Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Hollis straightens up from his slouch and wipes at the chocolate crumbs around his mouth. “Holy shit…” His voice rises. “Did Crazy Carl…kiss me?”
Crew, who was scrolling on his phone, holds up his cell and makes a kissy noise. “A big ol’ smooch on the cheek. I have a pic to prove it.”
“Post that and you die.” Hollis scrubs his face. “I’m never drinking again.”
My chest feels tight again as I watch them.
I twist my ring, my head tumbling as Mom’s words dance around in my head.
Slay your demons.
The idea’s been pricking at me ever since I got in the shower. It’s where I do my best thinking. If I get ramped up, I strip down and let the water wash over me. The small space, steam, and being naked help my mind focus. I average about three showers a day, morning, afternoon, and night. My grades might be shit, but I’m quite possibly the cleanest person at Braxton. This is also why I’m constantly out of laundry.
“I’ve been thinking.”
The guys look at me. Part fear, part anticipation.
“Don’t look so freaked out,” I drawl.
Hollis pops a second Ding Dong in his mouth. “We’ve seen your thinking. Your ideas can be a lot of work.”
“You’re still pissy about the pie-throwing contest at the Kappa house,” I say. “It raised a shit ton of money. Sorry you took a lot of cream in the face, Hollis.”
He groans. “I can’t even look at pie without flinching. You know I love sweets.”
“You volunteered,” Crew reminds him.
Hollis points at me. “He convinced me! He said there’d be hot girls in bikinis throwing pie. You forgot to mention there’d also be a line of Pikes and ATOs who’d want a piece of me. I had black eyes for a week.”
Crew smirks. “River could convince a nun to give up her panties.”
“Why would I when I have an entire frat to mess with,” I say on a laugh as I shift on my feet, adjusting my shoulders, fidgeting. “Anyway…today’s Monday, and even though our season is over, it’s a fresh start. There’s a new year coming, and I need something, not really a resolution, but…” I pause, mulling it over in my head. “I need to figure out my future. I’m at a crossroads.”
“Feeling the same,” Crew mutters.
“Dude,” comes from Hollis. “It’s too early to discuss heavy shit.”
We laugh.
Later, after telling them bye, I step off the porch and my fingers jiggle my keys, startling the hawk from his tree. He buzzes past me as he flies across the yard. Fly on, man. Find a hot bird babe and have some little bird babies.
Then I’m down a rabbit hole wondering if hawks mate for life.
I get in the truck and crank it.
I know what my monsters are.
I can’t wave a magic wand and cure Mom.
I can’t go back in time and fix a disastrous football season.
I can’t fix my learning issues.
But…
I can pass this class.
I can stop thinking about that girl in my class. She makes my skin tighten, the hair on my arms rise. Even my scalp does weird things when I see her.
I hate that feeling. It goes against everything I believe about brotherhood. It’s disloyal as shit, and I want to scrub it off my skin.
She doesn’t belong to me.
She loves him.
My friend. My frat brother.
My hands clench the steering wheel.
“You do not exist, Anastasia Bailey. You. Are. No. One. To. Me.”
Yeah.
Been saying that since the moment I saw her.
Fighting the pull of my thoughts, I stare down at the inked letters on both sets of fingers that spell THREE under the knuckles. It’s my jersey number and Dad’s. It represents the family triad: man, woman, child; it’s birth, love, and death.
I focus on three things I’m grateful for: despite my learning issues, my IQ is higher than the norm (shocker); I have the frat; and I have my team.
I don’t have her.
But it’s enough.
Right?
2
ANA! I got my email acceptance to Harvard! I’m going to the best law school in the country! I had to tell you first!!!!! is the text from Donovan as I trudge up the steps of the Wyler Humanities Building.
Happiness flares bright at my boyfriend’s news. I smile at his overuse of exclamations. He must be ecstatic. I come to an abrupt stop and let out a whoop as I punch a victorious fist at the sky. Good for him!
A tall, muscular guy in a purple shirt bumps into me and mutters something under his breath as his arm brushes against mine. Tingles dance down my spine. Without looking up, I murmur “Sorry” to his back as I let my backpack fall to the steps and type out a response.
I knew you had it from day one! I end it with several heart emojis. I’m about to send another text suggesting we meet up when one comes from him.