Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“Why would he want you on the team if he didn’t think you were good?”
I circle around to the idea he’s using me for ticket sales, but he’s still shown no interest in publicity. Just shown interest in me…in my abilities on the ice.
Dr. Wheeler fills the silence. “If he thinks you’re good enough, then you’re good enough, Ben. It’s okay to believe that.”
My jaw aches. Muscles won’t relax. I’m not sure I’ll get there. Not tonight. Not talking to Dr. Wheeler. All I really want to do is hear Harriet’s voice.
“Yeah, okay,” I say hurriedly. “Anything else?”
Dr. Wheeler laughs. “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”
“All good in the neighborhood,” I tell him. “Classes great. Friends great. Brothers great. Sisters great. Nothing new to speak of.”
“Next semester, are you still planning to major in Ecology?”
“Yep,” I say, keeping up the lie I fed him last month.
“Good, good. It’s great to have goals.” Dr. Wheeler chats a little longer, and I give him some perfunctory answers before we end the call.
I’m about to stand and shake out my limbs when the closet door swings open. Fuck. Fuuuck.
Of course, it has to be Charlie on the other side.
His hair sticks up in five different directions. With his white button-down wrinkled and untucked in a pair of black slacks, he could have just finished fucking someone or had a meeting with a Fortune 500 company. When it comes to Charlie, you never know.
He leans a hand on the door, appraising me slowly. “What the fuck?” he asks in a causal, unbothered tone.
“What the fuck, what?” I shoot back, my adrenaline suddenly surging even though he hasn’t really come at me.
He rolls his eyes. “You really need me to spell this out?”
I rise to my feet. “No, I don’t.” I’m waiting for him to move away because he’s blocking my exit.
He grips harder onto the door. “Why are you in the coat closet?”
“You’re the smart one,” I snap. “You tell me.”
He blinks. “Not a mind reader, but I see how you can get those two confused.”
“Fuck you,” I say with less heat. “I don’t have a bedroom; in case you’ve forgotten.”
“So shoving yourself into a four-by-four space makes total sense,” he says. “Got it.” He opens the door wider and lets me pass him. I’m halfway to the couch when he adds, “If you need privacy for a phone call, to jerk off, or just to get away from Eliot and Tom, you can always use my room or Beckett’s. One of us is usually not home.”
That stops me cold in the middle of the floor. I almost think I misheard him. I’m about to ask if he’s for real when I glance over and see him pop something in his mouth. He catches me staring and his brows rise like what the fuck are you looking at?
Adderall? Ecstasy? Fucking Zoloft? I don’t know. It could just as likely be an Allegra to combat seasonal allergies, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to ask.
“I’ll be sure to use your room to jerk off in,” I tell him.
Charlie flips me off, then rotates his hand to check his watch on the same wrist. “Not that I care, but shouldn’t you be at some board game thing?”
Fuuuuck.
I check the calendar on my phone. Board Game Club starts in twenty minutes. How did I even forget that? How did Charlie remember? I grab my jacket on the back of the couch, and as I hurry out the door, I hear a faint, “You’re welcome.”
28
BEN COBALT
She’s not here.
Harriet should have finished volunteering for the night about ten minutes ago, and the hospital isn’t too far from campus. I’ve shot her a couple texts, but I don’t expect a reply if her phone is still off.
Still, I’m stressed. It’s past nine p.m., and if she doesn’t respond, I might head to the hospital.
Would that be too much? I know she’s independent, and I don’t want to seem suffocating. Fuck. Why is this so difficult? I usually know exactly what to do with friends. But she’s not a typical friend. She’s…more.
Maybe I could just send Novak.
“Hey, Ben.” Quentin Tupu rounds to my table of one. I’m oddly alone in a back corner, an arched stained-glass window beside me. Four other circular tables have five to six people packed around them. The board game, Catan, sits unopened two feet from me.
Quentin is the club president, Samoan, and incredibly friendly. To the point where my ass is partially in this seat and not in a jog to find Harriet because I’d hate to offend him or ruin his attendee numbers.
And yeah, I’ve only had two interactions with him. The last club meeting and tonight.
He places a casual hand on the Catan box. “Looks like you’re missing some players. You can join Table Three.”