Текст книги "Black Number Four"
Автор книги: Kandi Steiner
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
“Now that,” I say, locking my eyes on his bright blues and wiping the lime juice from my bottom lip. “Is a first impression.”
I didn’t expect to meet Skyler Thorne when I came to fraternity rush tonight, but damn did she show up. I’ve been talking and playing drinking games with Adam and some of the other brothers all night, but my eyes haven’t left hers for more than a few minutes at a time. Talk to Adam, look up and find her. Sink a shot in beer pong, look up and find her. Go piss, come back and look for her. It’s kind of sick, actually, but I’m not apologizing.
Skyler is unique looking. She’s lean, that much I could tell from meeting her the first time, but she’s also got muscle definition like she surfs or dances or something. Her blue eyes are large, almost too large, and they match the plump misfit that is her bottom lip. God, I loved pulling that lip between my teeth.
Simmer down, Jackson.
Getting involved with a girl is not part of my plan. Hell, I guess rushing technically wasn’t either but you only go to college once, right? I already had to stick it out for my first two years in a community college that can barely even be considered that to appease my father. And now that I have to be stuck in this tiny school in Florida so I can play his little game, I figure there’s no reason not to live it up while I’m here.
“You down for another round?” Kade asks. He accepted his bid for Alpha Sigma tonight, too. He’s a little more jock than the guys I used to hang out with back home, but he seems cool. And truth be told, it’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with guys who liked to do anything other than read or go to acoustic night at the coffee house. His brown hair is a little longer than mine and shaggy, and he has the surfer attitude down pat.
“Nah man,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I got stuck with an early class on Thursdays this semester. I should probably head out.” It’s only halfway lying, I really do have an early class tomorrow, but really I need to go over the email my dad sent about an hour ago. I heard my phone ping and knew it was him, but there was no way I was going to leave in the middle of that foosball game. Skyler had me completely entranced, fascinated by her smart mouth and surprising skills. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like maybe she was putting on a show. I’ve watched her all night, and I can see there’s something uncomfortable about this situation to her – being surrounded by people, by people fixated on reputation, specifically. It’s odd, but I see something behind her baby blue eyes that she’s not telling me.
Yet.
Kade shakes his head. “Better get that grandpa stuff out of your system now. Once pledging starts, you and I won’t be sleeping much.”
I laugh and nod in agreement. “I guess I should savor my z’s while I can still get them.” I slap his hand and say a quick goodbye to Adam before heading toward the door. I catch Skyler watching me leave, but she doesn’t move to say goodnight and I don’t walk toward her. As much as I want to ask her to leave with me, I can’t be focused on her right now when I’m here for another girl in a completely different way. One thing at a time – that needs to be my mantra.
Plus, even if I could take her home tonight, I wouldn’t treat her the way my body really wants me to. Being a writer has some side effects, like being more emotional than I care to admit and looking deeper into people than I should. I’m captivated by Skyler – she’s like the mysterious heroine and I the curious hero. I want to peek behind that mask and get to know Skyler, and not just in bed. Not yet, anyway.
I offer a small wave and she smiles in response before turning back to her sisters, but her eyes snap back to mine just as I slip out the door. Something tells me I’m not the only curious one.
The walk to my apartment isn’t too far from the Alpha Sig house, just across campus and down a block toward the Atlantic. It’s a little chilly tonight, but nothing compared to the weather back in Kansas. January meant wind, snow, and freezing temperatures there. But here in South Florida, it means sunshine, high sixties, and occasionally a day warm enough to catch girls lying by the campus pool. I’ve only been here a little over a week and already I’ve seen more bathing suits than I did the entire summer back home. Unless you had a friend with a swimming pool or were close enough to a lake, bikinis were pretty scarce.
When Dad told me he was sending me to Palm South, I picked the apartment complex closest to the water that I could actually afford. Dad gave me a pretty strict budget each month, but it’s my hope that I’ll be earning a little more on the side to help cover the costs of the fraternity and my social life. I only have a few years left before I have to grow up and do real shit and I’m stuck here whether I want to be or not. I’m going to make the most of it, and I’m certainly not wasting my time worrying about pinching my pennies.
Dad was never on board with me going to my dream school, UCLA, or with my choice in major, either. I can’t say I blame him – it’s not difficult to believe that a hard ass Army Major General would be less than excited about his only son going to college for screenwriting. But, when this half scheme plan of his bloomed in his head, he knew the only way to get me in on it was to promise to send me there if I pulled up my end of the deal. He’s my money source, the only way I could even afford to take classes at a private school like this one and definitely the only way I’ll be able to get through financially out at UCLA, so I have to play by his rules.
For now, anyway.
I can smell the ocean as I climb the stairs to my top floor apartment and unlock the door. It’s studio size, small and homey with large windows facing the water. I’m still a few blocks away from the actual beach, but I can see the ocean just over the trees and buildings separating us. I’ve barely unpacked, but my old movie posters have their places on the wall and my keyboard is set up at the foot of my bed. Other than the curtain I hung, nothing really separates any rooms other than the bathroom. The kitchen is the living room is the bedroom – everything connected. But, for me, it’s perfect.
I toss my keys down on the small table at the end of the loveseat and kick my shoes off, heading straight for my laptop. I pull it from under my bed and plop down, dialing my dad’s number as I wait for my Wi-Fi to kick in.
“It’s late, son,” he answers, his voice hard as usual. So much for a “hello”.
“It’s only midnight there, Dad. And I told you I’d be a little late tonight.”
“Midnight here is one in the morning there, Son. You need to keep your head focused, and staying out ‘til all hours of the night isn’t a great way to start.”
“Dad.” I sigh, typing in my email password. “It’s all good. Promise. The world isn’t ending.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Oliver Kip Jackson.”
I cover the phone with my hand and let out a frustrated growl. I hate when he uses my full name, not just because I’m not a fan of my first name but because it usually means that’s my last warning. It pisses me off that I’m twenty one and yet still somehow under his ruling thumb.
“Did you get the email I sent?” he asks, getting to business.
“Opening it now.”
“Good. Everything you need to know for now is in there. Her name, class schedule, social media info, and a few things I managed to dig up by reading some interviews online. She has a few hobbies that are similar to yours, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to casually run into her. And remember, you have a goal. Get her close, but don’t get caught up.”
“I know, Dad.” I let out an exhausted huff before clicking on his email and downloading the document attached. “She’s the best in the game. I need to find her weakness, figure out her bluffing face, uncover the secrets to all her wins. You know, super easy, not-creepy-at-all things.”
“I’m serious, Kip,” he says. “I know this doesn’t mean as much to you as it does to me, but I need you to take this seriously if you want me to pay for that damn school in California. This was your end of the deal, remember? You beat her at the tournament this year or give her hell trying and at least get your name on the map and I’ll pay for the rest of your school and grad school, too – including moving you to New York after you finish at UCLA. But you have to hold up your end.”
I sigh. “I know. I do take this seriously, Dad, I do. I’m just a little tired tonight. I know what this means to you and I’m not going to let you down. I promise.”
“Good man,” he says.
The document finally downloads and I double click on it, pulling the file up to fill the screen. When a photo of a girl with long dark hair and large turquoise eyes pops up, my heart stops.
“Shit.”
“What?” Dad immediately asks.
No way. No fucking way is the girl I came here for the same girl I just made out with in a crowd of Greek students. No way did I just potentially fuck up the one thing I have to do to get to my dream school and enroll in the one program I’ve wanted to be in since I was twelve.
I scroll down a little farther and get the affirmation I was afraid of. Her name is centered under the photo and written in bold.
SKYLER THORNE.
“What is it, Kip?” Dad asks again.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, scrolling down a little further to glance at the information Dad had gathered. “I just, I recognize her. I met her tonight.”
“You did? Where?”
Oh hell no, I am definitely not ready to tell him about pledging. “They had a game night in one of the resident halls for new transfers. She was there,” I lie.
“Did she notice you? Do you think she knows who you are?”
You mean did she have my tongue down her throat?
“I don’t think so.”
“Good,” he says confidently. “You’ll need to make a good first impression. You don’t want her to feel like it’s forced. She has to want you to be around, to want to let you in and tell you about her life.”
“I think I can handle making a good first impression,” I mumble, my head racing with the feel of her chest pressed against mine on the table at Alpha Sig.
“I think you can, too. Now, it’s time for me to turn in. You should do the same. Call me tomorrow when you’ve got everything squared away.”
I nod, my eyes still stuck on the screen. “Night, Dad.”
The phone falls from my hand and down onto the bed as I scroll farther. We have one class together – Thursdays at seven in the morning. Wonderful. So much for thinking I would have time to get my shit together before having to face her knowing she’s the one person standing between me and my future.
My phone pings and I glance down to see a three-o’-five number illuminating the screen. I slide my thumb across the number and a text replaces the Dead Poets Society background.
– Well, it looks like the tequila didn’t kill you. Still swearing it off forever? -
A smile breaks across my lips.
– Stalking me already? I don’t recall giving you my number. -
– I’m a resourceful girl. -
– I don’t doubt that. And yes, I’m still anti-tequila. You should feel lucky, I drank it just for you. -
I wait a few minutes, but no other text comes through. A large breath vibrates through my chest as I exhale, staring at Skyler’s photo on the screen. Of all the shitty situations I could have found myself in, this had to be it?
I had one mission – one stupid, minor agreement to attend my dream school. Get in with the up and coming young poker star and learn her tricks. Take my game to the next level. Get to the final table with her in Vegas and beat her. Make my name known. Win for my dad, for the dream he could never live, and for me – for my independence from him and my freedom to finally start living my own dream.
– I think it’s you who should feel lucky, Four Eyes. See you around. -
Fuck me. Lady Luck is definitely not on my side.
Sighing, I plug my phone in to the charger on my bedside table and stare at Skyler a few more moments before closing my laptop and tucking it in my messenger bag. I set the alarm on my phone for six and shut off the light, falling onto my back and tucking my hands under my head. Immediately, my thoughts wander to Skyler laying in this same position earlier. My cock hardens and I curse, adjusting myself and rolling over to face the window.
I can do this. I just met this girl, it’s not like I’ve been dating her for years or something. She has no ties to me and I have none to her. It’s simple. I get in with her, do what I have to do to figure out how to beat her in May, and then we go our separate ways. She’s damn sure not going to want to make out with me after she finds out I’m in the tournament. I’m not the kind of guy to lie and manipulate, but this is the one thing that stands between me and my dream, between me and the emancipation from all the shit that’s held me back until now. One tournament, one girl, one little game to be played and then I can move on and never look back.
Except, I’m not so sure it’s going to be that easy.
One thing I love about this campus – they have coffee everywhere, and damn do I need a cup this morning. I opt for the Starbucks outside of the Student Union, trying the Hazelnut Macchiato at the barista’s recommendation. I sip on the hot liquid for the rest of my walk until I reach the large double doors that lead to my first class – Writing for Television. I was surprised they even offered this class, and even more surprised when I saw that Skyler would be in it, too.
There’s only ten minutes until class, yet I’m one of the first ones here. I guess punctuality isn’t a virtue valued at Palm South. I slide into a desk a few rows from the front and pull out my MacBook Air, opening a blank document to take notes. Syllabus week was always a joke at the community college back home, so I’m hoping it’s the same here, but who knows.
The professor walks through the door two minutes late, his messenger bag overstuffed with God knows what as he balances it along with a folder in his left hand and a thermos in the other. He plops the bag down on his desk and turns to write on the white board just as Skyler comes through the door. She’s alone, and for some reason I think it bothers her. She doesn’t look as confident as she did last night. Her ocean eyes scan the room and when they land on me, a small smirk curls on her lips and she walks my direction.
She’s dressed in a yellow sundress and tall shoes that aren’t quite high heels. My ex back home called them wedges, I think. It’s surprising to me that she’s in a dress, I didn’t take her for that kind of girl. She’s even got pearls on and her hair is slightly curled. But, as she strides toward me, her hips swaying slightly, I notice the uncomfortable way she’s carrying herself. It makes me long for the girl in the distressed jeans and hoodie that I met last night. Seeing the yellow against her skin, I realize she’s tanner than I remember, which makes me wonder if my theory of her being a surfer is accurate. Who is tan in January?
“Where’s mine?” she asks, sliding into the desk next to me.
I follow her gaze to my coffee cup and smile. “Sorry, they didn’t have tequila. I checked.”
“Damn them.” She sighs. “I need to run for Student Council so I can change that.” She offers a wink just as the professor claps his hands together and we both turn to the front.
“Why do we write?” he asks, holding his arms out wide to the class. “Why do we put pen to paper or fingers to keys and make words into sentences into stories? What is the purpose?”
“So other people will read what we write,” a girl calls out from the back. The professor moves toward her a bit, seeming to take in her analysis, just as the kid sitting in front of me passes back a stack of syllabi and I take one and pass them on to Skyler. Glancing down, I see the professor’s name in bold under the class subject.
Dr. O’Neal.
He’s a quirky looking son of a bitch. Tall, lean, his facial hair growing in a little unruly against his ashen skin. He has dark eyes that seem to move a little too quickly and his brown hair is dotted with specs of gray that look a little more dyed than natural. He’s wearing a bow tie, which usually I approve of, but it seems like he did it just to be defiant against regular ties rather than to make a fashion statement.
“Yes, I suppose that’s the end result that we expect – someone to read our work. But, is that why we write?” His eyes move across the class, questioning.
Someone else calls out, “I guess maybe because we’re creative and need a creative outlet?”
Dr. O’Neal nods again. “Ah, creativity. I would say that is one of the qualities we possess that perhaps drives our writing, but is that why we write? Is the creativity burning within us or within artists or musicians the reason why we do what we do?”
The class is silent again, and I glance over at Skyler. She’s fidgeting, her left foot bouncing a little and her pencil rolling between her fingers. I can’t tell if it’s because she wants to say something or because she’s insanely bored. I turn back toward Dr. O’Neal and raise my hand.
“I guess I can’t speak for everyone in here, but I write for a purpose – a purpose that changes each time. Sometimes it’s to evoke laughter, sometimes to make people think, sometimes to bring a feeling to life like romance or pain, and always – no matter what the topic – to entertain.”
Dr. O’Neal’s mouth twitches into a smile that falls a little too quickly and he points the dry erase marker in his hand toward me. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of a reason to write. By the end of this semester, I hope you’ll all be able to answer as confidently as this young man.” He turns back toward the board and starts detailing the lesson plan for the semester, covering the grade breakdown and attendance policy along with what we can expect in class.
“You kind of have this all figured out, don’t you?” Skyler asks, tilting her head. I note the way the fluorescent lights darken the blue of her eyes.
“I like to think I know what my passions are, yes,” I reply.
She smiles. “Passion can be a dangerous thing.”
The corners of my mouth creep up as I turn back toward the front. “What’s life without a little danger?”
After class, Dr. O’Neal stops me to introduce himself. He seems taken back that I transferred here, just like everyone else I tell. Apparently no one ever comes to this shit hole half way through their college career.
I can’t imagine why.
When I walk out of the Visual Arts Building, Skyler is waiting, leaned up against the brick wall with her hair blowing softly in the breeze.
“You really are stalking me.”
She shrugs. “You should be so lucky, Four Eyes. Speaking of which, where are your specks today?”
I laugh. “Contacts. I’m heading to the gym after my last class today and they don’t fare well with sweat.”
Her eyes challenge mine as she chews the inside of her cheek. “You’re weird.”
“You like it.”
She rolls her eyes and turns, heading toward Greek Row.
“Skyler!” I call out and she turns, waiting. “How do you take your coffee? For next week.”
Her smile returns. “Trying to be a gentleman now?” I shrug and she shakes her head, still sizing me up. “I only like one thing on the Starbucks menu. You seem to have everything else figured out, let’s see if you can guess what it is.” She presses her lips together, fighting against a smile, and turns to leave again.
“Will I see you before then?”
She shrugs and keeps walking, turning just enough to let me see her blue eyes one last time. I’ve always thought my eyes were a unique shade of blue – exactly like my mother’s – but hers are on another level. It’s almost as if they change with her mood. I wonder if they’ll be the key to what gives her away at the table.
Shit.
Did I really just think that?
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and turn in the opposite direction toward my next class. I need to disconnect, to uncomplicate this situation – and fast.
I just have no idea how to do that.
“Damn these shoes,” I mumble, making my way back to the sorority house as gracefully as I can. Ashlei and Cassie helped me get dressed this morning, as per usual. I’ve been in sorority land for a little over two years and I still fail miserably when I try to dress myself appropriately. I’m more of a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but when you’re in a sorority – especially the top sorority on campus – you don’t really have the casual jeans option very often. If they do put me in jeans, it’s always with heels or wedges and some flowy top that makes me feel almost as alien as a dress does.
I want to be president next year, to take my Big’s place and carry on our Greek line’s tradition of holding that office, but I’d be fooling myself if I thought it was going to be easy for me to do. For my Big it was, and for her Big, too – but they’re nothing like me. We’re close, and I love them both, but everything about us is different. Our style, the way we speak, our hobbies – I think my Grand Big almost fainted the first time I told her I play poker professionally. She called it a “man’s thing”.
But, I want to be like them – I want to fit in, to blend with my sisters in one unified band of color. In high school, I was like a deep red in a sea of yellow – an eye sore, if you will. But when I rushed, my sisters took me in and made me feel like a part of something. They saw the “potential” in me, as my Big put it, and they still do.
I just hope I don’t disappoint them.
Jess meets me at the door, tugging on my arm and dragging me through the house. “Ex just texted us and said to meet in her room ASAP. Sounds important.”
I laugh, yanking my arm free so I can stabilize myself in my four inch wedges before walking up the stairs. “Crisis with Spring Break planning?”
Jess laughs but tries not to. “I’m sure it’s something equally as serious, knowing your Big.”
She pushes through Erin’s bedroom door first, jumping into the bed to join my Little. Ashlei is propped in the beanbag chair and my Big has her desk chair pulled up to make a circle with the three of them. I kick off my shoes and plop down on the floor.
“Ew, put your snatch away, Little.” Erin laughs and Jess throws me a pillow from the bed. I glance down, realizing I’m sitting cross legged in a short ass sundress.
“Did you just call my treasure box a snatch?”
“Did you just call it a treasure box?” Cassie chimes in.
“Would you prefer I say vagasaurus? That’s my personal favorite nickname,” I say, propping the pillow on my lap to cover the goods.
Cassie and Ashlei crack up while Jess looks at me appalled. “Do you really call it that?”
“Among many other things, yes.”
“Like what?” she asks, clearly diving into new territory with vagina names.
“I don’t know… hoohah, muffin, pink canoe.”
“Juice box, kitty, hot pocket,” Cassie chimes in.
“Tampon tamer, magic bean, cubby hole. I heard someone call it a finger hut once. My personal favorite is vajayjay,” Ashlei says.
“Oh! That’s another one I use frequently, Lei. Nice.”
Jess still looks taken aback. “I seriously have never used any of these. I say vagina. Or occasionally I get a little Jersey Shore and say co-cah.”
“Or cho-cha like Missy Elliot?” I pipe in.
“Yes!” Jess and Cassie say at the same time. We all laugh and Ashlei snorts a little before Erin cuts us off.
“Can we stop talking about penis fly traps for like two seconds? This is serious!” She tries to say it with a straight face but fails miserably, which just makes us all laugh harder. She reaches behind her for her desk and grabs a handful of highlighters, pegging us each in the head with them.
After another fit of laughter, Jess wipes the tears from her eyes. “Okay Ex, what’s going on?”
My Big’s smile has faded and she’s in complete president mode. Her classic look has always been absolutely stunning to me, and every time she gets down to business, it reminds me how much I want to be like her – how much I look up to her. She’s only a year older than me, yet she has taught me so much about life, about the sorority, about myself.
“Did I ever tell you guys about the summer before my senior year of high school?”
Cassie is digging around in the bedside table drawer, looking for snacks, no doubt. “Isn’t that the summer you spent with your grandparents?”
Erin nods. “Yes. It was the summer I wanted to find myself, that I wanted to sort of break free from everything I thought I was. I had just ended a two year relationship and I was just in a strange place. Well, I met a boy that summer…”
“Oh!” Ashlei interrupts. “I remember this story! He was the Army brat, right?”
“He wasn’t a brat, you brat.” Erin glares at her. “But yes, he did live on the base by my grandparents’ house. He was amazing – everything I needed that summer. We spent practically every night together and as cliché as it sounds, I fell in love with him. Well, as in love as I could be at that age. It was the perfect summer romance.”
All the girls are smiling, but I’m lost. “Not that this isn’t romantic and touching, but is there a reason you’re telling us this?”
Erin’s face lights up and she stands. “You are not going to believe this. The boy I met that summer? He’s here… like here as in he’s a student at Palm South!”
“What? Isn’t that impossible? We know pretty much everyone on this campus,” Ashlei says.
“Not the new students,” Erin adds, waiting for us to catch on. We exchange glances and then turn back to her, lost. She huffs. “He’s a transfer! He just moved here. I heard Adam talking about his new pledges this morning outside of the Greek library and I just kind of casually asked about him – where he was from, what he was like – it’s definitely him, girls!”
Cassie and Jess’s eyes snap to me and I feel them burning through my skin. Pair that with the extreme pace of my heart right now and you could say I feel a little like passing out, a little like throwing up, and a little like bashing my head into the floor so I can be absent for the conversation that’s about to happen.
“What?” Ashlei asks, eying us all. She hasn’t been filled in on last night yet, either. “Why are you guys acting so weird?” Erin’s expression starts to match Ashlei’s, confusion rolling over her.
“Nothing,” I say dismissively. “We know him. Well, we met him. Last night.”
“At rush?!” Erin asks excitedly.
I nod. “Yep. He was nice.” I shoot my laser beams at my Little, pleading for her to not say anything, but I’m too late with Jess.
“That’s one way to put it, Sky.” She snickers and nudges Cassie, expecting her to join in, but Cassie just coughs uncomfortably and tucks her hair behind her ear.
Erin’s face screws up even more and she turns her focus on me. “Okay, what the hell happened, Little?”
I groan, sinking my face down into the pillow on my lap. “Nothing. We played foosball.”
“And he lost, so she made him take a shot of tequila…” Jess adds. I want to shoot her another death glare, but I know it has to come out sometime. This campus is too small for anything to remain a secret, especially something like that. I’m surprised she hasn’t already heard, honestly. Erin waits, crossing her arms impatiently for Jess to continue.
“… off her body.”
I cringe as she drops the bomb, chancing a peek at my Big to see her face. It’s stone. Typical. She always handles bad news like a pro, never really showing you how she feels about it. She could be pissed right now, raging mad – or hell, she could be on the verge of tears. But, does she show that? No. Instead, she looks like Jess just told her it’s raining outside.
“Oh,” she says, breaking the awkward silence and standing again. This is the closest thing to fidgeting I’ve ever seen her do. She walks toward her closet and starts absentmindedly touching different clothes. “Well, that’s okay. I mean, you didn’t know. How could you?”
“I swear I didn’t, Big,” I say, my mouth still muffled through the pillow. “You know I wouldn’t have done it if I had known.”
She nods, still turned away. “No, no it’s okay.” Her voice trails off and then suddenly she whips around, her eyes big and bright again. “Actually, no – this is good. This is perfect.”
We all exchange glances again. “Um, how is this even remotely in the same category as good?” Cassie asks.
Erin moves quickly over to her Lilly Pulitzer planner and starts flipping pages. “Well, Kip and I didn’t exactly have the best ending that summer. I may have acted a little immature, at best. ” She stops on a page full of highlights and taps her finger on one of the dates. “This will be perfect.” She spins to face me. “I don’t think he would want to talk to me, let alone get back together right now. I need him to come around more, to see how I’ve grown and how respected I am here. I want him to see that four years has done me well.”
“Absolutely! You’re the shit,” Jess says. “But, I’m lost on how this has anything to do with your Little having lover boy’s tongue in her mouth.” I stuff my head back down into the pillow and cringe inward.
“Really, J-Love?”
“Because,” Erin says, sitting down to join me on the floor. “She’s going to be the one to get him to come back to me. She’s the bait.”
My head snaps up, my eyes meeting hers. “What? No way!” I jump up from the floor and toss the pillow back on the bed. “I mistakenly made out with your high school… whatever he was, but I’m not involved in this.”
“You are now!” She stands, stepping closer to me. “He knows you now, he’s obviously interested, and you’re the best shot I have at getting him to hang around me in a natural way without it looking like I’m insane. Or a creeper. Or both.”
My shoulders fall. “Big, you can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do… woo him? Flirt him into following me around like a puppy and then blow him off so you can pick up the pieces?”
Her eyes get a little wider. “I hadn’t thought it out quite that far, but yes.”
“No.” I shake my head and toss my hands up. “I’m leaving this room and we can just pretend like last night and this conversation didn’t happen.” I turn to leave, but she cuts in.
“You want to be president next year, don’t you?”
“Ex,” Jess warns, letting her know she’s taking it too far. And she is, but she has my attention.
