Elliot Monroe is off-limits to me. I say this like a mantra while she lounges causally across the pool from me. She takes her time rubbing tanning oil down those long, sexy legs of hers, too. I'm not watching or anything. I would never do that.

Fog is starting to form in the corners of my sunglasses, so I push them further up on my nose. I lean back in the lounge chair and rest my elbow on the armrest. The beer clenched in my hand is getting warmer by the second so I take a long drink. She takes this particular time to look over at me and smile. I swallow hard and tip my bottle to her. If I'm not mistaken, I think I saw a blush on those cheeks. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but—damn, she's been looking good lately. I take that back. She's always looked good, like really smoking hot—but she's Ollie's little sister.

He's been my best friend, my ride or fucking die, for the past six years. I moved here sophomore year of high school from Texas after my parents got divorced. My relationship with my mom hasn't been the same since, so I've basically been riding couches the entire time.

Ollie's been trying to take me in like a lost puppy ever since. I think he's lonely here in this insanely large house all by himself. His parents are almost never here and Elliot—well, Elliot's always gone, too. Or at least she was. Now that her and Judah have this bullshit agreement going on, she's been spending the majority of her time running or moping around the pool.

This is very odd for her. This is the type of girl who was constantly surrounded by friends and attention since she was old enough to bat those hazel eyes at someone. She may be a girl, but she has the swagger of a seasoned player. She flirts just by walking into a room—and pretends not to notice.

She notices alright.

She fucking loves it.

That's not the only problem. She's my best friend, too. I've been sitting up late nights with her, missing frat parties and every other fun thing college guys do, to listen to her complain about some thankless jock. I'm not complaining or anything. Being there for Elliot isn't some annoying task I've been forced to do—it's something I need to do. I care about his girls in ways I can't describe. She's so much more on the inside than she portrays on the outside and I think I'm one of the only ones who get to see it.

I fucking love that.

There's nothing sexier than a fine ass girl who's also cool to hang out with. I could talk to her endlessly and never get bored. I can't count how many nights I've fallen asleep to the sound of her just breathing because she fell asleep first. If I'm being honest, that's probably the biggest reason I can never have Elliot. I genuinely respect her. So much so that keeping her from getting too close is probably the best thing I could ever do for her.

She deserves better than me—and a million fucking times better than Judah Holloway. That kid's the biggest fucking tool I've ever seen. He's the walking definition of the hometown hero, quarterback peaking in high school. That's a lie actually. He's going to Cornell University to study architecture like his father. If being a football legend wasn't enough, he's also smart.

Not smart enough to keep her happy though.

"Get up, man," Ollie says from behind me.

I turn my head to see Oliver standing with his hands on his hips, a frustrated expression on his face. Oh yeah—tennis.

I tilt back the rest of my beer in once fast gulp and set my empty bottle on the cement patio before pushing up from the chair. "You took forever to get ready. What the fuck were you doing?"

He smiles while he stands there looking like a tennis instructor at the Country Club. I bet he ironed that shirt and everything. Scratch that—I bet he made someone iron that shirt for him.

Oliver nods towards the tennis court on the end of the property. "We're losing daylight. I haven't worked out since yesterday and I feel like fucking shit."

With a laugh, I follow him down the stone sidewalk. Ollie's fiercely competitive. If it's a sport—Ollie plays it. On and off the court.

The game starts off fairly calm, but quickly escalates into a battle. He throws the ball up in the air and cracks it in my direction at lightning speed. It flies past my face so fast, I feel the wind off of it.

"Jesus, Hunter. You're supposed to hit it back to me." He bends down and takes a drink from his water bottle. "What's with you, man? You've been acting like a little bitch this whole week."

After chasing the ball and retrieving it, I return to the net and glare at him. "Nothing's the matter with me."

Oliver rolls his eyes and points his racket at me. "This is about a girl."

I shake my head in protest. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. I know you, asshole. You get all strung up when you fall in love. Which is quicker than most girls do, I might add."

"Are you saying I'm some kind of pussy?"

He smirks. "Your words, dude." When my nostrils flare, he laughs. "I'm sorry, man. Is this about Regan?"

"No," I say quickly.

"You two good?"

I shrug and my eyes drift back to the pool for a moment. When I look to Oliver again he has a skeptical expression. I need to lie. "She's fine. I'm not sure where it's going, but I guess we're okay."

He gives me an incredulous look. "You moved in with her—after only a couple of months. Sounds pretty serious to me."

It's not actually. Sure, I like her—but it's not that deep for either of us. She needed help with rent and I'm tired of the subtle comments my mom was making about me moving home after college. Her new boyfriend and I have never gotten along and I'm pretty sure she's still harboring some resentment about my father. Well, that's something I'll never apologize for.

"I don't have a choice," I say finally. "Rent is expensive in town and I'm only going to be a part time substitute up at Eastern."

"That's it?" he says, still slightly confused. Ollie would never understand what it's like to work for something. His family is stupid rich. He refuses to work with his dad in the family business and works at our old high school as a physical education teacher and girl's track coach. I'll give you one guess how he came up with that career choice.

"Okay, I may have something that will cheer you up?"

I bounce the ball with my racket. "Let's hear it."

"I might have a job for you at Central."

Now he's got my attention. "Yeah?"

"Well, you remember Mr. Young, right?"

"The English teacher with the handlebar mustache?"

He snaps his fingers. "Yep, that's the one. Aside from being really fucking weird, he just had some kind of mental breakdown. He threw a desk at a kid and everything."

I can't help but laugh. "Seriously?"

A wistful smile crosses his face. He loves a dramatic exit. "Yeah. I wish I could have seen it. I bet it was amazing."

I cock my head. "As amusing as that is, how is it supposed to make me feel better?"

"You really are dense. I can get you that job. Full time, benefits, the American dream and all that bullshit." He raises his arms triumphantly and grins.

That sounds great and all, but we only graduated a couple years ago. I never saw myself ending up back at my old school. I always wanted to do more with my teaching degree. I shrug. "I don't know. I was thinking about maybe going to grad school so I can be a college professor."

He scoffs and sets up to serve the ball again. "Fuck going back to school." He smirks at me. "Come work with me. You can be my assistant coach."

I laugh. "Why don't you just coach football?"

The question brings his racket to a halt mid-air. My eyes mindlessly drift to the scar on his knee and I regret bringing it up. I feel like a dick. After tearing his ACL senior year, Ollie lost his ride to LSU. I'm pretty sure we accommodated for that loss during our own four years at WVU, but I think he's still bitter about what could have been.

His arrogant smile falls and he shrugs. "The team's going to be shit without Judah anyway. Why bother?"

Instead of laughing at his quick cover-up, the mention of that asshole's name brings my blood pressure to the point of boiling almost instantly. I grit my teeth. "Did you hear about the stunt that douchebag is pulling on your sister."

All remaining humor leaves his face. His jaw pops and over-protective, big brother mode kicks in. "No," he says coldly. "What did he do?"

I laugh once and lean forward and drape my arms over the net between us. "He convinced her to have an open relationship while they're at school."

Oliver's brows knit together for a moment. He's probably thinking. It may take a moment for him to ravel this together.

I wait patiently for a few more seconds until he laughs causally. "So?"

Now I'm getting pissed. "So? He's going to fuck other girls at school. You know that, right?"

He bounces the ball on the court with his racket while he speaks. "She can do that, too. They both win."

I push off the net forcefully and throw my arms out. "How can you say that? You couldn't possibly want that for her."

Oliver scoffs, brushing me off. "Calm down, dude. She's too young to be serious anyway. She has one year of high school and four years of college to focus on." He bounces the ball up and catches it in his palm and then gives me a pointed look. "Elliot doesn't need to get serious with anyone."

My stomach muscles tense. That sounded more like a threat than anything. The last thing I want is to make Oliver think I want her for myself. That being said—he should know this is wrong. Not only that, but he shouldn't accept something like that for someone that he loves so much.

Oliver blows out a long breath and then smiles. "Look, I'm sorry. I get that you're concerned for her, but you don't need to be." He takes a step back and pats his chest. "That's what she has me for."

I laugh for real this time. "You're not exactly the greatest role model."

He shoots me a look like my comment was absurd. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I don't say what I'm really thinking because I know Ollie. He's fucking serious right now. There isn't one person on this Earth that could possibly tell him different either. He thinks his behavior—and attitude towards life in general—is completely acceptable. That's the irony in all of this. Coming from Oliver—it kind of is.

"Nothing, man," I say with a laugh. The tension on his face subsides and I take a breath. It doesn't take much to calm him down. "I'm just worried is all."

He nods. "I get that, but she's tough. She knows what she wants and if Judah acts like an asshole, she'll break up with him. She always did before. What could possibly change now?"

That's what worries me. What's it going to take for her to see he sucks as a human being? Almost four whole years of breaking up and getting back together only to fall into the exact same pattern as before. That's kind of tragic if you ask me.

Oliver twirls his racket around obliviously and I sigh. There's no point in arguing with him. He always finds a way to twist any situation to make himself sound right. Most of the time it actually works—but not this time.

"Fine. She's a big girl and she can do what she wants."

"Exactly," he says with a grin. He nods to the house and then bends his elbow to rest the racket on his shoulder. "I need a drink and then we're going out."

I groan. "Are you serious? I'm still hungover from last night."

"Me too, but it's the only way to make it feel better." He gives me a pointed look. "You know I'm right."

I chuckle under my breath and start walking towards the sidewalk that leads up to the house. "Yeah, Ollie," I say over my shoulder. "You're always right."

A part of me wants to scream that he's delusional in thinking that she's okay. I know her well enough to know that she's really not. I'm not sure why I feel the need to protect her so much, but I do. There's something about her so precious to me I want it to remain pure.

No matter what I have to do.