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)
Fine.
“Say the word.” RJ reads my face for some clue as to my intentions. It’s sweet the way he’s concerned.
“We’re good. I’m probably being paranoid.” A feeling that is unlikely to dissipate anytime soon. I don’t think it’ll ever go away, the foreboding that slithers up from my subconscious when I think about Ballard and what it represents now.
That dread proves justified, however, when we hardly make it out of the parking lot before getting T-boned by the bad tidings of mortal enemy number one.
I spot Mila sitting on the trunk of a convertible at the drop-off loop in front of the ticket windows. She’s decked out in Ballard colors and a ribbon headband. Must be dating a soccer player now. Or doing some student council bullshit. She used to hate that school spirit pep rally crap, so I’m leaning toward the she’s-banging-a-striker option.
I try to nudge us toward the edges of her periphery, hoping to slip past while she’s otherwise distracted by the impromptu tailgate party. She’s surrounded by everyone I used to call my friend before they ripped the masks off to flick their forked tongues.
“You have to buy tickets to a school soccer match?” RJ says, eyeing the lines in front of the ticket booth. “Weak.”
“Be glad they didn’t charge for parking,” I answer. Carefully, I steer our course to give Mila a wide berth, using human shields to evade detection.
“Oh, shit.” Then Lucas blows our cover. He nudges RJ’s arm and nods over his shoulder. “Incoming.”
We both turn to realize not only has Mila noted our arrival, but she’s also got company.
Fuck my life.
“Who?” RJ asks, unsure what’s got our hackles up.
I’d know that stench of old money and arrogance anywhere. “Oliver Drummer.”
RJ stares at us for a more substantial answer. “Am I supposed to know that name?”
“He’s the Duke of Ballard,” Lucas tells him. “Ordained by God, as far as he’s concerned.”
“What is it with rich-kid schools and archaic power structures?” The culture shock of the prep school realm still hasn’t worn off on RJ. “I swear I’m this close to unionizing you assholes.”
We’re trapped. It’s a slow-motion march to an inevitable collision, until Mila is standing in front of me.
She has the nerve to beam at me. “Oh my God, Sloane. It’s been forever.”
I flick up an eyebrow. “Not long enough.”
To RJ she laughs like she’s in on the joke. “Don’t listen to her. She loves me.”
It’s one of her infuriating little talents. Being totally immune to the bitchiness of others. Like her own bitchiness is so bright that the light of other bitches can’t penetrate her corneas.
“If you say so,” he responds lightly. RJ’s still gauging the interaction, looking to me for cues.
It might have been helpful to conduct a study session for him beforehand. Flash cards or something. These are the people you don’t have to be polite to.
“He’s cute, Sloane,” Mila says, her eyes shining. “Where’d you find him and can I borrow?”
Over my dead body. Mila’s not getting her claws anywhere near my new boyfriend. She’s pretty, like men-throw-themselves-over-a-puddle-for-her kind of pretty. And she knows how to weaponize it. After she betrayed me, I had dreams about shaving her head. Taking a baseball bat to her Benz. I settled on ghosting her in the hopes that one day I might casually flip through obituaries in the metaverse and know she died pitiful and alone.
“Not really a freelance gig,” RJ quips, while not so discreetly lacing his fingers through mine.
Mila notices but is undeterred. “You want to get airbrushed?” She flashes RJ the Ballard Bengal mascot on her shoulder blade. “We’re selling them for charity.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says.
Oliver catches me watching his approach and a cold sneer plucks the creases of his dark eyes. If Mila spotted me first, he’s no doubt come along to see what all the fuss is about. When his calculating gaze lands on RJ, I know this won’t go well.
“Holy shit, Sloane. Check out the big brass balls on you.”
I keep my tone cool. “Not sure showing up to a soccer game counts as daring.”
Oliver’s tall and muscular, with arms bigger than my thighs. He’s looked twenty-five since he was thirteen. Freshman year he walked on to the varsity football team and the superiority complex has never worn off.
“Didn’t you tell us all to die in a fire on your way out last year?” he reminds me. “Not back to finish the job, I hope.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He cracks a wry smile that’s somewhat impressed, maybe. Only because he lives for the drama.
“I’m Mila, by the way.” My former bestie all but writes RJ’s name on her tits in lipstick. “You definitely don’t go here. I’d notice a six-two king walking down the hall.”
I’d tell her to eat a bag of dicks, but she’s probably already full.