Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Got one,” I tell Wes and Ollie, nodding over toward it.
I sit on the plush leather booth seat, sliding in, and Wes comes in beside me. Ollie takes the spot across from us, and for the first time today, I feel like I can relax.
The Kettle sometimes feels like my own personal hideout.
Which is stupid, because it’s packed, but I’ve felt at home here since the first night I arrived on campus last year and fell in love with the feeling of this place.
It looks more like an old tavern than a college dining hall, with wooden beams anchored along the walls and ceiling, medieval art hung on the walls, and hanging lamps that look like old gas lanterns above the tables. There’s a big opening in the center of the hall with a big, U-shaped buffet where students grab their food, and surrounding it on all sides are rows of tables and booths.
“Oliver, you’re witnessing Rayne Colson Heaven, right now,” Wes says beside me, grinning. “That look in his eyes right now is his Kettle Face. It’s like an orgasm, but for food and vibes.”
Weston’s always pretty good at reading my mind.
“Not my fault the Kettle is the best place on campus,” I say, popping a perfectly ripe strawberry in my mouth. “This is what I needed. Thanks for joining us, Ollie.”
“I think I finally know where everything is on campus without using a map,” Oliver says. “You guys have been good tour guides.”
“I’ve been coming to Crimson College for my whole life,” Wes explains as he dips fries in ketchup. “My dad went here, so he brought me and my brother here many times, trying to turn us into Crimson boys long before we ever were students here.”
“That’s sweet. Are you and Hunter close with your dad?”
Weston shoves a few fries in his mouth at once.
Inside, I’m grimacing.
I know Weston’s father has been strict for his whole life, always pushing him and Hunter to have perfect grades, perfect performance in athletics, and basically trying to form them into little Barrett Knox mini-me dolls.
Weston is good at it.
He gets the grades and performs everything to his father’s standards.
But it causes him a mountain of pressure.
“Our dad is more of a tough-love type than a hugs-and-smiles type,” Wes tells Ollie.
I’m unable to keep a bitter tone from my voice. “I think Hunter inherited more of that than you did. Ever since the dart incident, Hunter’s been pissing me off.”
Weston pauses before taking another bite, turning to look right at me. “My brother is bothering you?”
I wave a hand through the air. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t sweat it, Wes.”
I turn over the memory of the locker room this afternoon like I’m holding a dark secret in my heart.
Your brother went completely fucking feral on me before my shower earlier, actually.
Not that I didn’t kind of provoke it.
By shoving my hand down his pants.
I put my fork in another strawberry, refusing to make eye contact with Wes for a moment.
“Let me know if I have to handle it,” Wes finally tells me, turning away.
I hum. “Hunter’s trying to help me, which is nice, I guess, in his own way. Even if his version of help is literal stalking. He said he wants to make sure I’m not attacked.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually believing my brother’s bullshit, Rayne,” Wes says.
I glance across the table at Ollie, who clearly feels a little awkward with the sudden shift in conversation. The complex dynamics of Wes and Hunter’s lifelong rivalry isn’t exactly easy to explain to a newcomer.
I barely understand it myself, most of the time.
“Hunter doesn’t matter,” I say even though it’s not the truth. “But what does matter is that I saw Ollie talking to a blonde girl on the quad earlier. You already find some action, freshman?”
Oliver puffs out a laugh, already a little relieved. “She was in my first class of the day. Asked me about the old hockey shirt I was wearing. Nice girl, but she has a boyfriend already.”
I dig into my chicken stir-fry, which may as well be straight from heaven.
I need a fucking break like this.
To finally decompress.
To just exist, like I used to. Happily.
Wes asks Oliver all about his high school hockey team, and for the first time all week, I’m not dwelling on the attacks or on Hunter Knox.
It’s a blissful ten minutes until I look up from my bowl of strawberries to see a second plastic tray being put down next to Oliver’s.
I look up and see Hunter’s face.
His eyes, looking right into mine.
Ignore him.
Just fucking ignore him.
He’s not actually sitting down here, is he? Hunter would never choose to sit with his brother, let alone me—
“Hey, Hunter! Sit!” Oliver offers, smiling wide and scooting over on his side of the booth to make room for him. “This place is packed. Isn’t it great?”