Dating Washington E-Book

Michelle MacQueen

• Herausgeber: Twin Rivers Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

How does the president’s son fall for the closeted son of a senator? 
The truth is, he didn’t want to. 
The only home Asher Brooks has ever known is the white house--yes, that white house. As the son of two presidents, the expectations weigh on him. The only person who never made him feel like he needed to be someone different, someone better, was his best friend--a friend who abandoned him the moment Asher revealed who he truly was. 
But this is Washington, and there’s no avoiding Kenny Montgomery. 
So, that question about falling for the wrong person… maybe it’s not so black and white. Maybe when Kenny kisses him, he’s allowed to kiss him back. 

Prepare to lose your heart to the President’s son and his ex best friend in this enemies to lovers sweet romance featuring poolside shenanigans and the ultimate grand gesture. 

Dating Washington is a standalone, clean MM novel in the complete Dating Him Series perfect for fans of Red White and Royal Blue, and What if it’s Us. (HEA guaranteed)
 

Leseprobe

Contents

1. Kenny

2. Asher

3. Kenny

4. Asher

5. Kenny

6. Asher

7. Kenny

8. Asher

9. Kenny

10. Asher

11. Kenny

12. Asher

13. Kenny

14. Asher

15. Kenny

16. Asher

17. Kenny

18. Asher

19. Kenny

20. Asher

21. Kenny

22. Asher

23. Kenny

Epilogue

What’s Next?

Dating Texas

About Ann Maree

About Michelle

2019 Michelle MacQueen and Ann Maree Craven

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is entirely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America

Cover by Daqri Bernardo at Covers by Combs.

Editing by Kelly Hartigan at Xterraweb

For the ones who struggle with the shades of gray.

1

Kenny

“Life sucks and then you die.”

Wasn’t that what people said? Boohoo, right? Kenneth James Montgomery didn’t get to mope. He didn’t get to wallow or claim no one understood him. Who cared about the problems of a spoiled rich kid at a fancy boarding school, right?

Kenny lifted his eyes to the seats surrounding the ice surface of the Defiance Academy arena. Their hockey team, the Knights, had every advantage. Top facilities. Knowledgeable trainers. Actual fans.

Not to mention the constant train of National Hockey League scouts looking for their next draft star.

Was that Kenny? It could have been…if a single picture hadn’t ruined his chances.

Kenny was bisexual. Only two short months ago he’d been caught on camera kissing Nicky St. Germaine beside the pool in his backyard. It should have been a private moment. A private moment with the boyfriend of Beckett Anderson, country music golden boy—not to mention, the son of an NFL legend, too. At least no one in the media learned the entire truth. For two years, Kenny dated Nicky without anyone knowing, terrified that the people in his life might learn his secret.

The son of Ohio’s conservative, anti-gay, full-on hateful senator liked boys every bit as much as he liked girls. He kissed them and fantasized about them, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

At least, he didn’t want to. Maybe one day, he’d grow the courage to tell his parents to take their asshole ideas and shove them where it hurt.

Today was not that day. No, today was the first game of Defiance Academy’s hockey season, Kenny’s last season before leaving for college. He already had his scholarship to play for Boston College—if he didn’t screw it up. His “family advisor,” Kyle, told him he had a shot of going in the late first round of the draft. Really, Kyle was his agent, but amateur players weren’t legally allowed to have agents, so they called them “family advisors” instead. He trusted Kyle as much as he trusted anyone—only slightly.

Kenny pumped his legs, trailing the St. Mary’s winger after getting caught behind the play. He could have cursed himself but knew Kyle would do it enough for the both of them. You get too much in your head, he’d say. He wouldn’t be wrong.

Scanning the jersey number up ahead, he skated faster. There was no way he’d let Eric “douchebag” Morrison put their team up one to nothing.

Killian “Killer” James, the Defiance goalie, squared himself to Morrison, waiting for the shot. It didn’t come. Morrison skated behind the net, anticipating his centerman streaking down the center of the ice right through two Defiance defenders. The puck slid toward the center, but he couldn’t stop his momentum and slammed into Killian, pummeling him into the ice.

Kenny reached the collision first, pulling the center up and shoving him into the goal post. Morrison, taking issue with that, swung at Kenny, but with Kenny’s height, he barely stood a chance.

Kenny deflected the blow off his shoulder before driving his fist into the side of Morrison’s helmet. Both skaters yanked their helmets off, freeing their faces from the protection of the metal cages.

