you had something to gain.”

“Backs and scratching, you know that, Luce.” He leaned in so close, she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “And believe me, I do, from firsthand experience. Those pretty little nails digging in every time I—”