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)
Some laugh. Others shake their head.
“That’s not it,” Leif grins. “First one to sleep with a girl from the Honors House wins.” What the fuck? I try not to see red while he clarifies, “No one has ever succeeded. Many have tried.” Off my knotted, pissed-off confusion, he adds fast, “You don’t know those girls, Ben. They’re stuck-up prudes. It’d honestly do them some good by getting laid.”
The no frat boys allowed rule in the Honors House is starting to make some sense. I can picture this dumb bet being made one drunken, horny night in this very basement ten years ago. I wonder if it started as a joke and gradually took real shape.
“The Honors House president this year, Guy Abernathy, is a pretentious prick,” Prescott says with boiling irritation. “He acts like he’s better than every person on campus because he what—graduated valedictorian from his private school? Who the fuck cares?”
I mean, he obviously does.
The beef between the Honors House and Kappa is definitely alive and well. Fuck. All I can think about is Harriet.
Leif jumps back in, “Sleep with a girl from the Honors House, Ben, and you win the decade-long Kappa bet. All membership dues paid, a plaque on the wall, and special, just for you, housing as a sophomore.”
I expel a breath through my nose and let the kitten spring off my lap. “How would this even be proven?”
“She has to admit to the Kappa president, which is me”—Leif points to the MVU letters on his sweatshirt—“that she slept with you, and she has to give us the panties she wore before you fucked her.”
“Preferably wet,” someone snickers.
My jaw clenches. This sounds so fucking degrading for the girl. No wonder no one has won the bet in a decade, and honestly, I’m proud of the Honors House girls for not falling for whatever manipulative bullshit tactics these guys have attempted over the years.
I should just leave New York earlier than I planned. It’d ensure nothing else bad happens to my brothers, but the thought flexes every tendon in my neck.
Cutting things this short with Harriet hurts. I haven’t even made it to her birthday. That’s why I’m entertaining joining a frat.
Still, on moral instinct, I tell them, “This isn’t going to work for me.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Leif wonders.
All I picture is her round face, perpetual scowl, and yellowish-blonde hair. “It’s not that…” Is it?
“You’re Ben fucking Cobalt,” Prescott says with the raise of his beer. “I bet half the Honors girls would kill to say they fucked you.”
Leif hoists his bottle too. “If anyone can win this, it’s you, my man.”
“Woooo!” they holler, swigging beers in cheers.
“Just think about it,” Leif smiles, trying to pull one out of me but failing. “We’ll give you the rest of the day. You have my number.”
Of course I do.
37
HARRIET FISHER
Earbuds in and The Carraways blasting, I listen to Tom belt out an angsty chorus while I hike across campus. Trees rustle with a cool wind, the leaves beginning to change into a fiery orange as September ends.
I wonder how Ben is faring at Douche Row right now. Sure, Kappa wasn’t at fault for inviting a dickhead to a party who nearly drowned me, but they’re probably hungry for a piece of the Cobalt pie.
Picturing them taking a bite out of Ben gets my back up. No one is allowed to take a chunk out of him. Maybe I should’ve gone into law and not medicine. I could’ve fucking decreed it. Woven a gavel around. Flung that thing—
“Fisher!”
I hear a faint yell, and I pry out my earbud, turning as Ben strides toward me with a long-legged, confident gait. His smile ignites as soon as he sees my face—which has to be resting at its normal scowling stasis.
My whole body goes light and airy. Has anyone ever been this happy to see me? Just him, probably. Emotion tries to rush, and I take some deep breaths to stop the overwhelming surge. Then I shut off my music. He slows to my side with a protein shake in hand, and I’m more cognizant of the many heads that’ve spun in our direction since he shouted my name.
“Sorry.” He notices them scrutinizing me.
“It can’t be worse than being caught in the quad with Xander. Three girls asked me in my morning lab if I was dating him, and I keep getting nasty spam through my MVU email address.”
He shakes his drink. “What do you mean?” Concern darkens his face.
While we walk together, I pull up my email and pass him my phone. “It’s junk mail. I’m guessing someone must’ve posted a pic of me and Xander online, and an internet savvy fan traced down my name, our college, and found my school email.”
His jaw muscle tics as he reads, “Go die, bitch. You don’t deserve Xander Hale.”