“Come at me, bro,” Morrison yelled.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. This dude had seen way too many hockey movies with cheesy fight lines.

Every skater on the ice crowded around them as the refs hung back, waiting to see if they needed to step in. Glancing down at his already bruised knuckles, Kenny remembered what Kyle had once taught him. Don’t fight someone bigger, someone smaller, or someone with a chip on his shoulder. Too many hockey players had dulled their skills fighting senseless battles on the ice. Breaking hands and fingers so many times they lost the ability to puck-handle at a high level. For as much of an asshole as pretty much the entire world thought Kenny was, he did care about one thing: his future in hockey. It was all that got him out of bed some mornings.

He shook his head. “You’re not worth it.” He turned to skate toward the bench.

“I knew you were too much of a fairy to fight,” Morrison yelled after him.

Kenny froze, his back still to the rest of the guys on the ice. Ever since the photo came out, he’d prepared for the remarks he knew would come once hockey season started. It wasn’t exactly a welcoming or diverse sport. There were no openly gay professional hockey players, and in the high school ranks, it tended to be mostly open to wealthy white kids who didn’t accept people different from them.

But there was a difference between preparing for the words and actually hearing them.

“Say it again.” He turned so abruptly his skate created a rut in the ice. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

Morrison approached, dropping his voice and lifting his chin. “Fairy.”

He barely got the word out before Kenny lunged, tackling him to the ice. Morrison’s head hit the cold surface with a crack, but he didn’t stop struggling until two refs pulled Kenny off him. Kenny yanked his arms out of their grip and wiped blood from his lip. His breath came rapidly as he stared at the boy who still lay on his back.

It was only then Kenny noticed the rest of the scene. A line brawl broke out with Killer hauling guys down to the ice, a dangerous look in his eyes.

The refs blew their whistles, and all ten boys on the ice stopped as if they hadn’t noticed the chaos they’d created.

A ref skated toward Kenny. “I’m throwing you out.”

“Perfect,” Kenny spat. First game of the season and already a game misconduct penalty. But he didn’t care. Before this year, he’d have said hockey was the most important thing in his life. Now, everything confused him. He walked down the hall toward the locker room, slamming the door open. A trainer followed him.

As Kenny sat on the bench in front of his locker, he hung his head. The trainer dabbed a damp towel across his busted lip. “You don’t need stitches.”

Kenny only grunted and bent to untie the laces of his skates. The trainer left, giving him the blissful solitude he wanted.

Running a hand through his sweaty, brown hair, Kenny wished he could turn back the clock to before he’d realized, as a fifteen-year-old boy, just how different he was.

Footsteps sounded in the hall before the door swung open, and Kyle walked in with a scowl on his face. “What was that?”

Kenny only shook his head, still too keyed up to answer. He’d known Kyle for years and could handle anything the ex-NHLer threw at him. He was supposed to advise him on all things related to the business of hockey. It was why Kenny accepted Boston College’s offer over others. Kyle said it was a good path to the NHL after the draft.

“Answer me, boy.” Kyle stopped in front of him, glaring down at the top of Kenny’s head.

“I got carried away.”

“Carried away? You think NHL scouts watching want to see you pummel some kid, risking injury to those skilled hands of yours?”

“Just leave me alone, Kyle. I’m not in the mood.”

Kyle blew out a breath. “You know I care about you as if you were my own, right?”

The sad thing was, he did. Kyle was more of a father than Kenny’s own dad. He’d certainly been to more of his games over the years, and he represented the path Kenny wanted to take—hockey. His father only wanted him to consider a career in politics.

Kyle sighed. “All right, nothing I say will help you with whatever is going on in that head of yours, I get that. Go take a shower. I’m heading out. Dinner tomorrow before I fly back to New York?”

“Sure.”

He squeezed Kenny’s shoulder before leaving him to the quiet locker room once more.

After removing his pads and sweat-soaked clothes, Kenny walked into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. A blast of cold water hit him before it warmed, but Kenny barely felt it. He’d been called a lot of things in his life. Ken doll was a favorite because of his resemblance to the little plastic man with all-American good looks. Short brown hair. Golden eyes. Tanned skin.

He could probably have any girl in the school.

Some people called him Mr. Montgomery, mocking the importance of his father.

Fairy… that was a new, but not unexpected name.

