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)
“Good, good.” She nods robustly. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but you were my first choice. The House was split for a while on who to pick, which is why it took forever this semester to choose our twelfth member.” I already heard mutterings that it’d been between me, Easton, and Grace, the other pre-med hopeful. “Guy also went hard for you.”
That surprises me, considering I said about two words to him this whole semester, but he’s super friendly with Ben. I have a theory he likes that I’m one-degree from the Cobalt Empire. Venus also might’ve voted for me in hopes she’d meet Charlie Cobalt, but honestly, I don’t even care if my connections helped push me over the finish line.
Everyone has them here. It doesn’t discredit all my other achievements, and why would I want my life to be harder? Why should I feel guilty for the boost over the hurdle?
I don’t.
I’m just really fucking happy.
Once Kiki hands over my key and a welcome packet, she tells me she’ll be in the study room if I need any help with my things, but she’ll let me take it all in. She must notice my eyes bouncing around the space.
“Thanks, really,” I say to her. “Being here means…” I have no words to express my gratitude and elation of completing this impossible goal. It’s not so impossible, Harriet. Look at you now.
Her smile grows exponentially. “We know.” I’m in a house full of overachievers, who’ve all clawed for this, who’ve all been here before. “We’re happy to have you here, Harriet.”
It lifts me. I am floating.
When Kiki reaches the door, I raise a hand in a see you later. She smiles back, then disappears. I twist around in a three-sixty at my bedroom. Plain cream walls, a corkboard with pushpins, mopped shiny floors, a sturdy wooden desk beneath a quaint window, a dreamy collegiate view of the snowy front yard, a single bed that’s all mine. This is all mine to make my own.
I toss the key and packet on the desk. My lungs swell, and I can’t help myself—I hop up and down and pump my fists in the air. Yes, yes, yes!
When I spin around in a karate-kick-leap combo, I connect with a body and hear a gruff oof.
“Shit.” I extend my hands and freeze as Ben winces into a full-bodied laugh. I scan him rapidly for injury. “Did I kick you in the dick?”
“Not quite that high, Fisher.” He nods toward his leg, his arms full. He carries a cardboard box of my things, my backpack slung on his shoulder, and as he brings them to my desk, he casts an epically attractive glance back at me. “Did I just witness the Harriet Fisher happy dance?”
“Technically you felt it.
He smiles. “I hope I feel it for days.”
“And you call me punk rock.” I shrug off my leather jacket, the heat cranked up to toasty levels. I throw it on my bare mattress. “I’m a wimp when it comes to pain. I won’t even go into mosh pits.”
He sets my box down and hooks my backpack on the desk chair. “That’s a good thing. Picturing my five-foot-one girlfriend being shoved around by men twice her size actually pisses me off.”
“Shoving me for fun though,” I point out.
“Yeah, that makes me angrier.”
I wish I could tell young Harriet that she’d find someone who’d protect her—and she’d let him and she’d love every second of it.
Ben comes closer, spinning my car keys on his finger. His hand slips down my spine, and I realize he’s barely examined my room. He’s just fastened on my features, and I like that I make him smile. That’s what I’m doing—causing his lips to rise, his baby blue eyes to glitter.
I’ve started believing that my mere presence can make someone else happy. Ben gave me something that my mom stripped away. My company isn’t heavy and soul-leeching. I’m not an energy vacuum. I might still press myself against the plaster wall at parties, but I know Ben will come find me.
I know he’ll stay at my side.
I know he’ll smile down at me.
I know I’ll crane my neck to look up at him.
I know I won’t feel alone.
“Two more trips to your car,” he says, “and I’ll have all your stuff up here.”
“I’ll help.” It takes us one more trip. Thankfully the Honors House has a decently sized parking lot, and so Harold has a home too. I didn’t have to ditch my Honda.
I toss my folded sheets, pillow, and comforter on the bed. Then I place Son of Ben more delicately near the footboard. I fix the stuffed lion’s twisted choker necklace. “Do you want weekends or weekdays for this joint custody arrangement?” I ask Ben.
“Joint custody implies we’ve split up.” He rests a potted fern on the desk and my printer on an end table near an outlet. “You trying to divorce me already?” He slips me a teasing smile.