Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
After removing McKayla’s shoes, I slip her feet under the duvet, then pull it up to cover her hued chest. Anyone would swear she’s exhausted from walking three blocks with someone on her back for how red she is. “We agreed to save the tutoring until tomorrow, remember?”
I tuck her in a little to stiffly when she asks, “Isn’t it already tomorrow? What time is it?” She sinks back with a groan when she catches the time on her bedside clock. It is barely past ten. “I pooped on the party.”
“You what?”
Her crinkled brows are cuter on her drunk face than the ones she wore while asking if I only cooled things with Vivienne so she’d be my tutor. She clearly missed the gossip about Vivienne cheating on me at the end-of-season party last year.
“I pooped on the party.” She stops, scrunches up her nose, then tries again. “I pooped on the party.” She says the exact same thing but in a different tempo like it may alter the meaning of her words.
“I think you mean you’re a party pooper.”
“A party pooper! That’s it.” She shushes me as if I’m the one shouting before snapping her eyes to her roommate’s bed. It’s empty, so she has no reason to fret. “Eden doesn’t like when I shout.” When she commences stripping out of her clothes under the bedding, I stray my eyes to the door. “Eat, sleep in, or open a study book on her half of the desk.” She dumps her dress onto the floor before rolling onto her side and stuffing her hands under her rosy cheek. “She doesn’t like when I do anything. I shouldn’t even breathe in her presence.”
“Then why don’t you ask to be assigned another room?”
McKayla takes a moment to ponder before replying with a yawn, “Because then she’d win, and I hate losing.”
Although her reply exposes we have even more in common than I first suspected, I play it cool. “Now the chug challenge makes sense.” Kamil was trying to make her feel welcome by inviting her to do the chug challenge. He had no clue she’s a lightweight who’s never drank alcohol before tonight. I was clueless as well until she announced it at the start of our slow trek to her dormitory. If I had, I would have plowed her with water before offering to walk her home.
“If your roommate isn’t a fan of you breathing too loudly, you might want to message her and ask her to bring home some headphones.” I laugh at her daft expression before explaining, “Anyone who drinks also snores like a trooper.”
“Nooo…” Her eyes pop out of her head before her mouth gapes. “Actually, you could be right. I thought it was the pigs’ mating call hollering through the night my senior year, but it might have been the football team.”
“You partied with the football team?” My shock can’t be hidden. She seems innocent and sweet—a stark contradiction to the girls I partied with during my senior year of high school.
With a shrug, she snuggles into her pillow. “Partied. Fired at. Same thing.”
Although it is a story I’d love to hear, McKayla can no longer fight the heaviness of her eyelids, so instead of keeping her awake, I head for the door.
I’m almost in the clear when she murmurs my name. My real name. “Cash.”
After taking a second to ponder why I ever agreed to let anyone call me Milo, I reply, “Yeah.”
She waits for me to spin around to face her before asking, “Why does everyone call you Milo?”
My smile is as bright as the moon when I answer, “You’ll have to wait and see.”
It isn’t an interesting story, but the fact it will keep her interests as piqued as mine, I’ll pretend it is.
“Night, McKayla.”
I grin like I’m not heading to bed on a Friday night before my parents when she replies, “Goodnight, Cash.”
Chapter 6
Cash
When I spot McKayla approaching me from the back entrance of the library, I dump my cell phone onto a desk in a hired cubicle. She looks tired, disheveled, and oddly happy.
I learn why when she murmurs, “You’re early. I said we’d meet at noon.”
After removing my feet from the desk, I accept the bag of books weighing down her shoulders while advising, “My father taught me the importance of being on time.”
A smile creeps across my face when she murmurs, “Did he give you any advice on how to cure a hangover? My head…” A grimace finalizes her reply.
Through a brief chuckle, I answer, “No, but my mother sure did.”
When McKayla peers at me with hope lining her face, it dawns on me that she either doesn’t listen to gossip or has her nose too far in a book to hear it.
My mother is a drunk, and last year, her antics almost got me dumped from the South Harmon Hawks. If it weren’t for Coach Taillieu, I would have lost my scholarship. His father is a drunk, so he understands that my mother’s actions don’t belong on my shoulders.