Placing both hands on the wall of the shower, he let the water stream down his spine and examined the bruised knuckles of his left hand…his shooting hand. Coach was going to kill him.

Commotion came from the locker room. The game must have ended. Kenny turned off the water, ready to face the music. He wrapped a towel around his waist and joined his raucous teammates. Smiles lit their faces, and some kind of country music blared from the speakers.

“Ugh,” Will, the team’s best defender, complained. “Whose turn was it to choose the music today?”

Killer pulled his shoulder pads over his head and threw them at Will. “Don’t be an asshole. Beckett Anderson is awesome.”

Kenny knew he’d recognized the voice. He wanted to dislike Becks, but the man had talent. “What’s the verdict?” He guessed the team won by the joyous atmosphere but needed to hear it.

Will snapped him with a towel. “Well, after you got thrown out, Killer was angry. And we all know what anger does to him. He didn’t let a single puck through. St. Mary’s was all over us. I’ve never seen a sequence quite like that from him.”

A man of few words, Killian only grunted and turned to his locker.

Will continued. “Then yours truly fired a slapper from the left dot, and that was all she wrote.” He took a bow, not realizing Coach Ryan stood behind him.

“Take a seat, boy.”

Will scrambled to sit.

“You should all thank Killer for saving this game.” His hard eyes found Kenny. “And you…” He shook his head. “I want you back out on the ice right now.”

“Coach?”

“Your teammates were out there for a full sixty minutes. You will be too.”

Kenny didn’t bring up the fact that he’d already showered or that it was only the first game back and his legs were already killing him. No one argued with Coach Ryan. “Yes, Coach.” He sighed as he pulled on dry workout clothes and laced up his skates.

Will clapped him on the back before going to take his well-deserved shower. The rest of their teammates offered little in the way of comfort for their top centerman. Before this summer, they’d been like a family, but since the picture of “the kiss” came out, Kenny hadn’t known how to act around them.

But Kenny had wasted too much time worrying about what everyone else thought of him. He stepped onto the ice. The Zamboni had yet to clean the rutted surface.

“Suicides,” Coach said, following him. “Start at the blue line.”

Kenny sucked in a breath, inhaling the cold air he’d come to associate with home. The stands finished clearing out, leaving Kenny alone with his coach. In the silence, he could almost forget about the game that happened only minutes ago.

It was his senior year but the first year Kenny lived in the dorms rather than his parents’ large house in Twin Rivers. He’d been one of the few commuters. Since that changed, he’d found himself wandering campus late at night, sometimes ending up inside the arena that brought him peace. When everything else in his life was torn to shreds, this, hockey, was his constant, the only thing he could count on.

As he started his suicides, he focused on the wind rushing in and out of his lungs and the burning in his legs. He pushed himself as much as he could, hoping it was good enough.

When he got the chance to glance at the bench, Coach was gone. He’d left Kenny to do as many suicides as he saw fit. Not for the first time, Kenny marveled in his coach’s trust of his players.

Kenny didn’t trust anyone.

He skated until his legs gave out beneath him at center ice. The Defiance Academy logo sat underneath him, a knight meant to protect its charges. That was what the school was for. Politicians, diplomats, and other important people sent their children to this school to keep them out of the public eye, to keep them protected.

Kenny lay back, enjoying the feel of the cold ice on the back of his head. He closed his eyes, soaking in the peace he never found anywhere else. He’d never been more sure of anything. Hockey was in his blood. It owned him, heart and soul. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

But what if the game betrayed him? What if it pushed him out simply because of something he hadn’t chosen for himself?

Sometimes, the fear of being who he was overcame the relief at finally not having to hide anymore.

“Mr. Montgomery,” someone called from the Zamboni tunnel.

Kenny lifted his head, finding Frank, the elderly man who led the arena’s maintenance team. “Hey, Frank. I’m in your way, aren’t I?”

“I can give you a few more minutes, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

“No.” Kenny got to his feet. “It’s okay. Ice is all yours, man.” He nodded a goodbye to Frank before stepping from the ice and walking toward the locker room once more. One of the trainers waited for him, protein bar in hand.

Kenny took it. “Thanks.”

“You good now, son?”

Pulling off his skates, Kenny nodded, giving the only answer people wanted to hear. They didn’t want a sob story or anything resembling the truth.

But what was the truth?

No, Kenny was not okay.

He didn’t bother showering or changing his clothes before stepping into his tennis shoes and hiking his hockey bag onto his shoulder. With a wave at the trainer, he walked out.

