The Stepbrother (Red's Tavern 5)

“Exactly,” I said. “You didn’t even have to try, and you always got straight As. Everyone thought you were hot, and you’d walk around with those sunglasses. You blew people off. You just acted important.”

He scratched the back of his neck, a brief moment of guilt passing over his face. “Is that what people thought? I never meant to blow people off. I didn’t realize back then that being busy all the time could make it seem like I was being a dick.”

“There was a guy like that in my high school,” Logan said. “People called him the Dark Wolf. They thought he was mean, but honestly, I always just thought he had his head in the clouds. Now he’s at Harvard.”

I nodded at Logan. “The Dark Wolf. Maybe Fox could have been The Dark Fox back in school.”

Logan and I laughed, but Fox just stared down at the ground, searching for more kindling and sticks. I felt a little bad. Fox had always seemed so cocky and sure of himself that I’d never imagined he could have any regrets from his high school days. But it seemed like there was more under the surface than I’d ever known.

The smell of pine needles surrounded us as we continued down the path. I let Fox and Logan lead the way, and I hung back, watching the two of them in front of me. The forest felt so still, and the three of us lapsed into comfortable silence for a while. Another group of campers walked by, giving us a wave as we crossed paths.

Fox looked so much more sure of himself than I ever would have guessed. He was still in clothes that weren’t exactly camping appropriate, but I had to admit his ass looked amazing in the expensive pants. After he’d given me that stupid kiss last night, I felt no shame about checking out his body. He walked along the path with purpose, not worrying if twigs and branches scuffed up his expensive shoes.

Maybe he wasn’t so prissy and particular, after all.

“Did you actually like camping when you were a kid?” I asked Fox as we wound our way back on the looping pathway, still stopping to grab good campfire sticks along the way.

“I did, actually,” he said. “We had a big Husky named Barnacle who would come with us on trips.”

“Barnacle,” I repeated. “That’s such a cute name.”

“We named her that because she never left our sides,” Fox said. “It was a little annoying sometimes, but I loved her so much. I used to make little rings out of wildflowers and put them around her neck. They’d break apart instantly.”

My heart was soaring. I could picture a little, ten-year-old Nicholas Fox, going around a campground with a big husky, probably every bit as sharp as he is now. I’d never heard much of anything from him about his childhood until today.

“She sounds so sweet,” I said.

“That dog was my best friend in the world,” he said simply. “Cried on her so many times when Mom died.”

I certainly couldn’t imagine how Fox must have felt when his mom passed away from ovarian cancer. It was long before I ever met him, but I’d learned from Greg that it happened back when Fox was eleven years old. He’d taken it very hard. The two of them didn’t talk about it much, to this day.

It made me think about high school in a different light. No matter how many years after his mom’s death it had been, Fox was undoubtedly still carrying all of that weight on his chest. The thought of losing my mom was unfathomable.

Fox looked serene now, though, as he recalled memories of Barnacle and the camping trips from his childhood. There was no trace of his Wall Street ego, the puffed-up bravado he had when he was in business mode.

He just seemed like himself. And it was so much more appealing than I had ever known.

“Wait!” I said, stopping at the edge of the campsite, right before the path ended. I’d spotted a giant red bloom on one of the plants draping over a tall branch of a tree.

I reached up for it, trying to jump high enough to pick the flower, but I didn’t come close.

“You’re not going to be able to reach it,” Logan said, craning his neck to look up at the flower.

“You want that flower?” Fox asked, eyeing it.

“It’s no big deal,” I said, waving him off. “It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”

Fox suddenly dropped one knee to the ground, kneeling and holding out his palms.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“C’mon,” he said, nodding toward his interlocked hands. “Hop up.”

“You’re going to boost me?” I asked.

“If you stop talking and start getting up on my hands, yes, I’m going to boost you,” he said.