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 f**ked 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 h*ps were full, her waist slight. Her br**sts were on the small side, but firm under her bikini top. Her ni**les 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 f**ked 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 c**k 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 f**k-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?”