A ding sounded from his bag, and he pulled his cell free of the side pocket.

Kyle: You’re going to be okay, kid.

He didn’t respond because another text came in.

Nicky: Saw a clip of the fight on YouTube. You good?

He wanted to hate Nicky. He and his superstar boyfriend were the reason Kenny was outed in the media after all. But for so long, Nicky had been the only person who knew Kenny’s secret, and there was something bonding in that no matter how their relationship ended.

Besides, Nicky was the only person who might understand.

Walking into his dorm, Kenny peered into Will’s open room. Seeing his roommate already passed out, Kenny crossed the sitting room to drop his bag in his room before entering the bathroom.

After taking a quick shower and pulling on a pair of sweats, Kenny flopped onto his bed and pulled up the video Nicky mentioned. You couldn’t hear what Morrison said, but the word wasn’t hard to make out on his lips.

Kenny regretted the anger he saw flash across his face as Morrison’s head snapped back. It didn’t take much searching to find out Morrison went through concussion protocol and would miss St. Mary’s next game.

Kenny opened Nicky’s message again.

Kenny: I didn’t mean to hurt him.

Nicky: I know. It gets better. I promise.

Kenny didn’t respond, because he wasn’t so sure he believed Nicky’s words.

He scrolled through the contacts in his phone, stopping at his dad’s number. Would he answer? He’d spoken to his parents once in the last two months. Neither mentioned the picture, but they’d informed him he’d be living in the dorms this year.

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t live in their Twin Rivers house. It wasn’t like they were ever there, spending all their time in Washington DC instead.

Mustering up the courage, he pressed his thumb over his dad’s name. It rang once before going to voicemail.

“Hey, Dad,” he said. “I was just… If you and Mom are going to be in town anytime soon, I’d like to see you. Please… I… Yeah, just call me. Your son. This is Kenny. Um… Bye.”

Throwing his phone onto the bedside table, he sat back against his headboard and closed his eyes.

His dad didn’t return the call.

2

Asher

“We could work at my house.” Asher Brooks watched his classmates stare at him blankly, and he realized how dumb that sounded. “I mean, I have a studio we could use if, you know, we need a place to work.”

“That’s cool. Thanks, Ash.” His best friend, Harper, was his savior. “Let’s meet at Asher’s place next week to come up with a plan for our company. Everyone, think about company names and branding ideas. We’ll need a kick-ass logo by the end of the month, so let’s all come up with two good ideas and some sketches before we meet.”

“Sure, Asher’s place sounds good,” Nichole said, grabbing her things to make a quick escape.

“Whatever.” Ethan left to follow Nichole.

“Have I mentioned I hate group projects?” Asher pulled his hoodie up over his head to hide his telltale natural locks courtesy of his African American father and Caucasian mother.

“Hiding again?” Harper followed him down the wide hallways of Sidwell Friends School—the most elite private high school in DC.

“It’s easier.” Asher shoved through the double doors of the ultra modern building into the quad teeming with other Sidwell students heading home for the day.

“Later,” Harper called as she waited for her driver in the long line of sleek black town cars making their way up the main drive to the school.

“Let’s go, Valor.” The tall suit lurking behind him closed the space between them.

“What did I say about codenames, Danny?” Asher’s shoulders slumped at the snickering coming from a group of seniors nearby.

“Right, not at school, sorry. Let’s go, Asher.” He shoved Asher toward the waiting limousine. “And it’s Special Agent Fuller or Dan. Only my mother gets to call me Danny.” He held the door open for Asher and slid in beside him after checking their surroundings. “Why so glum about the art project?” Dan asked, nodding to the chauffeur to leave along the rear routes reserved for certain students and their drivers.

“The art part is a no-brainer. I just don’t like group projects.” Asher stared out the window.

“At least you have Harper on your team. But it wouldn’t kill you to make friends with the other two since you invited them to your house.”

“I don’t know, it might.” Asher fiddled with his phone in his lap.

“You have invites to several art shows next month. If you want to show at any of them, we need to know this week so we can get protocol in place.”

“I’ll let you know.” Asher loved creating art. From painting, sculpting, and digital art to photography, he loved it all—and he liked to think he was pretty good. But the attention he got for his art wasn’t about his art at all, and that made him second-guess his talent. When the whole world kissed your ass because of who your parents were, things like real friends and honest opinions didn’t mean much.

