Misfit (Prep #1) Read Online Elle Kennedy

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Young Adult Tags Authors: Series: Prep Series by Elle Kennedy
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Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
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At least he’s putting his skills toward a worthy cause.

“This time it’s okay,” I tease, before going serious again. “If you want to be nosy, I wouldn’t mind the help. We’re at a dead end otherwise. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep agonizing about this. Or watching Casey beat herself up trying to remember. We have to know.”

“If there’s something to find, I’ll get to it,” RJ promises.

He leans down to catch my eyes. Recently, I’ve come to understand he’s a far more sincere person than he lets on. Even when he’s sarcastic, there’s a level of truth behind it. So I know he means it when he tells me he’ll dig until he reaches the bottom.

“By the way…” I turn to lie on my side and prop my head on his shoulder. “My dad and Casey are going to look at a couple colleges tomorrow. They’re leaving first thing in the morning and won’t be back until late. You could come over, if you want. Spend the day.”

There’s hesitation in his pursed lips. “I love that idea. Except I’m not sure we should risk it.”

“Since when are you the cautious type?”

“You said he’s got cameras all over that house. If he’s half as obsessed as you say, he’s probably monitoring the feed on his phone. He can get motion-sensor alerts when someone trips a camera outside, you know.”

He’s got a point. Even if I can’t help feeling disappointed he’s so quick to blow off a chance to spend several unsupervised hours together.

“Sloane.” Sensing my unhappiness, he glides his hands down my ribs and clutches my waist. “I want to. Obviously. I’d eat you out on the kitchen counter if you told me to. But I’d like to keep seeing you. If we get caught, your dad’s kicking my ass out of school, and I’ll end up shipped off to some cattle ranch in Montana for wayward youth.”

“I don’t know. I’d need to see you in a pair of chaps before I rule out the possibility.”

“Keep dreaming, sweetheart.”

When a deep, sudden yawn bursts through me, I know it’s time to get home. It’s too comfy in bed with him. The second I shut my eyes, I’ll be passed out and then we’ll have a hell of a time sneaking me out of here in the morning.

RJ checks the hallway is clear before we creep out of his room. I didn’t tell him this, of course, but I’ve tried the window route before and it’s not a fall I want to take again. So we’re quiet on our toes, my shoes in hand, skimming the walls toward the fire stairwell. We’re nearly home free when we reach the first floor. The rear exit is located at the far end of the hall through the laundry and delivery loading dock. Except as we’re making our way past the corridor to the main entrance, we see a shadow sweep across the floor.

“Shit,” RJ hisses.

“What?”

“Roger’s door is open.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Swinney. The housefather. He’s usually asleep by now. The TV’s off.”

“I don’t understand.”

He backs us up to cling to the wall in a tiny alcove that holds a bust of a Sandover founder on a pedestal.

“What do we do?” I whisper.

RJ grimaces, gritting his teeth. He takes another peek around the corner. “We have to make a run for it. Hope he’s passed out and just forgot to close his door.”

“Okay.”

I’ve got my eyes focused on the exit sign at the end of the hall, ready to sprint like I’m qualifying for state. But the second we poke our heads out, the floorboard creaks, and we run smack into Mr. Swinney in a house robe and pajamas, carrying a cup of tea.

“Miss Tresscott.” The plump, unkempt man gives me an admonishing glance. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Roger Swinney. And you’re quite far from home at this late hour.”

I scramble for a suitable excuse. “I, ah, was…”

“Sleepwalking,” RJ supplies.

I choke down a laugh. “Right,” I confirm. “I must have been sleepwalking.”

Mr. Swinney holds up his free hand to silence us, and we proceed to get thoroughly but politely reamed. The gist of which is that Swinney can’t wait to report this indiscretion to my father. My stomach drops at the threat—or rather, I think it’s a promise—and I can tell RJ isn’t thrilled either.

“I trust you can find your way out,” Mr. Swinney finishes. He lifts one bushy eyebrow. “Feel free to use the front door this time.”

RJ and I take our walk of shame to the steps outside, where I put on my shoes and wonder how I’m going to explain this to my father. Whatever his motives for scaring the Sandover boys away from me and Casey, Dad doesn’t make idle threats.

“So, yeah. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it,” RJ tells me. “This is bad.”


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