Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
My attempt at keeping my tone to light sarcasm doesn’t quite succeed. It comes out as an accusation instead, and her features instantly harden. Which only annoys me, because, seriously, what did she expect? For RJ to jump for joy and thank her for hooking up with his stepbrother?
And don’t even get me started on that. Her and Fenn. Sloane’s always been secretive, but usually not with me. I thought we told each other everything, and then I have to find out from Lawson that she slept with Fenn?
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She peels herself away from the desk and squares up to me, hovering. “How did RJ manage to find me and Fenn talking in the woods that day? Weren’t you supposed to be running interference, friend?”
Her accusation hangs in the air between us, thickening it with tension.
“You said you wanted me to tell RJ to meet you at the bench,” I say irritably. “That’s how I remember it.”
“Bullshit. I told you to cover for me. Instead, he just happens to show up in the one place I needed him not to be at the exact wrong moment. Almost like it was intentional.” Her sarcastic smile lacks all traces of humor. “Weird, huh?”
“Or it was a simple misunderstanding.”
“Come on, Silas. I’m insulted if you think I’m that dumb.”
She’s so dramatic.
Denial is generally the best policy, but it’s obvious she’s not buying my bullshit. And a part of me has been itching for this fight for a while. Since the second RJ entered our lives, he’s caused nothing but friction in all my goddamn relationships. Might as well clear the air so that Sloane and I can put this behind us and move on.
“All right. You got me.” I stand up, because I’m not enjoying the way she’s looming over me like she’s the adult and I’m the little kid getting reamed out for stealing cookies. “I thought you were going to meet Duke, so I did my teammate a solid. I figured RJ deserved to know if he was another pawn in the endless dysfunctional chess match between you two.”
“I fucking knew it.” She throws her hands up and turns away.
“You should take pity on the guy and cut him loose. Using him against Duke—”
“That’s got nothing to do with any of it!” she interrupts, anger coloring her cheeks. “Why are you so obsessed with this?”
“I did it for your own good,” I shoot back. “Are you seriously not seeing there’s a pattern emerging? You constantly picking douchebags to go out with? I was trying to save you from yourself.”
“Oh, fuck off, Silas.” When she spins to face me again, her eyes are tiny pyres waiting for a corpse. “At least have the balls to admit you did it on purpose to sabotage RJ and me for your own benefit.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I know when a guy’s trying to fuck me.”
This accusation is a grenade. Tossed into my hand with mere seconds before it explodes.
Sloane stares at me, waiting for a denial—for me to put that pin back in the grenade. To defuse this bomb that’s threatening to blow up our friendship.
My hesitation costs me.
“Goddamn typical,” she growls.
The grenade goes off. Boom.
I try to backpedal. “Sloane—”
“You’re so fucking pathetic, Silas. No. I’m not falling into your arms. Go home.”
“Oh, come on.” I shake my head at her, my irritation reaching new limits. “That’s not what I said. Take it down a notch. You’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”
“Am I? Because I don’t think I am. I see you now, dude. And all your sketchy moves. You tried to sabotage my relationship. You tried to lie to me about it under the guise that you’re looking out for me. That you’re such a good, caring friend. Yeah, right. We’re not friends, Silas. You just burned that bridge.” Sloane stares daggers at me. “So please get the hell out of my house before I set the dogs on you.”
CHAPTER 8
FENN
COACH HAD A BUG UP HIS ASS AT PRACTICE THIS AFTERNOON. HAD us doing drills and shuttle sprints until we collapsed. The soccer field is now fully fertilized with vomit. I’m still queasy and can barely feel my legs when I get back to the dorm. As usual, RJ is at his computer with headphones on when I walk in our room and throw my bag down.
“Hey,” he says, spinning around in his chair. He takes off his headphones.
“Hey.”
The acknowledgment takes me by surprise. I’m almost startled to hear him speak. Lately, it’s been easy to forget he’s in the room. For almost a week now, he’s been quieter and more withdrawn than when he was the reclusive new arrival with a loner complex and chip on his shoulder.
“We need to talk,” he tells me.
“Yeah, okay. Let me hit the shower first.”