Asher’s phone buzzed—something it didn’t do often.

Mom: Stop by the office when you get home from school.

Ash: Almost there, anything I should worry about?

She didn’t respond. She was busy, and he was used to it. “Drop me off at the office, will ya?” He slid his earbuds in to drown out Dan’s constant droning.

He didn’t wait for one of his babysitters to open the door before he hopped out of the limo and entered the building. Asher set off down the wide, shiny hallway to meet his mother, leaving Super Agent Danny to field all the attention-seekers eager to kiss Asher’s butt.

“Hey, Asher, my man.” Some dude in a suit tried to high-five him as he walked past.

He just nodded and kept walking, focusing on the beat of the music only he could hear. He paused outside the white paneled door, waiting for permission to enter.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his mother called from her perch on the sofa where she preferred to work.

Over the last ten years, Asher had entered the Oval Office thousands of times. He was so young when his dad first landed the top job in the West Wing that the reverence most people held for this room was completely lost on him.

“We’ve talked about the hoodie, son.” His mom frowned at him. “Don’t cover your beautiful hair.”

With his natural Afro hair, coupled with hints of his mother’s blond coloring, most people recognized Asher by his hair alone. He shoved his hoodie back and snagged the earbuds out of his ears.

“What’s up, guys?” He shot a look at his dad behind the Resolute Desk, his feet propped up on top of the antique desk. “You supposed to be there?”

“Come sit, Asher. Let’s talk about your birthday.” His mom patted the sofa cushion beside her.

“If the word party comes out of your mouth, I’m bolting for the door.” Asher took the seat by his mother and propped his feet on the coffee table.

“Feet on the floor, son.”

“Seriously? What about Dad?” He pointed at his father’s shoes scuffing the priceless furniture.

A knock at the door interrupted them. “A word?” Senator Montgomery stepped into the room before anyone could respond. “The bill you asked for review, Madam President.” He placed a large binder on the table in front of Asher’s mom.

“Thank you, Preston,” his mom said without looking up.

“Bennett, always a pleasure.” Preston Montgomery cast a look of disdain at the former president seated behind the Resolute Desk. “I believe you served your time behind that desk.” The senator tried to make a joke of it, but the wildly conservative Ohio senator wasn’t overly fond of the more liberal First Family.

“Eight years.” Asher’s dad didn’t budge from his seat. “It kind of grows on you after all that time. This is my thinking spot.”

“Well, boys, I’m the president now,” Asher’s mom said, “so I don’t mind if my husband keeps my seat warm.” Her winning smile had them all relaxed. She knew how to work a room. It was the reason she was elected eight years after her husband first took the Oval Office. The people loved her, so it looked like Asher and his older sister would be the first First Kids to call the White House home for sixteen years.

“Please let me know if I can answer any questions for you, Madam President.” Senator Montgomery turned to leave.

“Oh, I do have one question, Senator.” She turned her smile on Asher.

Ah crap, I know that smile. It was her shut up and don’t argue with what I’m about to say smile.

“Asher has a birthday coming up, and we’d be honored if you and your family would attend the party we haven’t told him about yet. It’s been so long since we’ve seen your son, Kenny, around here.”

Asher winced at the mention of his one-time friend who turned out to be a colossal jerk. They were friends way back before either of their parents were in the national limelight. And even after Asher’s dad was elected President of the United States, he and Kenny spent a lot of time together. But when Asher came out to Kenny at thirteen, he discovered his friend wasn’t such a great friend after all. He seemed fine with it at first, but in the weeks after, Kenny pulled away from him until he finally figured out Kenny’s conservative parents didn’t want him hanging out with a gay kid. After that, Kenny just got mean, spouting some of the same anti-gay garbage his parents did. Asher hadn’t had many friends since then. When you were a seventeen-year-old gay kid living in the White House, it was kinda hard to meet people.

“Sure, that would be great, Senator Montgomery. I’d love to see Kenny again.” Asher spewed the words his parents expected him to say, trying to hide his smile. He shouldn’t find Kenny’s current situation funny at all. It was just ironic that the kid who refused to be friends with him because he was gay ended up plastered all over the media in a picture, lip locked with Beckett Anderson’s boyfriend.

“Thank you, Madame President. Kenny’s at school back in Twin Rivers, but I’m afraid he’s not allowed to attend any parties right now. We’ve had some discipline issues with him recently, as I’m sure you can understand.” He cast a glance at Asher.

