Chapter 2

BENNETT

I look down into my brother's face. He's lying on the mattress, making no effort to move, and I've got a class he normally takes for me this morning. There's nothing concerning coming through our twin bond, so I assume he hasn't died.

"Em?" I tap his side with my foot. "You up?"

All I get back is a long groan.

"Dude, you slept in."

"Didn't." He turns his face and squints up at me, his skin a concerning tinge of white. "Been up all night. Feel shit."

"You look shit. What's wrong?"

"Everything hurts."

I crouch down to feel his forehead, then snatch my hand away again. "I think you have a fever," I tell him, pulling the collar of my sleep shirt up to cover my mouth and nose. "What do you need? Water? Some painkillers?"

"Sleep."

"That's not going to get the fever down."

He buries his face in his pillow again. Emmett's been staying with me for two weeks now, and I've loved having him here. It's almost like old times, sharing a bedroom, being inseparable, talking late into the night. But the longer he's here with nothing changing, the more I'm starting to worry about him.

No one knows I'm a twin, so we have to be careful about who sees us, and I'm worried Emmett will forget he exists. We've both been through those moments before.

"I used the last of my painkillers the other night, so I'll have to run to the store for more."

"Just go to class."

Cute he thinks he can boss me around. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"I really, really just need to sleep it off. And you snore. And talk. A lot. Leave me alone and I'll be fine."

The problem is that if Em's out of it, I'm going to have to take my own class today—the horror! Thank fuck my professors haven't taken to the pop quizzes of my high school days, or I'd be seriously worried.

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes," he grumbles, voice lost in his pillow. "Go away already."

Kinda rude to be kicked out of my own room and be made to attend my own class, but whatever. Emmett gets away with more than most people would.

I'm anxious over the time, so I skip a shower and change from my pajamas into the first clothes I find on my floor, then shove some sneakers on.

"Just saying," I tell my brother. "This is a real low for you. You could have been sick any day this week. Any. And you picked the day I have statistics. That's plain evil."

Where Em finds all that deep diving interesting, I can't wrap my head around it. Numbers have always been the dullest, stupidest things to exist, and attending this class is going to be painful.

Considering I plan to be reporting on hockey in an attempt to make sure more players don't go through the same harassment my brothers and I did, statistics is a waste of time. Hockey stats have been ingrained in me since I was born, and sure, I don't know what a lot of them mean, but I know how they sound and how they're written, and I have spreadsheets I refer to that tell me if someone is doing well.

I don't need this class for anything other than fulfilling my GE requirements.

Em turns an angelic look on me. "Next time, I'll enroll you in advanced calculus and make you take every class."

Urg. Asshole. "You're really going to hold this over my head now I'm not taking any classes for you, aren't you?"

"Sure will."

It crosses my mind, again, to push him to talk to his school. Hell, I could go there as him and do it for him. But while we might use our identities against other people, we never use it against each other.

So now I have to deal with the knowledge that he's helping me, and I'm … doing nothing in return. Some brother I am.

Still, even though I'm gambling with time until class starts, I duck into the bathroom, fill a washcloth with cold water, then head back to the bedroom again. Em doesn't hear me get back, so his eyes are still closed when I drop the cloth on his face. It hits him with a wet slap.

"The fuck?" He snatches it off and glares up at me. "Ohh, I so can't wait until you're drunk next."

"I'm really worried." I tug the cloth from his grip and this time lay it over his forehead, right above his still-glaring eyes. "Now, shut up and feel better."

I leave, swinging by the kitchen for a protein bar before heading out to my car. I could walk from here, but I'm nervous I'll be late and decide to take my chances with the student parking lot. It's right behind the Math department, and if the universe owes me one scrap of luck today, it'll give me a car space close to the building.

Apparently, the universe owes me jack shit, so by the time I get to class, almost everyone is inside the room, and I hurry to find a seat in the almost-full auditorium while I'm still finger combing the bed head from my hair.

