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)
“I’m waiting for someone actually.”
Quentin’s gaze veers past my shoulder toward the door. “Ah, right on time then.”
My relief floods me only to wash out to shore as soon as I rotate around. Fuck. I know Xander plays super intense strategy games like Warhammer 40k, LARPs on the weekends, and watches every fantasy show on TV. He’s even currently wearing a Game of Thrones House Stark T-shirt, and yet, I didn’t expect him to be here.
Geeky shit might be his thing, but clubs never were.
What’s not shocking? He’s here with Easton Mulligan. His best friend. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in five hundred years and will suck your blood if you get too close. He’s quietly threatening. Exactly what Xander would need in a friend, since he’s harassed at least once a day by paparazzi or obsessive fans.
I would’ve thought I’d be that friend for him. Battling off unwanted attention. I would’ve never predicted the turn of these tables when we were kids. That his protective best friend would be the one glaring at me.
Easton isn’t fond of me…to put it lightly.
I can’t tell if he sees me right now. He has on sunglasses indoors.
His styled chocolate brown hair is shorter on the sides, a little longer on top, and he’s tall, lanky, and pale white with a confident, unperturbed stride. What’s funny is he could so seamlessly fit in with my family.
He wears his wealth.
Expensive, fashionable style. Tailored suit pants, crisp button-down, black leather jacket, and dark Prada sunglasses. He’s a Burberry ad come alive.
He might look like a Cobalt, but he lived with the Hales for several months before graduating prep school. They took him in, even though his family’s home was only a street over in our gated neighborhood.
I should know him better than I do.
But I purposefully avoided Easton at family functions, at school when we’d attended Dalton together, and I wish I could avoid him now in college. It’s one thing to confront Xander’s cold shoulder, another to be stared down for an hour like I’ve put shaving cream on his pillow.
Xander scopes out the room, and when he catches my eyes, his whole chest sinks like a deflated balloon. He whirls around to leave.
Easton grabs onto his shoulder, then whispers in his ear for a long beat. With several words, he must convince my cousin to stay. I watch Xander nod a couple times and face my way again.
I imagine Easton said, Don’t let Ben ruin this for us. We’re already here. Let’s play the game.
I lean farther back in my chair as Quentin waves them over, unaware of the arctic frost he’s summoning toward me.
“Hey, guys, I’m Quentin, the club president. You can take a seat at this table.” He points to where I’m sitting. Xander looks everywhere but at me.
I might as well have evaporated into the air.
Quentin isn’t registering the tension, but his gaze does flit to the tall, tattooed bodyguard lingering in Xander’s shadow. “So that makes four,” he continues.
Donnelly readjusts the mic at the collar of his acid wash The Cure band tee. “Nah, I’ll be sitting this one out.”
Quentin nods. “Three is still enough players for a game.” He smiles excitedly like it was a stroke of fate that Xander and Easton walked right in.
More like shitty happenstance.
Or maybe I did something that caused this. My mind tries to reel for a split-second, but Xander’s presence is kicking me out of my head.
He’s hovering near the chair across from mine. I’m almost positive he’s about to ask Quentin if he can join a different game.
Then Easton sinks down in a chair, hands stuffed in his leather jacket. “Sorry we missed the first meeting,” he apologizes to Quentin. The cadence of his voice is flat and smooth. “We were in between this and LARPing Club, which meets on the same night. But we found out they only do post-apocalyptic.”
“It’s not really our thing,” Xander adds, rubbing a hand against the back of his tensed neck. He’s still standing. Still diverting his gaze from mine.
Quentin is beaming at him. Star-struck.
He must’ve recognized Xander the moment he walked in, but he isn’t mentioning it. I like that for my cousin. Instead, Quentin tells them he’ll bring over an attendance sheet and questionnaire to get a sense of their experience level for strategy games.
I already know these two will beat my ass at Catan—but if Harriet doesn’t text me in…I check my watch. Five minutes. I’m not going to stay long anyway.
Quentin leaves, and I watch Donnelly follow him, probably to have him sign a non-disclosure agreement. Xander and NDAs are one of the dynamic duos in the family. It’s moments like these that I appreciate not having obsessive, all-consuming fame. Novak is chilling by the doors, in eyesight but not glued to my heels.