Uh-oh, abort, abort! The senator hit his mom’s hot button and probably knew it too. President Nora Brooks narrowed her eyes at the senator and his insinuation that Kenny needed to be disciplined for the simple crime of being different.

“Come now, Senator, Kenny’s one of the most well-behaved kids in the political arena today. You and Victoria should be proud. We insist, please invite your family on our behalf. We’re looking forward to seeing you all there.”

“Of course, ma’am. We wouldn’t miss it.” He gave a curt nod at Asher and his father before he left.

“What did I say about a party, Mom?” Asher leaned back, propping his foot over his knee.

“Oh, so sue me, I want to have a party for my son. I’m such a terrible mother.”

“Something tells me I’d lose that lawsuit.” Asher threw his head back against the sofa cushions and groaned. “Do we have to make it a State affair? Can we just invite a few people?”

“No. We’re inviting everyone we know who has kids your age. You need to meet more people and make new friends.”

“I have Harper.”

“And we love Harper, but you need boyfriends, darling.”

“Make her stop talking.” He shot a glare at his father.

“I don’t perform miracles, son. And your mother is right, you’re like a lone little fish in a sad little bowl here in Washington. You have, like, fifteen people in your class, and I’m willing to bet most of them are assholes—though that’s off the record and doesn’t leave this room. We want you to meet some real people. More like Harper, but you know … boyfriend material.”

“Oh my God, you guys are trying to get me a boyfriend for my birthday? I think I hate you.” Asher stood, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Just try to contain yourselves with the party planning, please. And if you expect me to show up, I’m going to need a few people on the guest list I actually like.”

“Of course, sweetheart, it’s your party. Um, who else do you want to invite besides Harper?”

“I have other friends, Mom.” He rolled his eyes. “Invite Becks Anderson and his boyfriend Nicky St. Germaine.”

“Oh, the singer and what’s-his-name’s son?”

“Grayson St. Germaine,” his dad supplied. “One of the finest NFL players in history.”

“Yeah, them.”

“You’ve kept in contact?” His mom looked like she was about to threaten him with hugs, his cue to leave.

“Yep, so I’ve got homework now.” He darted for the door to the Rose Garden. “I guess, just tell me where to show up and when.” He jogged across the immaculate lawn to the residence, ignoring the people he passed along the way. Super Danny followed on his heels, his constant shadow. Asher charged up the red-carpeted stairs to his bedroom on the third floor. The only people allowed in his room were his parents and, occasionally, the secret service. Asher’s room was his escape. One of the few places in the White House where the tension that was always with him finally eased. Asher grabbed his phone to text Becks and Nicky, but he already had a group text from them.

Becks: Party at the White House!

Nicky: We can’t wait to see you. Happy Birthday, and thanks for inviting us.

Ash: Wow, word gets out fast, I just told her to invite you guys like ten minutes ago.

Becks: FLOTUS works fast, bro, she called us a few minutes ago. I almost peed my pants.

Nicky: Babe, she’s not FLOTUS anymore, she’s POTUS now.

Becks: You know I just pretend to know what that means, right?

Asher grinned, watching two of his closest friends argue with each other. They were sickeningly sweet, but Asher was secretly jealous of their relationship. He wanted that with someone, but at seventeen, behind the sterile walls of his world guarded by a flock of secret service agents, Asher had never been kissed, much less had a relationship with anyone.

Ash: I need you two to keep me sane, you know I hate these stuffy official events.

Nicky: We're here for you, Ash.

Becks: It’s sweet that your parents want to play matchmaker.

Nicky: You probably weren’t supposed to say that, honey.

Becks: Oops.

Ash: I’m going to kill them.

Becks: Whatever, we’ll come. I’ll sing. We’ll dance, and if there are cute boys there, even better.

Ash: Love you guys.

Asher tossed his phone on the desk. Laying back on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling wondering how many other president’s children felt trapped in this mansion that felt more like a prison than a home.

3

Kenny

Didn’t someone say senior year was supposed to be the time of a high schooler’s life? It got easier, they’d always told him.

Lies. Kenny scribbled the last of his algebra notes, writing down their homework assignment for the weekend, just as the final bell rang. To his right, Diego Reyes rested his head on his desk, making of mockery of the fact that he was even in this class. Kenny kicked Diego’s desk, jerking the tall boy upright.

