Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“You’re not an asshole.”
“Most people would disagree.”
“Most people are wrong,” I counter.
We sit there for a minute, on the bench together, just being.
A million questions batter me, particularly about how he lost his mom, but he’s already given me a lot today.
“You should stay tonight—for TaskFrat Challenge.”
“No one wants me here.”
“I do.” I wait, dying to see how he’ll respond.
“Okay,” he finally answers, and I’m a whole lot happier about all this than I should be.
11
Miles
My mind’s a collision of rage and anxiety. Not exactly an unusual combo for me, but despite the panic attack, I’ve been a lot better since Dax talked me down.
His scent lingers, as if I can still smell him yards away at Zeta Tau, where I watch the TaskFrat Challenge. He’s blindfolded, in only a…honestly, not even sure what this is. A skirt with slits along the sides? White and revealing, that’s what it is.
Dax feels around as one of his teammates from inside the house talks to him on a walkie-talkie, trying to guide him and several other Alpha Theta Mus through a few feet of Solo cups without knocking any down, since part of tonight’s challenge means each overturned Solo cup will be deducted from the team’s final score. Meanwhile, the Omega Psis are nearly finished with that part of the challenge. I should be rooting for my old frat, but I find myself trying to mentally guide Dax through the Solo-cup minefield. Come on. Come on.
It’s been a roller coaster of a day, from after class when I went through the loop of being pissed that he didn’t show, to when I was about to confront him only to wind up with my face buried in the bushes, to telling him about my mom. I don’t tell anyone about her because I can’t say it without choking up, and then there’ll be the question: What happened? Maybe I felt safe because I knew Dax would understand why I didn’t want to get into it. He’s cautious with me, like he’s disarming a bomb, knowing most of the wires are the wrong ones.
“So maybe on Monday we can have another session,” Tatum suggests, leaning against the fence, lighting up a joint.
“That works. I have some shit I need to get off my chest anyway.”
“I’d be happy to help you get something else off.”
I tense at the suggestion, which is odd because there’s nothing wrong with Tatum’s hole. It’s always been a lot of fun. But seems like I’m having an issue because there’s only one ass on my mind right now.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he practically sings, since he must realize that was an awkward-ass pause.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”
I have Dax on my mind right now.
“Yeah, and usually that helps,” Tatum points out.
He moves closer, reaching out and resting the back of his knuckles against my chest. I pull away, glancing over my shoulder, like some part of me is worried Dax might’ve seen the move and gotten the wrong idea about us, though it’s not like he would have any right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with Tatum.
Before I have a chance to figure out what the hell that was about, Tatum says, “Interesting. Haven’t seen that from you before. Miles Tanner, are you hooking up with someone?”
“I’m always hooking up,” I blurt, sounding pissed. Maybe because I am pissed that Dax and I haven’t hooked up again already.
Tatum grins. “Holy hell. I thought I’d never see the day. You like someone.”
“Shut up. We’re not in elementary school.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh, for frat’s sake, just tell me who it is!”
“Stop being weird.”
“You like someone, and I’m the one being weird?”
I glare at him, and he smirks, his gaze probing. Any attempts to deny that will only make it that much more apparent that I do like Dax, which is strange when I barely admit that I like anyone.
“You got it, Spears!” someone shouts directly into my ear, and my buddy and former Omega Psi housemate Caleb slides between Tatum and me.
“Christ, Cabe.” That’s the nickname I’ve used for him since I first misheard it when we were introduced freshman year while we were rushing.
He side-eyes me. “Someone’s in a mood.”
“When is he not?” Tatum says, pushing smoke out through his nose.
“Well, tonight we’re having fun with a capital F,” Caleb insists. “So whatever happened at Alpha Theta Mu today, I want you to let that go and not cause any trouble.”
“You heard about that?” Not that I’m surprised. Word travels fast around the frats, but it’s annoying since I don’t really want to get into my extreme overreacting to Dax having a fucking doctor’s appointment, especially not with the guys.
Caleb says, “That you were the idiot who got your ass handed to you by Damien Westbrook? Yeah, I heard.”