Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
What the fuck game is he playing now? My hands are trembling with anger, so I press them against my thighs and mentally urge Reed to quit babbling. I don’t care that Hell Week starts tomorrow, or that we’re running low on cleaning supplies. I need answers from Keaton Hayworth III.
But once Reed calls the meeting to a close, it’s impossible to get Hayworth alone. Judd and his other football buddies drag him into the kitchen, and their hushed, angry voices tell me they’re not thrilled by his sudden decision, either.
Jaw tight, I keep an eye on the kitchen doorway, but it doesn’t look like they’re wrapping up.
“Mr. President!” Jako comes over and slaps me on the shoulder. “We did it!”
“No, we didn’t,” I mutter. “I won by default.”
“Who cares? We still got the end result we wanted. Come on, let’s go out and celebrate. A bunch of us want to take you to Cinnibar—our treat.”
I draw a steady breath. It’s a nice gesture, and any other night I’d jump at the thought of free booze. But Keaton and I have unfinished business. I open my mouth to lie, then realize there’s no reason to. “I’m waiting to talk to Hayworth,” I tell Jako. “I want to know what the hell he did that for.”
Jako purses his lips in thought. “Yeah, it was kinda weird. But…you won. Who cares why he dropped out?”
“I care.” Beyond Jako’s shoulders, I see several of our brothers milling about, waiting on us. “You guys go on ahead,” I urge. “I’ll meet you there after I talk to Hayworth.”
“Fine.” He claps my shoulder again. “But don’t take too long.” To everyone else, he shouts, “See you all at Cinnibar. Last one there buys the first round!”
I’m nearly killed in the resulting stampede. Despite the plethora of rich dudes in this frat, none of them want to part with their precious allowances. Meanwhile, Keaton and his pals are still arguing in the kitchen. When I creep closer, I hear Judd growl, “Not my president!”
I choke down a laugh. Oh for fuck’s sake. I haven’t even taken office yet and I’m already a hashtag.
They’re taking forever. So long, in fact, that I pull my phone out of my pocket and open Kink.
SinnerThree: I need to talk to you. Now.
No response, obviously, but I’m gratified to hear the ding of a notification in the kitchen. Good. I hope someone asks Keaton who’s messaging him. He’ll be too embarrassed to admit to using Kink, and speed up his conversation.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, to my disbelief, Keaton, Judd, and their friends exit the kitchen and brush right past me as they head toward the front door.
“Hayworth,” I growl at his back. “A word?”
His broad shoulders stiffen. He glances over, his expression a bit sheepish. “Can’t. We’ve got somewhere to be. Congrats on the presidency.”
And then he’s gone.
I stare at the door. Is he fucking kidding me? I deserve answers, damn it. He can’t just drop out of the election at the last second without explanation. I furiously type on my phone again.
SinnerThree: You’re such an asshole.
As expected, no response.
I shake my head a few times, standing there in the middle of the living room. The silence is slightly disconcerting. Every single frat brother has either gone off to Cinnibar with Jako, or has left with Keaton. And I can’t even enjoy the solitude, because I’m still fuming over Keaton’s actions.
He handed me the presidency. Why? Was it pity? I mean, it had to be. He’d looked genuinely surprised to find out the prez gets a free room, and he knows I don’t have much money. Obviously he put two and two together. Before LobsterShorts, I would’ve assumed that adding two and two would be a difficult feat for Mr. Jockface. But I know better now. Keaton isn’t a dumb jock. He’s a biology major, and he’s far more intelligent than he lets on.
I trudge upstairs, the resentment still churning in my gut. I text Jako to let him know I’m just changing out of my sweats and then meeting everyone at the bar.
I tackle the first part, throwing on a pair of ripped jeans and a black sweater, but my phone buzzes before I can leave the room. It’s a Kink alert.
LobsterShorts: How am I an asshole? You wanted me to bow out.
SinnerThree: I wanted you to bow out when you broke the rules basically twice in ten days like an asshole. Not out of pity.
And that, right there, is what’s really bugging me. Keaton was a lock for this gig. I would’ve received a fair amount of votes, sure, but we both know I still would’ve lost.
SinnerThree: I don’t need your pity, dude.
LobsterShorts: It wasn’t pity. I never wanted to be prez.
SinnerThree: Bull.
LobsterShorts: Truth. Look, can we talk about this later? I’m with the guys.