Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Poppy

I don't understand why people come to libraries to study. I can't concentrate here for more than five seconds at a time. It's too silent, forcing my ears to pick up on everything that isn't quiet like the guy breathing heavily at the next table.

My brows inch up. Seriously, is he watching porn on his laptop in the library? What else could explain his labored breaths? Certainly not statistics. And if so, then I'm in the wrong statistics class.

I shudder and look ahead at a girl who is practically chewing her entire finger off. Her nail is all but destroyed, yet she gnaws away like a beaver chopping wood. Gross!

My shoulders slump in fruitless hope. I slam my textbook shut. The loud bang causes three more sets of eyes to glance up at me. I flash a pressed smirk, silently apologizing.

"Shh!" A whisper tickles my ears. I do the opposite and squeak out a scream, earning a look from the lady at the desk that seems to peel the flesh off my body.

"Tough crowd," I murmur. I glance over my shoulder to see my brother Peter hovering over me.

"How did—?" I begin, but I already know. Peter is the definition of a protective older brother, and he has tracking apps, plural, on my and Henry's phones.

He pulls out the chair next to me. "Studying not going well?" He eyes the closed book and my blank notepad.

I shrug. "I can't concentrate here."

"So, why'd you come?"

"The coffee shop had a clogged toilet, and it backed up, replacing the aroma of coffee with sewage," I reply.

He grimaces.

"My thoughts exactly," I giggle. "Studying is bad enough, but enduring that smell would be a new form of hell." I slump in my chair. "Why are you here?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

He swings his arm over the back of my chair. "Can't a big brother visit his little sister?"

"You always have a motive," I joke.

He grins, but it's forced.

"What's wrong?" I inch back, searching his eyes for an answer.

He chews his lip and scans the library nervously. "You seem happy," he replies, his voice tinged with worry.

My brows furrow. "Am I supposed to be sad?"

His eyes widen. "No, that's not what I meant. I just don't want to ruin your mood."

I pivot in my chair. "Spit it out."

He looks me dead in the eye, more like my dad than my brother. After our parents died, Peter took on the roles of parent, brother, and friend. Peter got the short end of the stick. You should have seen him try to give me the sex talk; even worse was when I asked him to buy me tampons. I think he got his first gray hair that day. Henry, my other brother, parties. And I'm somewhere in between the two—I try to be the responsible sister who also wants to enjoy college and have a good time.

Peter... well, he just worries. He's working at our parents' company now, aiming to be CEO and keep the company in our name. It wasn't easy to take that job; he finished college a year before Henry, his twin. He gave up having fun, partying, and dating. Peter has given up a lot so Henry and I can have a somewhat normal life. The board loves Peter, and since Peter, Henry, and I have controlling shares, the board has to work with us. Peter is determined to succeed in all aspects of his life, including acting as my father.

He runs a hand through his brownish-red hair. "Are you seeing Andrew Sinclair?" he blurts out. I don't miss the way he grinds out Andrew's name.

Oh, God. Discussing my dating life with my overprotective brother is the last thing I want. That's why I usually talk to Harper. My best friend thinks like a man but explains like a woman. She's the one who taught me about the birds and the bees after Peter's lecture completely failed. Harper even demonstrated how to perform oral sex on a cucumber, claiming it's more realistic than a banana.

"Define 'seeing,'" I air-quote.

"Poppy," Peter stresses, his eyes turning cold.

I mirror him in a playful tone, "Peter."

He cracks his right thumb, a sign he's annoyed.

"I'm not a kid, Peter."

He snorts.

"I'm not. You and Henry bring girls home all the time."

"That's different."

"That's sexist," I counter.

"You're my sister." He cracks another knuckle.

I get it, tough guy; you want to snap the neck of any guy that gets close to me.

I nod. "Who is a woman in her twenties."

He rests his elbow on the table, rubbing his chin as he looks off into the distance. "I don't like him."

I laugh. "You'll never like anyone I date."

"So, you are dating him?" he questions, his jaw tightening as he crosses his arms.

I shrug. "We're taking things slow. Very, very slow." That seems to reassure him slightly.

The truth is, Andrew Sinclair is one of the most popular guys on campus. He's got the looks to land a modeling contract, the athletic ability of a top athlete, and an infamous smile.

I still have no idea why a guy like Andrew is interested in me. I'm not a deflated, insecure girl. I know I'm pretty, but I just don't think I'm Andrew's level of pretty.

It's not that Andrew is a bad boy, either. He's a good boy with a shining reputation. He doesn't date, but suddenly, he wants to date me. It's got me all confused and stressed before I step out the door each morning. I even bought a flat iron, burning my ear in the learning process, but that was the cost of taming frizz.

Andrew's stupidly hot, and I'm…me. Happy and confident but also inexperienced in both sex and using hair tools.

I think I might be the only virgin on campus, a fact that Harper can confirm since she knows all the juicy gossip.

I've gone out on a few dates with Andrew, and each time I see him, I feel the odd thing called ‘chemistry' starting to boil.

"There are rumors about his family," Peter says.

I roll my eyes. "There are always rumors about rich families," I retort.

Andrew is rich. Very rich. He drives a Porsche from Monday through Thursday and, on Fridays, a supercar—an SUV with a horse logo. I never remember the name because I'm not into cars. I just think the logo is kind of cute, though I doubt any guy wants to hear his car described that way.

Andrew's not the type to brag about his material items, either. If he were, I'd gag. He drives his cars, wears designer clothes, and doesn't comment on the matters.

"We're kind of rich too," I mumble. "People might be gossiping about us." I reach for the book, flip it open again, and then grab my notepad.

"It's not the same. I just don't like the things I hear. I want you to be safe," Peter says earnestly.

I reach out, touching his forearm. "Peter, I am being safe. This campus has free condoms in every building." Joking! I can't help it. I blame this bad habit on my bestie, Harper, who is the worst at joking.

Peter's eyes widen, and I think he might be having a stroke, judging by the way his left eye is blinking.

"Jesus," he mutters, the frustration all too evident. "I told you no more jokes. I swear, I'm going to hunt Harper down after this and beat her ass."

I can't help but let out a snort of laughter. "Knowing Harper, she'd probably find that a turn-on."

Peter does this awkward swallow, his eyes darting to the floor as if he's suddenly found his shoes fascinating.

"We're not having sex," I add with a smirk, knowing Harper would be rolling with laughter over this conversation.

"Keep it that way."

"I will," I promise, until I'm ready.

"He makes you happy?" Peter finally looks at me again.

I bite my lip, lost in thought. One of the hottest guys in school is showing interest in me – this should send waves of excitement through me, right?

It does, to an extent. It's not a whirlwind of love at first sight, but a stirring of attraction certainly simmers beneath the surface.

"Yeah, he does," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I just want you to be happy," Peter says softly, pulling me into a side hug and kissing the top of my head. His arms hold me tight. He's stressed, but I need him to trust that I'm going to make the right decisions.

The rumors about Andrew's family are old money rumors fueled by curiosity and a love for storytelling. The thing about gossip is that some of it sprouts from seeds of truth, while other parts grow from weeds of lies.

All the crazy whispers I hear are just that. Lies.