Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
I’m here as security. Here to protect Sulli. And this is almost better than being enrolled. No college tuition fees, no mid-terms to pull my hair out over, and I have A+ perks rather than D- grades.
I’m talking free collegiate paraphernalia.
The administration has been overly kind to me and Akara, considering we’re just bodyguards to their new swim coach. And they loaded us up with an overflowing tote bag.
I carry that tote now.
Black and red water bottles, T-shirts with the “war horse” mascot and the Latin motto vincit qui se vincit; notebooks, pens, plastic cups, tin cups, sunglasses, koozies, and more. Stuff I don’t need.
Stuff that I can’t believe fits into one fucking bag.
But Lord knows I like some free shit.
I fit on the black baseball cap.
Welcome to college, Banks Roscoe Moretti.
Our destination: the gym.
“Is this what orientation is like?” I ask Akara while we saunter across campus like we’re seasoned students. Settled in, milking this shit for all its worth.
Students chitchat with friends, carrying books and bags of their own, entering and exiting stately brick buildings with either purpose or unhurriedness. Thought I’d stick out like a pimple, but the age range is vast, considering undergrad and grad students mix in with the professors.
And I’ve already walked past a couple athletes who came close to my height.
Akara wears a red Warwick U ballcap and types on his phone, not taking in the atmosphere like me. “How would I know?” he asks. “I never went to college either.”
“I thought you toured one?”
“As a bodyguard, not a future student.” He glances up from his cell, just as most students disperse quickly into buildings like classes are about to start.
Don’t envy that.
Reminds me that I never regretted missing out on college. Like my dad and grandpa before me, the military was always gonna be my path.
Wedged between a dining hall and the Eastcrest “athlete” dorms, the glass-domed gym stands like a proud monument on campus. Alumni must throw their money at brawn over brains here.
Good thing my girl is legendary when it comes to brawn.
Only sad thing, Sulli isn’t here with us. She’s back at the penthouse while we’re doing some recon of the area before her job officially begins.
I hawk-eye the gym entrance where a couple students are gathered. Like they’re waiting for something or someone, these two guys loiter outside the glass doors. Backpacks strapped to their broad swimmer’s shoulders, the curly-haired, lean-cut one grips a pair of goggles and the buffer one sports a Warwick Swim T-shirt.
They both turn to us as we approach.
“Keypad isn’t working,” Curly Top tells us. “Someone should be here in a second to open the doors.” He studies our ballcaps, then my Warwick tote bag. “Are you a new student? God, please tell me you’re not a swimmer.”
“Not a swimmer,” I reply, avoiding the first question. Getting a better look at Curly Top, I spot a mole on his chin and recognize him from the roster that the head coach sent us yesterday. I’ve memorized the faces of every swim team member.
Garrett Winthrope.
His last name sounds like a cough drop.
He blows out a relieved breath. “Seriously, man, you scared me for a second. You’re what six-six?”
“Six-seven.”
“Yeah, I can’t compete with that.”
Garrett is a hair shorter than Akara, who’s six-two.
Gotta say, we’re blending all too well at college. Our mic cords are tucked behind our ears, threaded beneath the collars of our shirts. Neither Garrett nor his buff friend have questioned the sharp-eyed, observant pieces of us that make us bodyguards and not just easygoing students.
Sulli will be around these guys—hell, she’s about to be coaching them. So I take mental notes of which one looks dickish.
There’s always one.
The buff guy lightly elbows Garrett’s ribs. “You know who you definitely can’t compete with, Gar?” He smiles. “Our new assistant coach.”
Akara stifles a smile beside me. Sullivan’s reputation as a badass has reached Warwick University. Can’t say I hate hearing people talk her up. The whole world should know how incredible she is.
Garrett flushes. “Neither can you, Ray. She’s an Olympian.”
Ray laughs. “Yeah, her pussy is practically made of gold.”
I grind on my teeth. Found the smug-looking, granola-eating dick. He’s literally eating a granola bar while we wait.
“Isn’t she a virgin?” Garrett asks.
Ray grins. “Yeah, even better.”
They laugh.
I don’t like these shitheads anymore. Not that I had them on the nice list. They were in fucking limbo, and they didn’t even last long there.
Akara adjusts his baseball hat. To hide his glare.
Another student suddenly opens the door from inside.
“Finally,” Garrett says in relief.
We all head into the gym, but Akara and I detour towards the office. He slips me a look. “Get used to that.”
“What? People talking about her gold pussy?”
Heat hasn’t extinguished from his glare. “No, guys being crude behind her back. I never told her what people said during the Olympics, but the shit I heard made me want a stiff drink every night.”