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)
Xander releases a breath. His entire body slackens. “Thanks,” he whispers with such depth that I should feel great about my choice.
I nod back, my stomach not unwinding from a vicious pretzel shape.
As I face forward, I realize what I just did.
I abandoned Ben.
My heart drops out of my body and rolls away from me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. See, this is why friendships are too complicated. This is why I might not be built to maintain them.
What’s worse is knowing I left Ben for his cousin that apparently hates him. Ughhh. I want to bring my legs to my chest and hide in my kneecaps.
“Are you all right?” Xander murmurs.
I shrug and swallow the ball in my throat.
Xander searches his backpack. “I’d give you some water, but…I don’t think I have any in here.”
“I’ll survive,” I whisper, finally able to speak. “Will you?”
“Age old question.” He presses the back of his head to the wall while looking down at me. “This is the only course I don’t have with my best friend.”
“Who’s that?”
“Easton Mulligan.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Not famous. We grew up in the same neighborhood.” Xander unwraps the headphones from around his neck. “Knowing someone beforehand just makes situations like this infinitely easier.”
I had the same thought earlier today.
I don’t point out the obvious though. How he should know Ben the best. “What about the bodyguard backup?”
Donnelly acknowledges me with a rock on hand gesture.
I give him a stiff wave as a friendly hello.
“I wouldn’t have gone to college without Donnelly,” Xander admits, then lets out a weak laugh. “Which, I know, probably seems stupid.”
I meet his eyes. “Why would that be stupid?”
“Maybe because I can’t exist without backup.”
“Dude, did you hear the audible intake of oxygen when you appeared? I’m shocked you didn’t get mauled. No one should knock you for wanting to be safe.”
He must hear the ball still partially stuck in my throat. Or maybe I look sickly. “You sure you’re all right, Harriet?”
I find a Jolly Rancher in my backpack, hoping it’ll make my stomach feel better. “This class isn’t really my jam,” I admit in a whisper, trying to get over the Ben thing. Let it go, Harriet. It’s not like I can rewind time or return to him. I just need to believe I did the right thing, but I can’t stop staring at the back of Ben’s head several rows below me.
Is he upset? Devastated? Am I overstating my importance in his life? What if he doesn’t even give a shit? What if he’s hardly batting an eye? And why does that hurt more?
“Classical Mythology?” Xander asks.
“Yep.” I pop the green candy in my mouth, then point to myself. “Science nerd.”
Xander points to his chest. “History nerd. I could help you out.”
Plenty of people have more than one friend, but I’m not sure a friendship with Ben and one with Xander can co-exist. I swish the candy from one side of my cheek to the other as I contemplate accepting the offer.
Then the professor walks in. Our attention veers forward as the lecture hall falls hushed.
He looks like he might have lived among the likes of Athena and Achilles. He’s that old. Professor Wellington’s hair is white and fluffy like a cluster of clouds, and he hobbles to the podium so slowly we’re all holding our breath like we’re each on red alert to call 9-1-1 in case of a fall.
He passes the podium and shakily hands a stack of papers to a student in the first row. “Welcome to Classical Mythology,” he says in a soft, buttery voice. I need to strain my ears to catch everything even though he’s speaking into a microphone. Okay, sitting in the front row was the move.
As students begin passing the papers and the stack reaches Ben, I see him take one, then he stands to hand over the stack to a guy in the neighboring aisle. Once Ben has delivered the goods, I expect him to return to his seat.
Instead, he climbs the stairs with his backpack over his shoulder. Beneath the brim of his hat, he’s smiling at me.
My pulse skips, and confusion melts into blissful relief when I realize he’s headed straight for me. He claims the vacant seat at my side.
“You forgot this, Fisher.” He places my pen pouch on my desk.
“My hero,” I tease. “You going back to the middle row with the cool kids?” Please say no.
He folds out the retractable desk and sets his water bottle on it. “Nah, I think I’ll stick with the cooler backrow kids.”
Xander slouches more, his cheekbones sharpening as if he’s clenching his jaw.
Ben can see. “That okay with you, man?”
“Yeah, do whatever you want.” He stares unblinkingly at the blank projector screen.
When the papers come to our row, Xander slips one off the top and passes me the stack. My pretzeled stomach plummets when I see the handwritten scrawl. The professor handwrote the syllabus and scanned it. Does he not own a computer? My confidence swirls down a drainpipe when I skim the course curriculum.