Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“And I promise I’ll never, ever do this to you again. The next time we plan a girls’ weekend I’ll come to Briar, and Lamar will stay home, and you and I will have the best time ever.”
I swallow a nasty retort. She’s already made up her mind, so what’s the use in arguing? “Do whatever you want, Tans.”
“Come on, Bee, please don’t be mad at me.”
“Then don’t ditch me.”
“Brenna—”
My phone goes off. Normally I wouldn’t be rude and check it in the middle of a conversation, but Tansy’s testing my last nerve, so I grab the phone just to be a bitch.
Except…how lovely. The notification on the screen is even more aggravating than my cousin’s bullshit.
“Harvard beat Princeton,” I growl.
She eyes me warily. “Is that good or bad?”
I take a calming breath. “If you’d listened to a word I said today, you’d already know the answer to that.”
TANSY: I’m heading back soon.
The message comes at nine o’clock, triggering a rush of relief. Finally. She’s been gone for three hours.
Earlier, I took full advantage of her dining hall privileges. Had a yummy dinner, chilled with some cool chicks, fended off the advances of a few lacrosse guys. But now the boredom is creeping in, and for the past forty minutes I’ve been lying on Aisha’s bed, mindlessly swiping through Tinder profiles.
I don’t use dating apps much, but what else do I have to do right now? I can’t call any of my friends—they’re all back at Briar, either attending the semifinals game against Yale, or playing in it. I can’t watch the game on the New England station because Tansy and Aisha don’t have a TV, and I was unable to find a live stream on my phone.
So, chatting with random dudes it is.
Within two minutes of opening the app, I matched with about fifteen guys. And fourteen out of fifteen have already messaged me, an assortment of heyyy and hey sexy, a handful of heart-eyes emojis, and a “holy shit are you real??”
The last one brings a laugh to my throat. I peek at the guy’s profile again. His name is Aaron, he has the lean, lanky build of a basketball player, and a great smile. Rolling onto my side, I message him back.
ME: Sometimes I wonder.
* * *
HIM: LOL
* * *
ME: I mean, what is real? Are any of us real? Is the sky real?
* * *
HIM: The sky’s not real. Sorry to break it to you…
* * *
ME: OMG. What is it then?
* * *
HIM: We’re in a dome. It’s like a Truman show scenario.
* * *
ME: Um. Spoiler alert, dude. I’ve never seen that movie!
* * *
HIM: You should. It’s so good. You’d be really into it. I’m a film major so we watch a lot of really cool shit in class.
* * *
ME: Sounds awesome. So what’s your specialty? Screenwriting? Directing?
* * *
HIM: Directing. I’m gonna win an Oscar one day :) Actually, I already make my own movies.
At first I’m intrigued. Until he follows it up with a winky face.
Uh-oh.
I decide to keep my response vague, because I sense where this is heading.
ME: That’s cool.
* * *
HIM: You’re not going to ask what kind of movies I make? ;)
* * *
ME: I have a fairly good idea.
Two more winky faces appear.
HIM: You’re so gorgeous. I love your body. I’d love to feature you in one of my movies.
Although he hasn’t officially gone full douche yet, it’s only a matter of time, so I kibosh the conversation by typing, Sorry, I’m not interested in being an actress.
HIM: I bet your tits are so sexy. Mmmmmm, and your nipples. I’d love to suck on them and film myself doing it.
Ugh. Why? Why?
I unmatch him without delay and stare up at the ceiling.
I am honestly starting to question evolution. We went from cavemen, to homo sapiens, to this incredible society of great minds—Alexander Graham Bell inventing telephones, Steve Jobs inventing…everything. And now we’re devolving. We’ve travelled back to cavemen, only nowadays we call them fuckboys.
Evolution has come full circle and that’s a real bummer.
I groan out loud, willing my cousin to get home already. I can’t believe I’m missing the semifinals for this.
At the reminder, I check my phone for an update on how Briar’s doing. According to Twitter, the second period ended with Briar leading 2-1. That’s still too close for comfort. Harvard beat Princeton by three goals.
I bet Connelly is mighty pleased with himself. Maybe he’s out with Hot Bambi right now, celebrating the win with a follow-up BJ and some kiss/swirl oral action. Goodie for him.
I’m pulling up Tinder again when another text from my cousin pops up.
TANSY: Change of plans. Lamar’s coming to the club with us.
My fingers clench around my phone. Seriously? This is our girls’ weekend. Her boyfriend already ruined every single thing we’ve done so far, and now she’s letting him ruin Bulldozer? I was excited for Bulldozer, damn it.