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 found her wearing her bra and panties outside his door, trying to get back in. Her knuckles were bleeding because she’d been knocking on his door so long. I’d gone up there to use the head and ended up playing nursemaid to her.
She told me a slightly incoherent story about how she met Parker tonight. They went up to his room together and had what she thought was something great—until she left to use the bathroom down the hall. He wouldn’t let her use his because it was dirty. Yeah, right.
Then, he unceremoniously locked her out without her clothes and ignored her.
I helped her wash up and found her a roomy sweatshirt from one of the bedrooms, then gave her a ride home. She’s just a freshman. When her parents dropped her off at Hawthorne to start her college journey, she’d had hopes and dreams . . . but being locked out of a frat room, half-dressed, her first weekend away from home, wasn’t one of them.
I make my way around the thrashing bodies and stalk over to him. He doesn’t notice me until I’m at the bottom of the stage.
“Hey,” I call over the music. “I took care of your problem.”
He nudges the girls aside and gives me a superior look. “You think I have problems? Look around.” He throws his head back and laughs.
Dude is what girls call “hot,” I guess. Short dark hair, All-American chin, a footballer’s athleticism.
I hate the fucker.
We pledged together freshman year and you’d think we’d be friends, but it never happened.
Instead, we competed for everything.
Who could get the most girls—me; who made the better grades—him; who won more intramural games—me. All in good fun, unless you grew up with him because your dads are business associates and he’s always hated you. In the end, he had more friends in the pledge class since most of my friends were hockey players who hadn’t pledged.
That freshman year is a blur to me. Too much alcohol. Too many mornings of waking up and hating myself because I wasn’t someone else. I wasn’t in a good place. Most days I think I’m past that emptiness, but I’d be fooling myself.
“You know what I’m talking about,” I growl. “The girl.”
“If you’re talking about the girl upstairs . . .” He squints, his toothy smile already focused on a female across the room. “Or who-the-fuck-cares. She wasn’t a problem.”
I cross my arms. “I think she would have a different perspective.”
He snorts. “What are you? Patron Saint of Drunken Girls? I didn’t promise her anything. When it was over, it was time for her to leave. Simple as that.” He lowers his lids. “She’s lucky I didn’t cuff her to my bed and go all night.”
His bookends don’t seem fazed by this at all. They’re staring daggers at me, as if I’m the one who’s going to fuck them over.
He smiles. “She was past her expiration date.”
A song comes on that his bookends must like because they jump up and squeal and begin to sway seductively, pushing their tits up against him.
There’s no point in giving him shit over this. He’ll never have remorse. His frat brothers worship him like a god. The more terrible of a human he becomes, the more they idolize him.
My hands clench. I can’t believe Julia dated this asshole.
Easing my way out of the sea of sweaty bodies, I step out into the night. The porch is empty; the girl gone. Ah, well.
Dragging my hands down my face, I decide to leave my truck parked on the street. It’s a good spot, and if anyone messes with it, the alarm will blast their ears. Plus, I get satisfaction knowing Parker will see my truck parked in front of his house.
With a laugh, I launch myself over the railing and cut behind the fraternity house to the street behind where the houses are nowhere near as extravagant. They’re privately owned older homes rented to college kids. Some are well kept, others, not so much. Our house is owned by Reece’s dad and is somewhere in between.
Before I reach for the doorknob, the scent of cooked chicken from down the road hits me.
My stomach rumbles. I had double practice and a lifting session and haven’t eaten much today.
Turning, I take in the lights of the food trucks lined up in the park down the street. There’s a Korean BBQ place, a taco bar, and my new favorite is Burt’s, the gyro place.
I jog to the park. As I’m fishing through my jeans for cash, I notice Julia.
She’s sitting on the curb, her long legs stretched out in front of her. She counts dollar bills and puts them in piles. A lone tear falls down her cheek.
Is she trashed?
She stumbled around me earlier, but that could be because she didn’t have shoes.