Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He rubs the back of his neck. His naked neck. No shaggy hair. Everything else about him still looks the same, except for his meticulously styled hair. I hate it. He looks … like a Vanderbilt. All put together and snooty.
“So, funny story,” he starts. Then pauses. “I always wanted to go to school by the beach …”
And then it dawns on me.
He goes here.
To Franklin.
Levi fucking Vanderbilt.
CHAPTER THREE
levi
This is the moment I’ve wanted to happen for four years and the very moment I’ve been trying to avoid for the last six weeks since I transferred here. To the very university Peyton Miller is reigning king of football and has been for the last three years.
His bright blue eyes are the same, and he’s filled out with more muscle than in high school. He even has the ability to have permanent five-o’clock shadow now. I know this because this isn’t the first time I’ve set eyes on him since I arrived in California.
I wanted this moment to be perfect, even though I knew it wouldn’t be. I had pictured something less messy than scalding hot coffee down the front of me, though.
“You go here? Since when?” Peyton asks.
“The start of the semester. I managed to convince my father to let me go to law school in California, seeing as I want to take the bar here. Plus, I told you in high school I wanted to be a king. Now we both are. Franklin University Kings, right? Go sports!” My joke doesn’t land.
“You … moved? To California. Permanently.”
I try to suppress a smile. “Yes. Lawyer. Me. Want to be.”
That’s not the entire truth, but I’m not going to go into all that family expectation shit the first time I’m face-to-face with Peyton since he became my sexual awakening.
Peyton stumbles back a couple of steps. “Sorry. I-I have to get to class.”
“Wait …”
He pauses.
And now I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for the awkwardness after we hooked up four years ago? I might have decided to come to your school so I could see you again? That doesn’t sound stalkery at all.
It’s not like I came here for him specifically. I just … I wanted off that toxic corporate conveyer belt, churning out Vanderbilts and the next generation of the societal elite. And whenever I thought about running away from that life, I’d always picture that night with Peyton, our talk about colleges, and imagining how much calmer my life would be if I moved to the West Coast.
“Can I buy you a coffee first? Offer you a change of clothes at my apartment?” I trail my gaze over him. Uh, the spilled coffee, I mean. Yes. That’s … what I mean. “We should really stop ruining our clothes when we meet.” Oops, was that out loud?
By the pink tinge on Peyton’s cheeks, I’m going to go with yep.
I keep rambling. “You were getting in line for coffee, weren’t you? And I mean, I need another one seeing as I’m wearing the first.”
Peyton takes out his phone, looks down at his clothes, and then glances toward the coffee cart. “Fuck it. I’ll get Brady to take notes for me.”
We get back in line, but the silence kills me. “You and Brady taking the same classes. Never would’ve guessed.”
Peyton frowns, and I get the impression he thinks I meant that in a bad way. I didn’t. A jealous way, maybe.
“Sorry. I know your brother and you are close. I just don’t know what that’s like, so it’s weird to me that you want to be in each other’s orbit all the time.”
“We both grew up with the same pressures, so we’re really the only ones who understand.” He says this quietly, like he’s ashamed of it, but what I wouldn’t give for one of my siblings to understand. For a second, maybe have some empathy for me, but no. They’re proud to belong in rich circles. Rich people marrying other rich people to make lots of rich little babies.
And I’m fine with that. I know I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I could never claim to know what it’s like without a billion doors being opened for me, but the thing with that world is if you don’t meet their expectations, you’re nothing.
We move closer in the line.
“So, what coffee will you have?” My tone is airy and light, but in a forced kind of way and not at all calm and collected like the night we hooked up.
It’s hard to believe the guy with so much game back then grew up to be a bumbling idiot.
Peyton looks hesitant, like he wants to fight having me buy him a coffee, and I can’t say that I blame him. If all of his socials have anything to say, it’s not like he bats for my team. He’s always posting photos of him and his teammates with girls, and I’ve tried to search for homoerotic subtext in the photos with any guy other than his brother, but even I know that’s grasping at straws.