Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
People talk about them like they’re spawns of Zeus—godly, some full of hubris, but so unbelievably mighty. Like if you run into one, your whole world will spin on its axis. You’ll be changed.
No one talks about what happens when you try to enter their orbit (under good pretenses) and you’re rejected. That it feels like getting spit out of a whale’s mouth. The lions roared in your face and then turned their backs. The animal kingdom dubbed you less than.
But the Cobalt who tossed me aside—he’s not the one at this party. Of the few times we’ve crossed paths, Ben has never scorned me. We both went to Penn and transferred to MVU this semester—for different reasons, I’m sure—but if anyone can understand what this move feels like it’s him.
So it’s natural to grab the knob. And I let him in.
I’m eye-level with his sternum. He’s six-five. The top of my head barely reaches his shoulders. Being this close to his chest quickens my heartbeat. I back up and sink against the wooden cupboards, sliding to the scuffed tile.
Ben shuts the door. I can feel him assessing my state, which is mostly pissed.
I pick at the gray fuzzy bath rug next to me. “Your friend is an asshole,” I say.
“Cameron Dunphy?” He joins me, sitting against the wooden cupboard that’s covered in Kappa Phi Delta decals and beer stickers like Budweiser, Koning Lite, Coors. “He’s not really my friend.”
“You know his last name,” I say like it’s proof enough.
Ben smiles first with his eyes. Even shadowed with the curved brim of his hat, those baby blue orbs carry his emotion so clearly before his lips tic upward. “I know a lot of people’s last names. Including yours, Fisher.”
Flush tries to reach my cheeks.
Especially as he adds, “But you are my friend.”
Right. I wonder how many times he’s used this line on girls.
I glance over at him. “And we have a lengthy text thread to prove it.”
Ben pulls out his phone at this. The last encounter I had with him, we exchanged numbers, but we never texted, never called, never did anything other than exist in each other’s cellphones. I considered sending him a casual message about a cool grunge band I like, but I figured he has a thousand randoms spamming him with memes and invites, and he didn’t need one more.
To sum it up, I would be absolutely delusional to consider a Cobalt a real friend off a five-minute interaction at Penn.
His thumbs fly over the screen.
My phone suddenly buzzes on a clip at my hip, resembling an old school pager. I see his text.
Ben
I like what you did with your hair.
I let my buttery-blonde bangs grow out a little this summer, and they touch my eyelashes as I stare at his message. I remove my phone from my hip and text back.
Harriet
Thanks, Friend.
He’s fast.
Ben
I knew we’d get there again.
He’s slipping me coy glances, and I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep this strange feeling at bay.
Harriet
Were we ever here before?
I anticipate his response more than I should. I watch his fingers dance across his phone with precision. There is no hitting the delete button. He’s not overcomplicating his response. He just presses send.
I look.
Ben
Yeah. We have been here before. This isn’t the first time you’ve called me Friend.
Harriet
That’s right. It was your birthday.
Ben
Happy you could remember.
His side glance at me steals my breath, and I have to look at the tiny hole patched in my checkered pants.
It was March. His birthday. That was our last encounter. He ran into me in a science lab at Penn. This isn’t the first time Ben has been in the right spot, the right time, and helped me.
I don’t respond, and my phone vibrates in my palm.
Ben
Unless you’re trying to forget?
“Sorry to bring it up,” he says out loud. “I know it wasn’t a great day for you.”
I shrug. “It happened, it passed. I’m not letting it fester or anything.” I wrap my arms around my legs, bringing them closer to my chest. “You know, I saw online that you were transferring here,” I say, resting my temple against the cupboard.
He does the same, looking at me. “Tabloids?”
“Yep. Sorry to say you weren’t a headline, just a footnote.”
“That’s preferrable,” he breathes. “The siblings and cousins who are headlines have it harder. My fame is easy in comparison.”
I nod. “How long have you even been on campus?”
He checks the time on his blue-plated Omega watch. It’s one of the only evident signs of his wealth right now. “Two hours. This is actually my first time at MVU.”
I frown. “But you toured the campus and met Cameron Dun-fuckface weeks ago, right?”
Ben laughs, the corner of his mouth pulling higher. It sends a flutter throughout my entire nervous system. I don’t know what it’s like to be overcharged. I probably exist on 30% battery life. I’m not chipper. I’m not fucking bubbly, that’s for sure. If I’m a dying battery, then I’m also a flat beverage, but who cares?