Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
I study Judd’s face for a second and determine that he’s not holding three tens. He’s bluffing. But of course I’m not dumb enough to say anything. Judd hates me. So I just wait and watch. After the turn—the queen of hearts—Jako has a full house. He bets again, and everyone else folds.
“You called that mostly right,” I say to Jako as he rakes in his winnings. “Probably coulda squeezed Judd for more cash if you’d bet that last round.”
“No way,” Judd argues, because that dude can’t stand me. I unknowingly hooked up with his ex last year at a toga party, which is a serious violation of the bro code.
In my defense, it really wasn’t malicious. Therese was cute, I was a bit buzzed, and not once did she mention Judd’s name to me. Needless to say, that was the last Alpha Delt party I ever attended. Now I only go to the mandatory events.
According to Jako, the whole disaster could’ve been avoided if only I was more “engaging.” Uh-huh, apparently I don’t engage.
This is true, but it’s not all my fault. I wish my life at Alpha Delt were more like a Hollywood comedy, where my besties and I crack jokes together into the wee hours and enjoy the camaraderie of our crazy college years. And maybe the other guys are living that dream. But I’m working like a dog and trying to keep all the proverbial balls in the air. The guys here have no idea what it’s like to be me.
And I don’t tell them, because that shit is both dark and boring.
So I haven’t gone out of my way to get to know each and every brother, and I guess that’s a huge crime. Jako says I would’ve known about Therese if I’d spent even thirty seconds conversing with Judd.
But why would I converse with Judd? He’s been obnoxious to me since the first minute we met. In life, not everyone is going to become BFFs. Some personalities pull you in, others repel you. So I’m friends with the brothers I get along with, and I ignore the rest.
Or I used to, anyway.
Sadly, this perfectly reasonable strategy needs to change if I’m going to be elected president of the frat. I can’t afford to have enemies. Which is why I swallow my pride and address Judd. “You played that really smart,” I praise him. “Solid bluffing skills. Didn’t reveal a tell at all.”
There’s an awkward silence while he eyes me, his brow furrowing suspiciously. “Thanks?”
I shrug and head for the stairs.
“Play a hand?” Jako calls after me.
“Can’t. