Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
I thought of the bumblebee-yellow Ferrari my dad had bought ten years ago, when he’d finally been promoted to VP of the company where he worked. It had been a little over 300 grand. He’d taken it out a few times on weekends, decided it wasn’t for him, and sold it by the end of the year.
Did my parents flaunt their wealth?
Maybe not.
But they definitely didn’t try to hide it.
Once Gray got going on the highway, it was true that he didn’t speed. I actually felt safe in the passenger seat, and he seemed locked in as he drove, paying more attention to the road than most of my friends did.
“Which frat house are you in?” he asked as we eased our way onto the TNU campus.
“Big blue one at the end of Tempests Way. Can’t exactly miss it.”
When he pulled up outside the house I felt a surge of desperate panic.
Control the narrative.
Give him things to write about, so that he doesn’t go poking around elsewhere.
“Get some sleep, Peachel,” he said, looking out the driver’s side window, not making eye contact with me.
“Come inside.”
“Nice try.”
“Not getting out of your sporty little racing car unless you agree to come inside. Just for ten minutes.”
He finally turned my way, looking at me with something between confusion and amusement. The car’s engine still rumbled beneath us as I waited for him to respond.
“God, how bad do you want it?”
I held his eye contact. “I was hard half of the fuckin’ time I was at the bar, I’ll tell you that.”
“That’s a lot of honesty.”
“Being fucked after a bad game is the only thing that can actually clear my head. Like a reset button. Sue me. I don’t give a damn how much I dislike you. Wouldn’t matter to me.”
“Still not going in your frat house.”
“Come on. Think about how many notes you’ll be able to take. A glimpse into my world. Isn’t that all you want? Most of the guys are still out drinking, I guarantee you.”
“Ten minutes,” he said, cutting the engine. “Only because I’m worried you’ll pass out and choke yourself if you go in there alone.”
“Please. I’m not that drunk anymore.”
I led him inside.
Our frat house was big, classic, and full of every good thing about a fraternity: beer cans, football memorabilia, and history.
I took Gray up the set of stairs that led to my room. When we walked in, I saw his eyes scanning the place like they seemed to always do.
He actually was looking for information and details.
When I’d said it, I’d been joking, for God’s sake.
Fuck. Maybe it had been a mistake to invite him in here.
His gaze landed on the Rolex watch I had lying on my desk, next to my stack of textbooks that I hadn’t opened yet this semester.
“No, that’s not a display of my wealth, or whatever you’re probably thinking. It was a gift.”
“Nice gift.”
“It was my grandpa’s, before he died.”
For once, Gray didn’t clap back with some quip about that one.
Maybe that’s why he’d been staring at the guy in the nice suit at the diner.
Did Gray just hate any display of wealth?
I knew I needed to get better about controlling what happened when Gray was around, and the first thing had to be controlling the conversation.
I was a friendly guy.
Open and proud, too, about everything from being gay to my admittedly privileged family.
I just needed to act normal around him, and everything would be fine.
“I want to know more about you,” I told him. “You said you aren’t close with your mom?”
“Not close with her at all.”
His answer was short, and he didn’t elaborate.
I remembered Luke mentioning something about one of his parents being “tossed in jail” earlier.
Must have been his mom, if his dad died long ago.
Fuck, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask about his family, either.
“Anyway. This is my room. You can write about anything in here other than my little pink teddy bear. Yes, he’s always on my nightstand, yes, he has a name, and no, I’m not telling you what it is.”
“This you and Luke?” Gray asked, completely ignoring what I’d said about Snugbug and nodding at a picture on my wall.
“That’s us,” I confirmed. “Picture is from a few weeks ago, after we beat everyone else’s asses in a billiards tournament.”
“Luke likes you.”
In the photo, Luke’s arm was draped around my shoulders. We’d both just had a great night at the Hard Spot, and we looked happy. Really happy.
“I was having a banger night. I was looking forward to this football season. It was before I found out about the stupid article being written.”
“You two look adorable next to each other,” Gray said.
Shit.
I noticed a detail in the picture that I hadn’t seen before.
There were scratch marks on my arm. It had been taken the day after my incident—less than 24 hours after I’d stupidly punched a stranger and potentially ruined my chances at the draft just from one bad mistake.