Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I balled my hands into fists and prepared to breathe fire on him, but Colin spoke before I could.
“You should have been disqualified,” he said. “Do you get that? It is a big deal because it means the Lambdas actually won.”
Riley’s focus swung to the other man, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re taking her side, after what I was trying to do? Some brother you are.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I cheated, but it was for a good cause. I wanted us to win so we could help Grady, but then she started that fight, which cost us the prize money—all because she couldn’t handle losing.” He gave me the full power of his sneer. “As far as I’m concerned, you stole that money away from Grady’s sick mom. If anyone should apologize, it’s you.”
I sucked in a breath.
I knew Grady from my time with Jack, and I’d liked him more than most of the other guys at the house. But I hadn’t known his mom was sick, or that the Sigs had planned to give their prize money to him. It only made me angrier. If any of the Sigs had told us Lambdas, it was possible we would have voted to give the prize money to Grady.
A new water heater seemed stupid in comparison.
But the idea that I owed Riley an apology—that was ludicrous. Laughable.
“That’s never going to happen.” My smile contained no warmth as I peered down at him at the base of the porch steps. “And since we’re talking about things that’ll never happen, just know that as long as I’m here in this house? You’re never getting in.”
I didn’t understand why Colin stiffened suddenly. It wasn’t until Riley pulled his chin back and a line creased between his eyebrows that I realized my mistake.
“Wait. Y’all live here?” He took a step back and stared up at the house with new eyes.
Oh, God. A lump grew in my throat, clogging my ability to speak.
He hadn’t known we lived and worked here . . . but he did now. Despite the heat outside, a cold chill washed down my back.
Colin stepped in front of me, like he could somehow shield me from what I’d done. His tone turned absolute. “Remember our deal. You keep your mouth shut about this, and I won’t tell anyone about your cheating in the tournament.”
“What happened to you, man?” Riley’s voice was full of disappointment. “You used to put your frat brothers first. Now you’re pussy whipped. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
“Fuck off,” Colin snarled, “and don’t come back.”
Whatever expression was on his face, paired with his confrontational posture, was strong enough to knock some sense into Riley. He blew out a frustrated breath, turned, and stormed back to his car.
Colin and I didn’t move or speak as he got in, started the engine, and then sped off down the hill.
I was sick to my stomach. Not only did Riley know about our stage names and what we did, now he knew where we did it too. Colin turned, and I expected to see disappointment in his eyes, but it wasn’t there. Only concern.
“I fucked up,” I whispered.
He didn’t deny it. Instead, he folded me into his arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Eventually, he’ll lose interest and give up.”
It was a nice idea, but I was sure he didn’t believe it any more than I did.
I sat on my bed and peered at the screen of my laptop, scanning the HOA’s website. I was on their covenants, conditions, and restrictions page, which listed every rule the homeowners agreed to abide by as long as they lived in this neighborhood.
The page was daunting.
And endless.
But I wasn’t going to be defeated. The Woodsons had received a new fine in the mail today, stating their mailbox was suddenly out of code. The letter told them they needed to purchase the same exact style of mailbox that the rest of the subdivision had.
Scott lost his mind when he saw it was five hundred dollars.
For a fucking mailbox.
The letter threatened if they didn’t fix it in the next thirty days, they’d be fined another hundred dollars, and it’d continue every month until they complied.
I was mad on principle, and eager to do something to help since I’d let it slip that Petal Productions operated out of this house. It was a long shot, but maybe if I read the rules, I could find a loophole. Something to exploit or use in defense against Judy’s tyranny.
I read every line, making notes on my phone about questions or possible vagueness in the rules, but . . . nothing immediately leapt out at me. When I finished, I clicked the link to the board’s meeting minutes.
That seemed to be a non-starter as well. They had held a vote about the mailbox rule, and since no homeowner raised an objection at the meeting, it had passed unanimously. I scowled. Had they even given notice of a meeting? It wouldn’t surprise me if the answer was no.