Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Okay. I’ll let you know.”
As the door shuts behind him, I lean against the kitchen island and stare at the hardwood floors I love so much and sigh.
It was silly to think there’d ever be a phase of independence anyway. Ace Kelly has a way of making it feel like he’s there even when he’s not, and now, he’ll just be doing it from across the hall.
Ace
The bass from the speakers rattles the old pipes in the ceiling, and half the crowd is already dancing like they forgot this is a historic brownstone and not a New York City club. Dickson athletes and random city kids are packed shoulder to shoulder, shouting over the music, spilling drinks, and pretending this isn’t the third party this week hosted by Greg Landers and Holden Olsen.
Greg and Holden moved in early for soccer preseason, and apparently that means they’re determined to make this place the social nucleus of the summer. I met them in Rocks for Jocks last semester—formally called Intro to Geology—and got added to the VIP list.
Which, yeah, not a big surprise there. It’s me.
I haven’t had a chance to attend one of their parties before this, though, because of my busy social schedule, and for as much fun as it seems like everyone else is having, I’m fucking miserable.
I sip my soda and scan the crowd again. Still no Julia. Obviously. She’s on a date with…whatshisname.
“I just…don’t know what she sees in him is all I’m saying,” I complain, sipping from my soda again while Finn and Scottie briefly share a look. “He looks like the kind of guy who plays acoustic guitar on purpose. At parties. And he’s kind of weird-looking too, don’t you think?”
“He’s not that bad, Ace.” Scottie chews her lip. It’s almost like she’s fighting a smile, which, clearly, I’m seeing things. There is absolutely nothing to be smiling about right now. “And he’s a pretty nice guy. I met him a couple times last year, and he’s not like most of the other rich jocks I’ve met.”
My blood runs cold, and Finn clears his throat, evidently choking on what a fucking idiot I am to convince myself Julia fucking Brooks, a goddess if I’ve ever known one, is giving time and interest to a loser.
“And,” Scottie adds, leaning into Finn’s side, “he does seem like he really likes her.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah? Well, so does every other guy who’s ever seen her walk into a room. Doesn’t mean he’s qualified.”
“Qualified for what?” Finn smirks. “To be her boyfriend—or survive a conversation with you about it?”
“All I’m saying is he’s not right for her. Even if he’s a saint or some shit like you’re saying, he’s still a bad match,” I counter, trying to knock some sense into their heads. I don’t know why they’re even attempting to defend that douche. “I mean, he wants to be with Julia. Immediate red flag.”
“Why is that a red flag?” Finn asks, searching my face closely.
Why, Finn? Because I want to be with Julia. And only one of us gets to win that game.
I clear my throat. “Because Julia is too sweet and kind to be with a frat guy like him. His formal wear collection probably revolves around a toga and golf polos. There’s no style. No pizzazz. No fucking personality. He might as well be a cardboard box.”
“Technically,” Finn cuts in, “that attire thing is kind of accurate.”
“Finally, man.” Eyes wide, I nod. “Finally, you’re seeing what I’m seeing.”
“I don’t know if I’m seeing what you’re seeing,” Finn retorts. “But sure.”
“You are, Finn,” I tell him. “Trust me, you are.”
Finn doesn’t say anything to that, and Scottie just nods. Clearly, the two of them are just coming to terms with the fact that my beautiful Julia is on a date with a frat douche.
I take another swig of soda to finish the can and crush it in my hand. Music pounds so loudly in my ears, I can hardly think, and my anxiety feels like it’s running at an eleven.
What would normally be a fun environment feels like a torture chamber.
“Hey, Ace,” a girl in a hot-pink dress and brown hair says, stopping just inside my personal space. She has a flirtatious smile on her lips, and I’m pretty sure her name is Penelope. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Surprise.” I smile to be friendly. “I’m here.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.” She giggles and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. “Want to come dance with me?”
“Penelope, I appreciate the offer,” I answer, doing my best to still be friendly and let her down easy. “But that pretty dress of yours deserves a guy in a better mood than I am tonight.”
“Oh no,” she says, her lips turning into a pout. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” I laugh despite myself. “What isn’t wrong, Penny?”