A year ago, Kenny might have given Diego grief for being the ultimate nerd, but then he’d learned what it felt like to have a label plastered across his forehead for the world to see. Now, when he looked at the guy, all he saw was the asshole Kenneth Montgomery once was.

It had taken a month this year for Diego to even meet his eyes. Kenny hadn’t apologized for how he’d treated him. That wouldn’t do any good, anyway. But the tension between them fell away, and Kenny hoped maybe they could end up being friends of a sort. He was short on friends these days, and Diego looked like he could use one.

Diego pulled his black-framed glasses from his face and wiped them on his shirt. “I fell asleep again, didn’t I?”

Kenny laughed. “Dude, why are you even in this class? Shouldn’t you be in like trig or calc instead?”

“I am.” He shrugged and replaced his glasses. “Algebra’s just an easy grade.”

“Why do you need an easy A?” Kenny paused. “And how does the school let a math genius take plain-old algebra?”

“They kind of do whatever I ask them to.” He seemed a little embarrassed by the admission. “And I told them I needed the refresher. I haven’t been in an algebra class since junior high.”

That was when Kenny remembered the Reyes family was one of the big donors to Defiance Academy. They owned a tech company in Silicon Valley, making apps for the financial industry. And if there was one thing that controlled the academy, it was money. Kenny had benefited from that mind-set as well.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Kenny stood and followed Diego from the classroom. The two couldn’t look more different, Diego with his slim dark looks—inky hair, black stubble coating his chin, and deep brown eyes—and Kenny with his athletic build and boy-next-door style.

Yet, they came from similar backgrounds. Their wealthy parents shipped them to boarding school to keep them out of the way. It was the story bonding most of the students walking the halls of the prestigious, ivy-covered buildings.

Diego was quiet for a long moment. “I need an easy class in my schedule. I…don’t exactly have a lot of time to study. Or sleep.”

Kenny filtered through what he knew of the guy. He wasn’t an athlete. What could take all his time?

They pushed through the front door of the building, stepping into the chilly late Fall air. The quad stretched between academic buildings. At the end of the school day, it teemed with students.

Commotion came from Cambridge Hall just across the quad from where they stood. Kenny noticed cameramen before anything else. In some settings, it wouldn’t have been unusual, but the Defiance Academy campus sat behind tall walls to protect the high-profile students from such an event.

Kenny wasn’t watching where he was going and slammed into someone, gripping their arms to keep them from going down. That was how he found himself face to face with Beckett Anderson.

Ripping his hands away as if the country star burned him, he stepped back.

Becks lifted the sunglasses shielding his eyes from view, pushing them into his hair as he slid his eyes up Kenny. “Hey, Ken doll.”

“Ken doll?” Diego glanced at Kenny. “I didn’t know you had a doll?”

A grin slid across Becks’ face as he turned to Diego. “I like you. Let me give you a bit of advice though.” He hooked his thumb toward Kenny. “This is not a guy you want to be friends with.”

With that, Becks sauntered away, making a beeline for his sister, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a permanent scowl etched on her face.

Wylder Anderson did not look happy to see her brother.

Diego released a nervous laugh. “Who’s that guy?”

“Do you live under a rock or something?” Kenny sent him a questioning look. How could this guy not have seen the fiasco that was Kenny’s media circus of a summer? The one where a kiss with Beckett’s boyfriend turned Kenny’s closet inside out.

“Pretty much.” Diego shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to much that goes on at this school. Is he like a sports guy?”

“Are you asking if he’s a jock?” Kenny wanted to laugh. This kid was clueless. “Becks doesn’t go here, thank God.” He couldn’t imagine having to face Beckett Anderson every day. Kenny had been in love with Nicky, and he’d screwed it up with his stupid fear.

The girl he’d dumped Nicky for hadn’t even lasted long. Penny graduated last year, and it was a relief to have her gone. Sure, Kenny was attracted to both boys and girls, but only one boy had ever made him feel something.

With a wave to Diego, Kenny walked toward the cameras, unable to stop his curiosity. Why was Becks on campus? Did he bring Nicky? Scanning the faces, Kenny couldn’t find the one he wanted to see. He’d gotten over Nicky, or at least, he’d tried to.

But something about him still had Kenny curious about the man he chose over him. Someone handed Becks a guitar and told him to sit on the Cambridge steps—the oldest building on the main campus. They placed three girls near him, each more beautiful than the last.