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)
“Jesus. That’s heavy. Was she hurt?”
“A gash on the head, a concussion, and some bruises. She was pretty shaken up after that. Still is.”
“Did they catch the guy who drugged her?”
“She didn’t remember anything. There were security cameras, but the school said they were down for maintenance, so they didn’t capture what happened. That was it.”
Fenn’s mood sours. He doesn’t speak again while we walk to dinner, stuck in his own head. Me, I’m wondering why this major accident wasn’t in any of the local papers. If there’d been articles written about it, they would’ve come up in my dig on the headmaster. No reporter would pass on a story that juicy, which tells me someone made an effort to keep it out of the papers.
And I’m probably not the first to point this out, but the cameras being down during a major school event and someone nearly dying is one hell of a coincidence. Then again, this was months ago, so I’m sure the family shook that tree.
At dinner with Silas and Lawson, I’m the one getting interrogated.
“Saw you talking with Coach Gibson,” Silas says over his rice pilaf. “Are you thinking about jumping in the pool with us?”
I grunt out, “Not a chance,” and take another bite of lemon chicken.
My strategy for surviving these forced interactions is to always keep food in my mouth so I’m not compelled to offer much more than grunts in response. Despite what Fenn says, I don’t need friends. I’m not one of those people who needs the reassurance of constant human contact. I prefer to be alone if I have the choice.
“Coach has a hard-on for him,” Lawson tells Fenn, before grinning at me. “Absolutely salivating at getting you in a Speedo.”
I cock a brow. “You’re not selling it well.” Team sports fly in the face of everything I believe in, but especially nearly naked team sports.
“Besides, his full-time job lately is stalking Sloane,” Fenn cracks.
“We’re getting to know each other.”
“Right. You’re getting to know the hundred different ways she can tell you to fuck off.”
Lawson speaks over the rim of his glass, boredom in his voice. “Cut your losses. You’re never getting a date with her. She’s beyond your reach.”
“Push her too far,” Fenn adds, “and she’ll have your skin hanging on her bedroom wall.”
I glance at Silas, waiting for him to chime in. He doesn’t. “What, no dose of pessimism from you?”
He shrugs, donning a thoughtful look as he brings his fork to his lips. He chews, swallows, then offers another shrug. “Doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll keep chasing her regardless. They all do.”
I eye him back, equally pensive.
“Look, part of Sloane will always be out of reach. Like, you can never pin her down. That’s the appeal. Dudes become obsessed with her, want to win her over, but it’ll never work. Sloane always wins in the end.”
“We’ll see,” I say confidently. Although Silas’s take on her is surprisingly deep. Intimate, almost.
Fenn said they were close, but I suddenly wonder if he has a thing for her. My brief research dive into Silas Hazelton revealed the consummate good boy. Well, excluding whatever mysterious transgression got him expelled from Ballard and shipped to Sandover—if there’s a paper trail about that, I hadn’t uncovered it yet. He’s squeaky clean, otherwise. Top swimmer with Olympic potential. Cute doormat of a girlfriend. Text message exchanges that sound almost scripted. I hadn’t found a single love poem dedicated to Sloane Tresscott on his computer or any telescopic-lens photos of her jogging in a sports bra, so if Silas is lusting over her, he’s playing it close to the vest.
As for Sloane, the way I’m reading it, she’s sent me an invitation to her labyrinth. All that remains is for me to navigate my way through. It’s about the journey.
And I’m always up for adventure.
“He’s already made friends with Duke.” Fenn exchanges a look with Lawson, the two of them in on a joke I’m not privy to.
“Bet that went well.”
“RJ’s such a people person, after all.”
Lawson grins at me. “This should be fun.”
After dinner we end up in the dorm’s common room for a game of pool. Other than the trail where I met Sloane, the Lounge is probably the only place on campus I don’t entirely hate. It’s like a rich dude’s man cave in here, full of leather couches, wood paneling, and a fridge and snack bar that mysteriously gets restocked daily despite me never seeing anyone except our housefather puttering around in the building.
Tonight, someone swapped out all the sodas in the fridge for some fancy craft beer I’ve never heard of. Fenn’s already on his second bottle and we just started playing. And if I thought hustling these guys was a viable business model, they quickly dispel that notion. These rich boys are decent enough to make it competitive as Fenn and I play Silas and Lawson two-on-two.