Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I squint at the girl on the screen. She reminds me of Julia with her brown hair. She asked me to get coffee a month ago, but the way I’ve dwelled on it, you’d think it was yesterday.
Not agreeing was the right thing to do. I paid her debt. End of.
Tillie eases off the couch as the credits roll on the movie. “I need to get going—unless you want to go upstairs?” She gives me a sly smile as her hand trails through my hair. “I can think of a few things we could do . . .”
I click off the movie and stretch out my arms. Tillie and I haven’t done the deed, which is weird for me. Usually by now, I’ve fucked girls left and right.
“Nah, I’ve got some research to do.”
She gives me an odd look, then huffs. “Fine. I’m headed home tomorrow and need to pack.”
Home. Sounds like a death sentence to me.
“My condolences.”
“I like my home,” she says.
“I forgot people did that. You’re going to miss our first game.” I say it more to tease her than anything else. We’ve had some good times. She likes to drink. She likes to hang out with hockey guys.
So why haven’t I fucked her?
“When is it?” she asks.
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, well, if it’s really important, I could come . . .” her words trail off as she picks up her purse.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you when I see you.”
She pouts. “Maybe I’ll see you at the Kappa house soon?”
“Maybe.”
I swat her on the ass as she heads for the door. Grinning, she opens it then lets out a little squeal. “Eric! What is that thing?”
Lucifer has climbed up my pant leg. I meet his beady eyes. I vaguely remember tripping over him early this morning when I went to piss. I’m surprised she hasn’t seen him when she’s popped over, but he mostly stays in my room.
“He’s a ferret.” I tug him off my pants, and he curls around my forearm.
“A pet?”
“Pet would imply I like the thing.”
“He’s licking your hand.”
“Yes, he does that. Annoying as hell.” But I don’t stop him and I think he grins at me.
“Hmm. Bye, Eric.” She closes the door behind her.
After she’s gone, I change into running shorts and head outside for a run. I put in my earbuds and fire up some music. I cut through the backyard toward campus. Fall leaves crunch under my feet. I’m coming around the student center when my steps falter.
Julia walks with Channing as they exit one of the coffee shops. I slow and pull out my earbuds and stare, trying to get the lay of the land.
Is she seeing him?
As they head across the road to the library, they playfully nudge against each other.
My jaw tics.
Channing. He’s a Kappa. He isn’t the worst of them, but . . .
Anger swirls inside of me.
At what?
I don’t own her.
We aren’t a thing.
Clenching my fists, I shove down the emotion and take off in the other direction. I have my own problems to deal with.
After a five-mile run, I come back to the house soaked in sweat and breathing hard. I fish my phone out of my pocket and find a text from my dad. Call ASAP.
And there goes the day.
Dammit. I got my LSAT scores last week but haven’t told him.
I sit on the steps to the house as I punch in the call and dip my head.
My father answers at once. “Eric.”
“Dad.” I try to match his hard tone, but to my chagrin, my voice wavers.
“I called the board and had your test scores sent over to me. You bombed it.” I hear his pen tapping against his desk. Thump, thump, thump.
My lashes flutter.
I got a one-forty-six. The twenty-ninth percentile.
Kurt got a one-seventy-nine. The ninety-ninth percentile.
My father couldn’t stop bragging to his friends about Kurt. If he could’ve rented a plane to fly a banner over town, he would have.
“Yes.”
His words chop at me. “This is an embarrassment. You did worse this time. What the hell happened?”
What happened?
Besides me not being Kurt, I didn’t study, oh, and I got in a fight with a drug dealer and got tossed out of a strip club. I’m struggling each day to focus. I’m not the carefree guy I was last year. One of my players is pledging Kappa. And Julia is seeing Channing. WTF.
I can’t tell him any of that.
“Do you know how hard it is to get into law school with those scores? Even with the most glowing recommendations—”
“I know.”
“What do you have to say for yourself? Is hockey distracting you?”
Anxiety spikes.
Dad was fine with me playing hockey when Kurt was alive. I was the second son of royalty—free to do stupid shit.
I wasn’t the basket my parents put their eggs in.
Now, I’m the basket.
My hands clench the phone. “Hockey is not a distraction. I’m not good with tests. I’m not . . . maybe I’m not . . .”