Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Holy shit.” A frown burrows in her forehead. “That type of bet doesn’t sound like Ryker. I mean, everyone knows they do them, but they’re usually harmless, stupid pranks.” She gets a steely look in her gaze. “And you heard this from Archer? He’s a first-class dickhead.”
“The Chi Omega MP just said dickhead,” Charisma calls out to the randoms surrounding us. “Everyone drink!”
“Here, here,” comes from several patrons and they eagerly comply.
She signals the bartender. “Garçon, bring me a glass of wine for the lady, please.” She looks over at Margo. “What kind, MP?”
“Champagne?” she answers. “Do they serve that here?”
I nod. “It’s terrible, but it’s my fav.”
She looks down at my shot glass.
“For the pain.”
She bites her lip and leans in. “Are you sure all of this is true?”
“He texted me and didn’t deny it.” A horrible thought hits me. “What if this is all over social media?” I recall the video from Sugar’s that was supposedly deleted.
Charisma gets the champagne from the bartender and hands it over to Margo then pulls out her phone, her lips set. “I’m on it. I’ll text Blaze and get the deets. He’s got some explaining to do. I’m never going down on him again.”
Margo’s eyebrows hit the roof, and I bite back a giggle. Thank goodness for alcohol.
She takes a drink and stares at me over the rim of her glass. “I know one thing for sure—there’ll be no football players allowed at our party. And I think we should tell Coach Alvarez. He doesn’t put up with shenanigans.”
Charisma studies Margo. “For an uptight bitch, I like how you operate. Honest to God, I think you’re better since Kyle dumped you. That experience definitely brought you down a peg and made you one of us.”
“Uh, thanks?” Margo says.
I’m feeling warm from the shots. I nod. I like Margo a hell of a lot more than I used to.
Charisma taps her chin. “I have some volleyball guys on speed dial. A couple of basketball players, too. I’ll get them to come.” She nods, as if warming up to the idea. “Yeah, we’re revoking all the football invitations. Those chauvinistic assholes can all go hang out with the Thetas. I don’t give a shit. We don’t need them.”
I’m tearing up and I laugh.
She laughs with me.
“If someone is doing shots, I’d like to get in on that.” The voice is deep and familiar, and when I turn around on my bar stool, I see Connor.
He’s wearing his ball cap and a grin. I’m definitely not crushing on him anymore because my heart doesn’t even skip a beat.
“I’m game for a few if you ladies will let me join you? My treat.” He smiles.
Margo takes him in, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders. “I’ll have another terrible champagne.”
I nearly gasp in surprise.
He ends up ordering a beer for himself, a champagne for Margo, a screwdriver for Charisma, and another shot for me. His nicely defined bicep reaches between Margo and me to give the bartender a wad of cash.
“This is my stepsister, Margo,” I tell him, and then I sit back to see how it all plays out. She’s looking at him with wary yet interested eyes, and he’s looking at her lips. It just might work. He’s got the money she’s drawn to. Although I do wonder how a video-game designer would stack up in her eyes.
He takes a swig of his drink. “Didn’t know you had a stepsister.”
“No one does. She likes girly drinks and little sweaters. She’s also headed to NYU after gradation to get a graduate degree. Aren’t you going there too?” I recall one of our conversations before class a few weeks back.
He gives Margo a considering look. “Yes, I am.”
Margo draws little circles on the bar with her finger, her gaze bouncing from me to Connor, a bit of an accusation in her eyes that says, Are you trying to fix me up with your one-time crush?
“Yep,” I say out loud before tossing back my shot.
They start chatting about their plans for next fall, and I look down at my phone and turn it over. Just to see.
I’m so fucking sorry. Please talk to me. Where are you?
My teeth grit and I clutch the phone, so tempted to type out a message, but I don’t. Instead, I click my phone off for good and stuff it deep into my purse.
The sound of banging on the door wakes me up. I blink open my eyes and peer over at the clock on the nightstand. Almost one in the morning. Shit. I’ve only been asleep for thirty minutes. I rub my eyes and run a hand through my hair, patting it down. Blearily, I stumble out of bed, walking past the clothes I wore yesterday in a pile on the floor where I took them off when we got in from Cadillac’s. Charisma, Margo, Connor, and I closed it down at midnight.