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)
He introduces me to jackfruit, which blows my mind. It has the same texture as shredded meat and a tasty, mild flavor. I start swapping it for tuna in my sandwiches after he explains overfishing and bycatches. All I can think about are the little sea turtles and seabirds being scooped up in fishing nets and thrown away like trash.
I can honestly listen to Ben talk for hours. And I do. Surprisingly, I find myself talking just as much.
Even more surprisingly, he hasn’t tired of me.
I could stand in the middle of Times Square and scream those words into throngs of tourists. It’s revolutionary. And even with my jam-packed schedule, I still yearn for nightly phone calls with him as if this is the new episode in the addictive TV show called My Life.
Tonight, I chew on the end of a Twizzler, earbuds in, and scroll through a shared notes app where we plugged in our class schedules—our attempt to find an available window to meet for a bite to eat together on campus.
I smile reading it. I knew he picked the Tuesday, Thursday strategy of stacking all his classes on those two days. I would’ve done the same, but Latin was only offered on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and trying to fit three-hour labs on Tuesday or Thursday was near impossible.
“I should’ve joined you in Beginner Volleyball,” I say, my voice picking up in the mic of my earbuds. My phone is face-up on the coffee table. Ben’s picture on the screen.
He took the pic at work when he realized I didn’t have his photo in my contacts. Wearing his signature baseball cap, he holds up a peace sign and smirks in the camera. Can’t lie—he’s hot.
I have a hot jock’s photo in my phone.
I have Ben Cobalt’s photo in my phone.
All things that make me slump down in the lumpy couch cushion like I’m about to kick my feet and fucking giggle.
What are these feelings, Harriet?
I’m not in high school anymore. This feels like something I should have already experienced in eleventh grade. Missed that, apparently.
But is there really an age cut-off to being infatuated? Oh my God, am I infatuated with him?
“No, you would’ve hated volleyball,” Ben says through my earbuds. “Hannah Payne broke her nose yesterday after some Kappa Phi douchebag spiked the ball at her. Whole court was full of blood.”
I’ve gotten used to him referring to random people by their full names. Some of them, he’s friends with. The kind of friends who invite him to parties or who sit beside him in class to share notes. Others, he just met, but the way he talks, you’d never know.
“Really putting the pain in Payne,” I deadpan.
He laughs. “Clever girl.”
I almost choke on my Twizzler. My face burns, and I’m thankful he can’t see the flush. Get it together, Harriet, he didn’t call you a sexy vixen. I disagree with my brain. Somehow what he said was even better. New turn-on unlocked.
Not that I should be turned on by my friend. And after he found out I almost gave head to his brother, I think that’s where I’ll firmly remain. Even if there was a small, microscopic chance we could be something more, I blew it up in one explosive chemical reaction called The Charlie Cobalt Blow Job Combustion.
I return to the topic at hand before I destroy this even more. “I’m just dreading having to take the P.E. requirement—which should really be banned in college. Running the death mile every week in high school was bad enough.” I blow out a stressed breath. “It would’ve been easier doing it with you.”
“Then you’ll do it with me. I’ll sign up for whatever P.E. course you want next semester.”
I chew on the candy slowly. “That’s a repeat of a credit you don’t need.”
“Ah, you don’t know that, Fisher,” he says. “I’m still Undeclared, remember? I could go into Kinesiology and then I’d be right on track.”
“Or I could be unintentionally tanking you,” I mutter and narrow my eyes at his schedule. “Wait, how are you getting from Marine Biology to World Civilizations in twenty minutes? Those are on opposite sides of the campus.”
“I have long legs.”
I gape, the Twizzler falling out of my mouth. “You’re running?”
“I think we should direct this energy toward the fact that your science lab only gives you one credit hour, but it takes up three hours of your time. That feels way fucking wrong.”
I’m about to agree with him when the door lock jangles. “Hold on,” I tell Ben and sit up to make sure it’s just my roommate.
The door bangs open with a fit of giggles, and I relax when I see Eden kick off her heels. Behind her, a tall Black guy with a strikingly chiseled jawline slips into the apartment and fingers the strap to her tank top. She swats his hand away when she sees me staring. “Oh, Harriet.”