Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
A girl who calls herself The Queen has pictures of each of us with random girls on her website. Tucker is half naked in most of them and never without a beer in hand. Preston looks trashed. Drake has his hand down his pants in one, most likely whipping out his dick. Sick fucker does that all the time, and he’s proud of it. Trent has his face shoved between some girl’s tits in one picture.
None of us look good right now. Though, of us all, I look the best. At least, I’m fully clothed and not completely shitfaced. I’m speechless as I read the blog post.
Dethroned
October Edition
* * *
I wonder what the NCAA would say about hot shot hockey stud, Tucker Kane, pounding beers and eating mystery brownies at the Delta Sig house on Saturday. Are those pot brownies, Tucker? Only a drug test will tell…
* * *
XO,
The Queen
Tucker got super trashed last night and ate a handful of pot brownies. He was so high and drunk Drake and Trent had to carry him home over their shoulders and put him to bed. It was kind of embarrassing. Lately, Tuck has been on a major bender, and now he’s given The Queen new material. From what I can tell, our hockey team is the subject of this girl’s blog, and she has it out for us. Why? That’s the question of the hour.
One of us must have pissed off this girl. Why else would anyone want to attack us? Our parents are rich, with plenty of money to get this website shut down in a second. But getting our parents involved is the last thing any of us want to do. Preston is the only one who runs to his parents when shit gets rough.
Trent pushes his chair out from the desk and threads his fingers together behind his head, staring at Tucker. “Dude, you’re fucked if you don’t find out who’s writing this gossip column.”
Uncrossing his arms, Tucker lets out a deep breath. “Who would do this? Is there a way to find out who’s writing this shit?”
Preston squeezes Tucker’s shoulder, shaking his head at the computer screen. “We can find out who owns the domain. But think of this as your wake-up call, Tuck. All of your screwing around is catching up with you. Time to get your shit together. Stop drinking. Hire a tutor. Spend less time at the Delta Sig house. We need you on your A-game this season if we want to win another championship.”
“Yeah, I got it, Prez. For the hundredth time, I got it.” Shaking Preston off, Tucker steps away from him, inching toward the door. “I’ll figure it out. Okay?”
Preston nods and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his track pants.
The guys in this room are my family. Our parents are best friends, so we never spent a birthday or a holiday apart. I think of them as brothers more than friends. There’s a common link between us that no one can touch. I would do anything for them, and the feeling is mutual. We’ve always gone to the same schools and played hockey together. Now we play Division I hockey for the Strickland Senators and live in a house on campus with some of our teammates.
I’m closest to Preston, mostly because my dad has been his mom’s best friend since childhood. They grew up in Chicago together, lived in the same foster home, and moved to Philadelphia together where they both attended Villanova University. Our parents are complete opposites in every way. But I know they both will agree we’re all fucked if we don’t figure out who’s writing this blog.
We look at each other, unsure of what to do, concern written on all of our faces. I can track down the owner of the website as long as this queen has left me a trail to uncover. Whoever she is, she’s going down.
Tucker tugs at the ends of his bleach blond hair in frustration and leans back against the chest of drawers behind him. “We need to stop whoever’s doing this.”
“I’ll call my dad,” Preston offers. “Maybe he can hire someone.”
Typical Preston move.
“Nah.” Tucker waves him off. “We’re not involving our parents. Our team is being targeted for a reason. You could be next. Any of us could be next. And who knows what this bitch will say next. We need to take her down before it ruins our careers.”
“She’s got to be a student at Strick U,” Trent says.
“How do you expect us to track her down?” Drake asks.
Tucker points at me. “Jamie can find out.” His pale blue eyes find mine. “Right? Tell me you can hack into something and shut this website down.”
I love how they always assume I can do anything with computers. Mostly, they’re right. But I have a bad feeling about The Queen.