Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
She stops walking, her eyes shining in the sliver of moonlight that pierces the darkness. “You wouldn’t dare.” Then she gives me a quick kiss and disappears through the trees toward her house.
I’m grinning like an idiot the entire walk back to the dorm, where I quickly pull out my phone just to prove that I do indeed dare. A quick glance reveals Fenn is asleep and snoring softly on his side of the room. Poor baby. Must be exhausted from all the blowjobs he probably received tonight.
I tap out a quick text.
ME: Had an amazing time tonight. You’re incredible. Good night, Sloane.
My screen lights up instantly, summoning that stupid grin again. I’m damn glad Fenn isn’t awake to call out my sappy self.
SLOANE: Don’t go getting all romantic on me, rookie. It’s beneath you.
ME: You like it.
SLOANE: Not one bit.
ME: All the bits.
There’s a short delay before another message pops up.
SLOANE: I guess… I don’t entirely hate it. Good night, RJ.
Chapter 21
Silas
“Fuck, man, I can’t do it. When I go in, just let me drown.” Lawson is doubled over, practically dry heaving beside me at the edge of the pool at Monday’s practice.
In the water, the team is swimming two lanes of four-by-one-hundred medley relay. Brandon and Carter are dolphin kicking their way to the final lap of the breaststroke before Lawson’s supposed to dive in for the butterfly. This is the fourth time today Coach has made us swim this relay and we’re all feeling the hurt. I sucked in more water than air on my last lap. My arms are noodles. Heavy and limp.
Coach blows his whistle for the next swimmers to step on their platforms and Lawson shoots me a parting glance. A disconcerting smirk, as if he’s found his epiphany the second before he takes a swan dive off a tall building.
“We are going to perfect these transitions if it kills us,” Coach shouts. “Patience, precision, perfection.”
“The beatings will continue until morale improves,” Lawson mutters, adjusting his goggles over his eyes as he gets onto the platform.
He strolled into the locker room this afternoon with his headphones and sunglasses on. Coach knew right away he was still hungover from the weekend. If he ever sobered up. When I woke up Sunday morning, Lawson was tangled up in his bed with two naked chicks he brought home from the bar in Calden. First thing he did after opening his eyes was snort a line and then climb under the covers to go down on both girls, who proceeded to moan so loudly I’m shocked they didn’t wake Mr. Swinney. Not that Roger cares enough to reprimand any of us.
Needless to say, I went to grab breakfast early yesterday. Real-life porn isn’t my thing, especially when it stars my friends.
Still, Coach would’ve taken it out on all of us today regardless of Lawson. The fact that the whole team is sloppy and dragging ass today is fuel on his fire.
When Carter touches the wall, Lawson throws himself off the starting platform and does a header straight to the bottom of the pool. Then, he folds his legs yoga-style and proceeds to meditate, sitting beneath the surface. It takes a few seconds before Coach realizes Lawson isn’t coming up.
Again, the whistle screams through the building and the water goes calm as the other swimmer drags himself out of the pool, panting hard.
“Hazelton.” Coach barks my name. “Get his ass out of there.”
Goddamn it. Smothering a sigh, I dive in and more or less have to wrestle Lawson to the surface.
“Aw, I knew you cared,” he teases me as we climb out of the water.
“You two, front and center.” Coach calls us from the other side of the pool. “The rest of you chuckleheads hit the showers.”
“See what happens?” I give Lawson a shove when he’s reluctant to line up for his ass-reaming. “You pull some bullshit and I get chewed out for it.”
“Like you’re not teacher’s favorite.”
“Not the point.”
We go stand in front of Coach, who’s got his clipboard clutched in his tight fist, like a receipt of all our failings.
“Make me understand it.” He barely contains his frustration behind the sarcasm. Digs his thumbs into his eye sockets. “Because Hazelton has improved his splits at every practice. But Kent, my grandmother with a metal hip could post a better time doing a doggy paddle.”
“I bet your grandmother is ravishing in a Speedo, sir.”
“Do us all a favor?” Coach uses the dad voice. The one he whips out when he’s not angry, just disappointed. “If you don’t want to be here, spare the rest of us the effort.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I quickly interject before Lawson can deliver some snide retort he can’t walk back. “He’s an asshole when he doesn’t sleep well.” I nudge my roommate’s shoulder. “Right, asshole?”