I wasn’t ready for that. If she made a declaration of love or an intention to end things with her boyfriend, I’d be stuck for the rest of the evening playing that I welcomed those things. It was my parents’ fucking garden party. I wouldn’t be able to dump her and leave. And I certainly wasn’t going as far as that would require me to go. I wasn’t planning to even kiss her.

So I deflected. “How about we not talk tonight? Instead we just enjoy one of the last days of summer. We can talk tomorrow. Are you going to the Brookes’ shindig?” I already knew her answer. The Brookes were our age. Twins—Thomas and Christina. Christina was one of Celia’s friends. An entire house full of spoiled rich kids. No supervision. That was the more appropriate setting for the end of my project.

Celia’s mouth turned up in an eager grin. “Of course I’m going. Christina would kick my ass if I didn’t.” She’d been hoping that the reason behind my asking was because I wanted to be alone with her instead.

It wasn’t. “I’m going too. I’ll meet you there. We can slip away when we don’t have our parents breathing down our necks.” I glanced toward the house, indicating how close our parents were at that very moment. “It will give us a chance to…” I hesitated, letting her mind jump to whatever conclusion she preferred before I finished with, “talk.”

“Right.” Her cheeks flushed and I was sure her thoughts had been dirty. “We’ll…talk…then.”

“Good.” I let a brighter than usual smile cross my lips. “I see swimsuit straps under that dress. If you want to get in, I will too.”

We played in the pool for quite a while. Soon other guests arrived and more of our peers joined us. Christina Brooke flirted with me, as she often did, though I refrained from returning the attention the way I normally would. There were several other attractive girls there as well—some that I’d even fucked on occasion. On any other night, I would have picked one and banged her behind the poolhouse.

But tonight Celia was there. Tonight the experiment was more important. So I ignored the eyes the other girls gave me, and I made sure to keep my focus on The Subject throughout the night. I wanted to be sure that she noticed I was looking, that she assumed I was attracted to her physically, though I wasn’t. It wasn’t that Celia wasn’t pretty. Quite the contrary. She’d been a beautiful girl that had grown into an even more beautiful woman over the year we’d been apart. Her curves had filled out—her hips were full, her waist slight. Her breasts were on the small side, but firm under her bikini top. Her nipples beaded through the thin material under my frequent glances. Any other man would have been hard staring at her as often as I did.

But I wasn’t just any man. Despite her beauty, Celia had never turned me on. I knew her too well. I cared for her as much as I was able. For me, emotions didn’t go with sex. They were completely separate. Emotional attachment was for people you wanted to spend time with—there were few of those people in my life. So few I could count them on one hand.

Sex was something else entirely. It was for pleasure. For getting off. For releasing pent-up aggression. I’d explored the possibility that it was anything else very thoroughly. I’d fucked frequently. I’d learned how to please and how I liked to be pleased. I’d perfected technique, shaped myself into a skilled lover. Yet with all the encounters I’d had, I’d never discovered the association others had with emotion and sex. My findings only solidified my original hypothesis—they were separate things entirely.

Or I’d proven another hypothesis altogether—that I was incapable of that type of emotion. That I was incapable of love. That certainly wasn’t a conclusion that I’d ruled out.

It was after ten when a bunch of us commandeered a lounging area set up specifically for the party. I sat on the loveseat, Celia at my side. Christina Brooke half sat, half fell at my feet. I imagined she’d gone past tipsy to drunk, but most of it was an act. She was looking for an excuse to lean against my leg. I didn’t mind. I liked the way her hand held onto my thigh as her breast pushed through her tank against my bare shin. My view of her was fantastic. I could see down her shirt with ease. She was an extremely sexy girl with plump lips that I couldn’t help imagining wrapped around my cock. I had a semi just thinking about it.

Celia cast an irritated glance down at her friend. “Everyone’s drinking but me.”

With difficulty, I shifted my focus from Christina to Celia. I couldn’t let lust distract me. “I’m not drinking.”

She scowled. “But you could get some if you wanted.”

I looked around at the other guests our age. They weren’t legal, but almost all were nursing an alcoholic beverage of some sort. Obviously the bartender we’d hired wasn’t carding. “Why can’t you get one?”

I wondered if she was afraid to leave me alone with Christina. The way my cock pushed at my briefs, maybe that was a valid fear.

“My father’s guarding the bar. I have no shot.” Not the response I’d expected. “He already told me he wanted to find nothing in my hand tonight but Diet Coke. And he checks. See?”

I looked toward the bar where Warren was perched, his back against the counter. Sure enough, his eyes were on us, though I had a feeling it was more because he was interested in my fraternization with his daughter than because he was concerned about her stealing a sip of wine. Warren Werner was the protective father sort. It occurred to me that my experiment might earn me a black eye from the man.

It would be worth it.

The project consumed me now. I realized that fully. I’d turn down a fuck-hot sure thing at my feet for a chance to prove my hypothesis. Was it really an experiment anymore, or a game? It was my obsession, that’s what it was. Anything else I called it at this point was merely a label.

“I’m standing up now,” I warned Christina. She mumbled something then lay back on the grass, likely on the verge of passing out. Her shirt pushed up and I glimpsed her bare belly. I allowed myself one mental snapshot to savor for later when I jerked off in the shower. Then I turned to Celia.

