Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I laugh at myself and scribble my name before shoving it back beneath the counter.
“Why not?” Justice follows me to the door, holding it open for me as I sling my purse over my shoulder.
“I’m picking up food on the way home and staying in with Ben tonight. He has no practice for the first time in forever so we’re taking advantage of that.”
I could totally invite Justice over too, but I don’t want to, so I wave and head out the door.
Not thirty minutes later, I’m slipping into the elevator inside my dorm building.
Hands full, I use my elbow to turn the knob and slip inside. I kick the front door closed with my foot, balancing a pizza with one hand and my phone in the other. Placing the box on the counter, I flip it open and inhale the hot steam of fatty cheese. My stomach rumbles as I snatch a piece, dropping my keys onto the counter and moving into the lounge where Ben is seated watching hockey, always hockey.
I lean against the wall, biting into the greasy goodness. “I have an idea.” I chew slowly as he lowers his beer from his mouth, keeping his eyes on mine.
“And what’s that?” To be fair, in Ben’s eyes, this could mean anything. I’ve given him a trigger without even meaning to. One time when we were kids, I told him that I had an idea. That idea led to us cliff diving off steep mountains in the valley. He hasn’t quite forgiven me for that yet either.
“I’ve decided that I’m not doing any more parties. That last one was crazy. How were you on the coke that Justice gave you?”
Ben swipes the bottom of his lip with his thumb, placing his 808 onto the coffee table and spreading his knees wide. He looks between the TV and me dismissively, as if he’s not sure how to answer.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, clearing his throat. “I guess it was just like any other strain. But yeah, you were fucked up.”
“Wait!” I raise my hand up to stop him. “So you didn’t see the things I saw?”
“Like what? Drunk orgies?” Ben laughs, and I slap him.
“Of course that’s all you remember.”
“That’s all that is worth remembering.”
I glare and Ben’s head tilts as he chuckles. “I knew you were fucked up. I didn’t know you were that fucked up.”
Weird. I knew it was affecting him differently, making him sluggish and me lively and free, but outside of that, we were on the same level—I was sure of it.
“So you and that girl?” I change the subject, sinking my teeth into the last bite of pizza.
“Who? Cassandra?” He scoops up his beer again, taking a large swig. He snorts around the rim. “Told you, she was a good time, but she’s not a long time.”
My eyes roll as I head back into the kitchen to find another piece of pizza. “Never is with you, though, is it, Ben?” I snatch my phone from the counter and make my way to my bedroom down the hall. I love my best friend, but sometimes I wonder if he hears himself talk. “Movie in twenty?”
“Soon as I finish reading these chapters for socio.”
Ugh. Sociology. Gag me.
This is probably not the best time to tell him I got an F on my history paper.
As I cross the threshold of my bedroom, I pause.
I swear I can smell him.
The heady scent of freshly cut grass with the added spice of richness. It’s perfect for him, sort of like I picture his true personality to be. A little woodsy and wild, untamed with a hint of cinnamon. The scent is just enough to taste it on the tip of your tongue, but not enough to fucking choke on it.
Must be coming off of the clothes I wore Saturday night that are still sitting in the hamper in my closet.
I fall down on my bed and open up Instagram, scrolling through my home page. I hate that I don’t remember much from the party. I hate that I don’t know what I saw. But most of all, I’m so sure I remember someone from Saturday night. It’s a blur of green hair. I’ve been doing all I can to try to clear the fog in my head the last few days, but that’s all I remember. Jesus fucking Christ.
I keep scrolling through Instagram. Picture after picture, photo after photo. Maybe I posted something on my Insta story? No, of course not. I’m not that reckless.
Scoffing down my last slice, I put my phone on charge and peek in on Ben. He’s on his second beer and still has his face tucked into his book, so I make a quick trip to the showers. I scrub swiftly, dry myself, and I’m back in our shared suite in no more than ten minutes, my shoulders sagging when I spot Ben knocked out cold, his book flat on his chest.