Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I hate monotony.
Fucking loathe it.
“Every hour you spend in here is accelerating your midlife crisis,” I tell Silas, who is nested on the couch with his phone. Thumbs furiously engaged. “Unless that thing can suck your dick, put it away.”
“Can’t you find some way to entertain yourself for one night?” he mutters. “I don’t feel like going out.”
No, he’d rather spend his Friday night sulking in a dead-end relationship with Amy because he was punching way above his weight class when Sloane subjected him to the verbal equivalent of yanking his pants down and laughing at his penis. Poor baby. Instead of being an adult about it and finding some willing participant to bed down and get over it, he’s decided to throw a moping party. Self-pity is so excruciatingly tedious.
“We could watch each other jerk off,” I suggest instead.
“Lawson, seriously. Go bother someone else for a while.”
Buzzkill.
Tumbler full of bourbon in hand, I wander out of our room and find a whole lot of nothingness. It’s like a goddamn psych ward around here. Empty halls under flickering lights. Everyone locked up in their rooms watching TV. It’s Friday night. What the fuck is wrong with these people?
I poke my head in RJ and Fenn’s room, but that’s a mistake.
“Come on,” I announce to Fenn, who’s lying in bed with his headphones on. “Get up. Let’s go out.”
“Dude, no. I’m not in the mood.” He grumbles and tosses a notebook at me from across the room.
“Incredible.” I lean in the doorway, shaking my head in disapproval. “Half this floor is pining over a Tresscott when there are plenty of quality candidates out there waiting for a guy to take a body shot off their tits.”
“You haven’t talked to Casey, have you?” he asks through the one-track lens that filters out everything else. “No shit, I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you get her on the phone.”
“All right, well, that sounds like a horrific misuse of my time. So no.” I glance at RJ’s side of the room, which looks like it’s barely been touched in days. “Where’s your better half?”
“RJ? I don’t know. With Sloane, I assume.”
Of course. Those two have become disgusting.
“Fine, then. I’m off.” I pause, however, to glance back at Fenn. His sullen face is cause for concern. “I’m not going to come back here to find you swinging from the ceiling fan, correct?”
“Piss off, Lawson.”
“Right. Buenos noches.”
My absolute last resort is playing pool by himself in the lounge, which is basically an extra-large man cave full of leather couches, game tables, and a snack bar that the Sandover staff restocks daily.
Duke Jessup is a cringeworthy drinking buddy and a worse wingman, but he has protein powder where his gray matter should be, so his buttons are easily pushed, which is itself a sort of diversion. He’s in a pair of plaid pants and his trademark muscle shirt, feet bare as he walks toward the end of the pool table to break. If he weren’t such an insufferable jackass, maybe I’d try to fuck him. With his dark hair and piercing eyes, Duke is undeniably hot.
But alas…the whole insufferable jackass thing.
“How far the mighty have fallen,” I drawl and grab a cue off the rack. “Traveling a bit light these days, I see.”
There was a time when an entourage followed Duke wherever his feet touched the ground. Not so much anymore. The dethroned ruler of Sandover looks lonely in retirement.
“Laugh it up, chucklefuck.” He walks around the table, lining up his next shot. “Your buddy is already losing control of this school. He can’t hold that mountain forever.”
“It’s funny how much you care about this, because he cares so very little.”
RJ fought Duke for supreme command of this obscene kingdom against his will. It was purely a mission of self-preservation that, admittedly with some convincing, got wildly out of hand. RJ accepted the job reluctantly and is still fighting a losing battle to dismantle the authoritarian systems to which we’ve all become so accustomed. Mostly, he wishes everyone would leave him the hell alone. Meanwhile, all Duke wants is his royal court back.
“You know, Lawson.” Duke sinks his shot and then another, concentrating only on the table and the geometry of his next move. “I know you came here to pick a fight or whatever. Normally I’d oblige, but I’m not into it tonight. Stay and have next game if you want. Otherwise, get the fuck out of here.”
Under other circumstances I might object, keep poking until I hit a nerve. But he’s kind of dull this evening.
“You’re no fun,” I tell him. “None of you assholes are any fun tonight.”
I hand him my cue, then pop back into my room long enough to grab my phone and jacket.
Somewhere in this town, there must be trouble lurking that’s worthy of my considerable talents. As it goes most nights, I have the driver deliver me to the doorstep of the squalid little bar in Calden, where, thankfully, there are actual signs of life.