“Come with me. I don’t believe the entire liquor cabinet was brought out to the patio. If it was, I know where my mother keeps her secret stash.” I took Celia’s hand and laced my fingers through hers. It felt warmer than I expected, and the shock of it almost made me let go. But I reasoned the sensation was likely caused by the filthy thoughts I’d been having about Christina.

I let the visions of sex fade from my mind as we walked toward the house. At the door, I peered over at my friend and winked. “Also, I have something I want to give you.”

“You do?” Her eyes lit up. “What is it?”

“All in good time, my love.” The manipulation of my endearment made me cringe. Especially when I saw the effect it had on The Subject. She literally glowed.

I was disgusted with myself. That surprised me, but I didn’t take it to mean anything too enlightening. A decent human being would have felt it long before now. More proof that I was neither decent nor feeling.

Except I was feeling in that moment. Bitter disgust. It was ugly in texture and taste. I didn’t like it. It was a hindrance to my goal. That drink would be good.

Ten minutes later as the bourbon from the mini-bar off the living room settled in my stomach, I reevaluated the weakness I’d felt shortly before. Perhaps it wasn’t weakness, after all. It was more recognition of fact than a feeling. There was no doubt I was a disgusting person. No one who knew the extent of my thoughts and actions would disagree.

But there was no one who knew my inner psyche. My secret belonged only to me.

“Better?” I swirled the liquid in my glass before finishing the last swallow.

“Much.” Celia downed her own drink, cringing as she took in the bitter alcohol. “Woo!” She held her hand out to me to steady herself. “Maybe I should have drank that slower.”

“Here.” I helped her to the couch. “Sit while I get your gift.”

She settled into the upholstery. “It’s not my birthday or anything. Why would you get me something?”

“Do I need an occasion? Besides, it’s barely anything at all.” I left her to head to the dining room where I’d stashed my gift on the china cabinet. I’d planned this earlier, and not wanting to be too sequestered with Celia, I’d made sure my present was near the party.

I gathered the items and thought briefly how I owed Mirabelle for the tip of gifting based on knowing someone. Celia hadn’t declared a major yet. She’d spent long hours debating with me about what she should choose. Her heart longed to pursue art, but her parents would never approve of such a frivolous career choice. While I’d listened and consoled, I hadn’t given much input. I appreciated art in all forms, yet I had not a lick of that kind of creativity, and how she could marry her passion with an occupation the Werners approved of was beyond me.

Then my mother hired an interior designer for our home back in Manhattan. By hand, he’d sketched out beautiful new concepts for our living room and den. The work he’d done was creative and artistic and completely something within Celia’s capability. I’d researched programs at Celia’s school and ordered some brochures. Then I purchased a coffee table book with photographs of contemporary designs from the last decade. These were the gifts I gave to Celia.

“It’s merely an option.” I sat and watched her look through the brochures over her shoulder. “You can take or leave the information however you like. I won’t be offended if you think it’s all shit.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s perfect. This idea is perfect.”

I shrugged. But I was quite pleased with the results of my gift.

“Thank you, Hudson.” Her eyes were wet and her face flushed, equally from the liquor as much as from my gesture. “I’m so moved. You can’t understand.”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Stop being humble. It’s a lot. Thank you.” She wiped a tear from her eye. Then she threw herself into my arms. “Thank you so much.”

I paused for a moment before embracing her back. I hadn’t expected her hug, but once I got over the initial shock, I was glad for it. Warmth spread in my chest, and I couldn’t figure out if my satisfaction was from the progress I’d made in my experiment or from sincere care for my friend’s happiness. Did I have that in me? To care whether or not good things happened to Celia?

It seemed that maybe I did.

So when she pulled back and found my mouth, I welcomed it. I kissed her genuinely, letting my lips move in tandem with hers. She tasted sweet and innocent and also in need, as if she’d yearned for this kiss for as long as I’d worked to get her there. Her urge was so strong it was contagious. I could have kept kissing her. I could have taken her to my room. I could have stripped her naked and learned her body and made her writhe, forgetting all about my experiment, abandoning everything I’d ever believed about myself.

I could have. But how long would it last? Until we’d both come and were spent? Longer, perhaps—a week, a month? Until she realized that I was cold and calculating? Until she discovered that everything that she liked about me was a façade? That everything she thought I felt was a complete and utter lie?

No. I could never let anyone know who I really was. No one could want me if they knew who I was inside. It was better that I could never love in return because I’d never keep anyone anyway. So I had to end it—the kiss. In the name of all that I knew I could never be or have or give.

Also, I had an experiment to conclude.

I broke the kiss and pulled away from her. It was easier than it should have been. She tried to reach for me again and I halted her. “Celia.” My breath was ragged. “You have a boyfriend.”

“Can’t we pretend just for tonight that I don’t?” Her eyes were hopeful, wanting.

But my stoicism had returned and her pleading expression had no effect on me.

I stood, brushing my hand through my hair. “I told you I’m done pretending.” Done pretending with myself. I had to finally be honest. It wasn’t that I suspected I was incapable of love—I knew I was incapable. If I wasn’t, I would have been able to keep kissing Celia. And I couldn’t.

She rose and stepped toward me, but froze when the sound of loud voices came from the kitchen. My parents’ voices.

I hurried to them, Celia at my heels. At the archway to the kitchen, I stopped, peering around the corner to see what was going on. Along with my parents, I saw my siblings and their nanny, Erin.