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“He's a teammate.”

My father's amusement vanished immediately. “Maxim.”

“I know.”

“Does he know?”

The question had too many possible meanings.

“About what?”

“You.”

“No.”

“And yet you're involved with him.”

“We're not—” I stopped, because whatever Ash and I were, denying it to my father felt suddenly ridiculous. We'd spent the night together. I'd wanted him for considerably longer than that, and watching him retreat this morning had hurt more than anything Melanie could've put in a newspaper. “It's complicated.”

“Complicated is usually what people say when the truth is inconvenient.”

“Thank you. That's enormously helpful.”

“Does he care about you?”

I thought of Ash in my bed, Ash glaring at me in locker rooms, Ash pretending he didn't watch me when I knew perfectly well he did. I thought about the way he'd looked this morning when the Melanie story appeared, not angry so much as braced for proof that he'd been stupid to trust me.

“I don't know.”

“And do you care about him?”

That answer came too quickly.

“Yes.”

My father went silent.

I wished immediately that I'd lied.

When he finally spoke, the warning in his voice was familiar enough to drag me straight back to being seventeen. “Then you need to be careful, Maxim.”

There it was.

Not I'm happy for you. Not tell me about him.

Be careful.

The rule underneath every rule he'd taught me.

“I am.”

“Not careful enough if you've already slept with him without telling him what you are.”

“You think I don't know that?”

“I think you want him, and wanting someone makes people very good at finding reasons why the thing they fear won't happen this time.”

Anger flashed hot enough that my dragon stirred.