“I prefer ‘determined.’”

His foot nudged mine. “Stop stalling. What had you so upset earlier?”

I made a face. “Nice job avoiding the topic at hand.”

“I could say the same about you.”

I sighed. “My parents have basically drawn a line in the sand. They’re upset about my relationship with my sister Jackie. They’re pissed about my broken engagement. Angry because my sister Kate is basically done with them. Furious that I didn’t campaign for my father like a good little soldier.”

His eyes narrowed after a beat. “You do realize that the vast majority of that list has nothing to do with you, right?”

I blinked.

“Are you normally responsible for everyone else?”

“No.” I hesitated. “Sort of.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You should tell them all to fuck off.”

I choked on another sip of coffee.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “None of this is your problem. Your father screwed around and had another child. You’re you, so of course you aren’t going to turn your back on her. And you shouldn’t. Not your fault your fiancé was gay, and they really need to get over that one. And I don’t know anything about your sister, Kate, but I’m guessing she’s an adult.”

“She’s twenty-one.”

“See, not your fucking problem.”

All valid points, but it was hard to ignore twenty-three years of habit.

“So that’s it?”

He nodded. “That’s it.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Brothers. Assholes.”

“So you wouldn’t stand up for your siblings?”

“My family doesn’t work that way. My older brother, Michael, is in and out of prison. In right now for assault. He calls me once in a while when he needs a recommendation for a good lawyer. My younger brother, Johnny, is a fucking mess. Had a chance to go to college, play basketball, and threw it all away.”

He described a world so different from any I’d ever known. And yet, somehow here he was.

“How did you end up in law school?”

He took another sip of his coffee. “I spent some time in juvie when I was a kid. Stupid shit with a stolen car and my brother, Michael. It scared me straight. Didn’t take for him. I started paying attention in school, working hard. Found out I liked it. Started boxing, liked that, too. Got a scholarship for college. Worked my ass off there. Got into law school.” His voice got tight. “Pissed it all away.”

I reached out and squeezed his fingers, linking my hand with his until they were both resting on his knee. His hand jerked under mine and then stilled. It wasn’t much, but at least he didn’t pull away.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do after this year’s over?” I asked. “You’re teaching in the spring, right?”

“Just a med mal seminar for 3Ls.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think you’ll stay in D.C.?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you miss Chicago?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a life there anymore. Didn’t have much of a life there to begin with.”

“What about friends?”

“Didn’t have a lot of time for friends. I hung out with people in law school, stayed in touch with a few, but we weren’t super close. I worked nights then.”

“You had a job and still managed to go to school?”

Law school was an entirely different beast when it came to juggling commitments. 1Ls were discouraged from working during the school year—technically “forbidden”—because the workload didn’t really allow for anything other than studying. A few did, but they were in the minority. Some 2Ls and 3Ls worked, but it still wasn’t that common. Law school pretty much consumed everything.

He nodded. “Yeah I’d work, sleep a few hours, go to class, and do it all over again. I studied on breaks during the day.”

Now I felt even more pathetic about how much I struggled.

He squeezed my hand as if he’d read my mind. “You shouldn’t worry about how you measure up. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, the offer to help is still on the table. Feel free to stop by whenever you have a question. My office hours are on the door. And if you need to meet another time . . .” He hesitated for a second. “Let me see your phone.”

I handed him my phone with my free hand, our fingers curling around each other as he took it out of my grasp. I didn’t want to let go of the hand I held. Of him. I watched while he punched in a few numbers and then handed it back to me with a smile.

“In case of law school emergency,” he joked.

Oh god, now I had his number.

He smiled at me. “You going to be okay?”

I’d almost forgotten what we’d been talking about in the first place. He had a way of doing that.

“Yeah.”

“How about this? No more worrying about other people’s problems until you’re done with exams. Just focus on yourself for the next month. With all you have going on, you don’t need the extra pressure.”

“I’ll try.”

He smiled. “Good. And Blair?”

“Yeah?”

“You can call anytime.”

Chapter Sixteen

Rumors are floating around regarding potential misconduct on the Senate Intelligence Committee . . .

—Capital Confessions blog

Blair

I closed my phone’s browser, shoving the cell into the pocket of my jeans, pushing the blog post out of my mind. The election had passed, and still, not a day went by that my father wasn’t mentioned in Capital Confessions.

I almost wondered if it was a coordinated effort to take him down, because their focus on him was just too bizarre. He was a big deal in the Senate, and he was definitely the type of man who collected enemies like some people collected stamps, but still. He was a politician. His dickishness wasn’t exactly breaking news.

I turned to Caitlin—

“Holy mother of god,” Caitlin screeched, her body coming to a halt at the gym’s entrance so we nearly crashed into each other.

We were at Greenwood Middle School volunteering with the eighth graders as part of our 1L mentoring program. Caitlin and I were supposed to hang out with a group of girls today, and they’d wanted to come to the gym to play basketball.

I hadn’t realized what I was getting myself into.

Judging by the looks on their faces, and the show in front of us, their desire to come to the gym had less to do with their interest in playing basketball, and everything to do with who was playing basketball.

Holy mother of god, indeed.

A group of boys were playing an intense game on the gym’s basketball court. I knew nothing about the sport, but judging from the yells and elbow jabbing, the competition was fierce. That barely registered as my gaze joined that of every single female in the gym and settled on Gray.

He wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, a pair of black basketball shorts that hit him right above the knee, and a pair of worn sneakers that looked like they’d seen their fair share of time on the court.

Holy fuckballs.

And then I saw it.

Some sort of tribal ink covered his right bicep, black swirls that made me want to suck on his skin and sent a hum of awareness between my thighs. I never imagined that was hiding beneath his suit.

Sweat ran down his face, his entire body gleaming as he dribbled the ball down the court, positioned his body, took a shot, and the ball arced through the net.

I had to remind myself to breathe.

A kid reached out and gave him a complicated-looking high-five and a grin, and then they took off running down the court.

Oh my god.

I didn’t know what was hotter: that he was spending his free time hanging out with a bunch of kids who probably didn’t have a lot of male role models in their lives; or the way his muscles rippled with each movement, the dripping sweat, the utter maleness of his body. And then his head turned and he caught sight of me standing with the group of girls, and he lifted his hand in a friendly wave, a smile on his face that was younger and happier than any I’d seen on him.