So, no, I’m not going to cry uncle and leave Golden Oaks Uni. I have my eyes set on my prize, and nothing is going to stop me. Not even a butthurt prick like Hunter Prince.
Move on, my ass, I sneer toward her dorm from my spot on the picnic table.
Been a week since I sicced campus security on the girls, and nothing came of it. I knew there wasn’t going to be any drugs in their apartment. Harloe never was a fan of the stuff. Didn’t even like me smoking. So, I knew she wouldn’t have any of that in there.
But I expected more backlash. Some yelling, cussing—maybe even another slap across the face.
I got nothing.
Nada.
A big ole kick in the nuts because she didn’t react at all. Not even a little, which frustrates the hell out of me. That is not how the old Harloe would have let things go down. The old Harloe would’ve had me choking on teeth. Then, she’d made me kiss her hand better for bruising it on my hard head.
That version of Harloe still gives me a stiffy every time she circles through my thoughts. Even with all she did, I can’t mentally fight the attraction of a Harloe Rose from our sophomore year.
She was my best friend. My lover. My fighter. My everything. The person I could turn to when I needed someone. I never felt like a pussy ass bitch when I unloaded my thoughts and fears into her ear. That’s what she was there for. That’s what we were to each other.
Then, she royally fucked me over.
So, shit, no, she’s not getting the easy way out. If she thinks staying here will be a walk in the park, she is sorely mistaken. She’s going to have to put up her deuces and show me how much she wants this.
Harloe is going to have to do what she should have done three years ago.
Stay and fight!
Even then, I’ll still hit her where it hurts, and continue to do so until she leaves. People can call me a bastard all they want, but they can thank her because she made me this way.
Nothing will be able to change my mind.
A catcall filters through the courtyard, and instantly my lips turn up into a genuine smile. I’d know that too-screechy sounding whistle anywhere. Flicking my face in his direction, Easton bounds toward me like a mentally defective person.
“‘Sup, motherfucka!”
I roll my eyes, slinging my foot into the air and hitting him dead center of the stomach to keep him from jumping on me and clinging like a goddamn monkey. “We’re not twelve anymore, dick.”
His lips pucker, making me snort. “Then why’d you eat my last roll-up this morning?”
Shaking my head, I lean back against the table on my hands. Tilting my head to the side, I peer up at him with the most innocent expression I can muster. “Don’t know about you, but I was eating pussy for breakfast, not some goddamn piece of candy.”
He gives me the side-eye, scrunching up his face as he looks me up and down. “I thought that box of roll-ups smelled funny.”
“Jerk.” I bark out a laugh, leaning forward fast and clipping him in the shoulder with my fist. He stands back, smirking, as he rubs the spot. “You know from experience how good Cass’s pussy is.”
“Unfortunately,” he huffs, settling onto the table beside me with a grunt. He tosses his bag onto the ground by our feet. “But that was the summer before senior year. She could’ve let herself go since then.”
“Cassandra Radcliff?” I exclaimed, giving him a you’re full of shit look. “Would I still be sniffing around that if she did?”
He nods. “You got me there. The girl spends more time on her looks, hygiene, and riding your dick than she does anything else. You got a keeper there,” he quips, appearing unaffected.
We both know that’s a front. Hard not hearing that sad lilt to his voice, like he’s missing something and wants for nothing more than for it to come back.
No, I don’t have a keeper, either. But I’m not going to tell him that. Some things are better left a secret. Plus, it seems he has enough on his mind without adding my shit to the mix, too.
If he’d ever tell me what happened this summer, maybe then I’d be able to help him out. You know, take a little bit of distraction anywhere I can find it. Except, he’s as tightlipped as I am. We’re not used to sharing personal things or talking about what’s truly bothering us. Not that anything is wrong with that, but for us, chilling with each other is just how we do it.
“So, what happened with the whole drug thing?” he asks out of nowhere as he lies back on top of the table, taking in the early morning’s rays.
Flicking my eyes toward the clock tower of the main building, I heave a sigh. My first class is in less than thirty minutes, and if I don’t want to miss it like I did all three times last week, I need to get moving.
Last week, I couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck about anything, not after seeing her like I did. So, I spent the entire time either drunk, stoned, or between Cassandra’s legs.
Just saying, one of them is losing their effect, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. It doesn’t erase everything from my mind, only allowing me to focus on what is happening during that moment in time.
Shit’s going to get real if the way I try to forget starts to slowly no longer work for me. I’ll be a bigger asshole than I am now. Not having a crutch for someone like me is a dangerous, dangerous thing.
I stretch, yawning from the lack of sleep. “Not enough hours in the day to explain how fucked that situation is.”
Or how fucked I am over it when it shouldn’t bother me at all.
About that time, Leo and Zeke stop by our morning spot. Thankfully, it halts Easton’s line of questioning as he and Leo start bickering back and forth like sixth graders. Knowing them, they’re probably having a pissing contest about some pussy they snagged last night.
Often times, I wonder what’s kept us friends for so long. While all they seem to care about is the next hole they dive into, I’m over it all together.
Zeke settles in next to me, being his usual brooding self. “Got word on your girl,” he says out of nowhere.
Zeke was the one I went to for the raid on the girls’ apartment. When I found out where Harloe was living, hardly trusting my ears when Jenna Doyle’s name came up, I hesitantly put my plan in motion. I may be a bastard, but Jenna Doyle’s stepfather has almost as much clout in this town as my family name. I didn’t need to piss them off just to get back at Harloe.
But my need to be petty won out over the need to keep the peace between the Prince and Doyle families.
“She’s not my girl, dick,” I growl out in return.
He chuckles, shoulder checking me into looking at him. When I do, his eyes meet mine, and they’re filled with amusement. “Could’ve fooled me.”
All I need is for the guys to think Harloe means more to me than she does. This is just a nineteen-year-old guy being petty. Yes, I’ll even admit it.
I’m a petty ass motherfucker, and the only thing I care about is chasing Harloe out of town. Being here for four years, while she lives in an on-campus dorm and I in a house near campus, is too much. Knowing that I could see her at any moment, and not know a goddamn thing about her, really just burns me up.
I shouldn’t care, but I do. Everything that involves Harloe Rose, I have my fingers in.