I spot some spare chairs toward the back and hurry to slip into the row before I draw attention. Relief puffs from me on an exhale as I fall into a seat and pull my laptop from my bag. Once I'm not on the edge of panic, I cast my eyes over the rest of the class, and movement a few rows away catches my eye. A big dude with red hair, freckly, almost tan skin, and a backward hat stands and slings his bag over his shoulder.

Holy fucking damn, he's hot.

Maybe I should have sat next to him?

Not that it matters because he grins my way, then jogs up the stairs and slides into my row. Right next to me.

"Cutting it close," he says through his smile.

And … I've lost my fucking tongue. Normally, I have no issues with guys. Sure, a lot of the time when I pick up, I've been drinking, but even without alcohol, I can flirt up a storm. Apparently, after a mad dash here, where I'm left sweaty and unsure if I put on deodorant, is all it takes for me to lose my game.

"Yes," I manage. "Just made it."

"Lucky. I still can't believe Brooks locks the bloody doors. There should be rules against that."

I double take. "Bloody?"

The big guy waves a hand. "British sitcoms. They're the tits, and I retain way too much of their slang."

"I don't think I've ever seen a British sitcom before."

"Dude, you're missing out. They're so witty and hilarious." He reaches over me and starts typing on my laptop. His arm keeps brushing the side of mine, and unlike me, he put on deodorant this morning. He smells amazing, but also kinda like dirt? Grass?

Fuck, he's close.

I'm about to introduce myself when he jabs a finger at my screen.

"There. Start with those. Binge them all, then we can talk."

His raw enthusiasm helps relax me. "What? We can't talk before then?"

"Sure, but not about them. This one, for example." He jabs a thick finger at my screen. "Not a sitcom, but I get full-on belly laughs whenever I watch it."

I eye him, trying to pick up whether he's flirting or just being friendly. "Maybe we could watch it together sometime."

"Really?" For some reason, that amuses him. "Okay. You're on."

"Fair warning, I will be shocked if it makes me laugh."

"Eh. I'm confident."

Professor Brooks walks in and locks the doors just like this guy said he would. That's fucking weird, but whatever. It's lucky Em has been taking this class for me because I struggle to be anywhere on time.

We fall quiet as Brooks talks, and while the guy beside me takes notes, I tilt my head closer to see if I can get any information from his screen about what the hell his name is. Sure, I could introduce myself, but it sort of feels like I've missed that chance.

He inputs a note in the margin of the document he's typing in, and bingo.

Harrison Dunn.

Ah. Dunn and Dalton. I ship it.

Harrison's paying a whole lot more attention to the class than I am, and so, reluctantly, I pull my attention away from him and back to the front. Considering I have no fucking clue what Brooks is talking about, I'm struggling to follow along, but I type everything I can keep up with, word for word, figuring I can ask Em about it all later.

Welcome to the downside of cheating: apparently, you don't learn anything.

Though, in my defense, no one understands numbers anyway. Who can math? That whole subject is a con.

After trying and failing to keep up, I cut another look to Harrison.

"What got you into sitcoms anyway?" I murmur.

"My mom."

"That's a weird hobby. I don't think I've heard of anyone our age watching … The Vicar of Dibley? What?"

He snickers, and it's adorable. "Trust."

"Should we make a little wager out of it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you say I'm going to laugh. I'm confident I won't. So, let's make it interesting."

Harrison thinks about it for a moment. "Okay, do you have class after this?"

"Nope, a free, then I'm full for the rest of the day."

"Here's what we'll do. Straight after class, we'll head to the dining hall and watch an episode. If you laugh, you owe me lunch. If you don't?—"

An idea jumps into my head, fully formed. "You come to a party at my house this weekend."

"You're having a party?"

"We are now."

"I'm guessing you don't live alone?" he asks. "How will your roommates like that?"

"Considering I'm a DIK and my brothers throw random parties always, I don't think they'll care."

Harrison holds out his hand. "Deal."

I shake it, trying to ignore the sparks going off in my palm.

I guess the universe owed me one anyway.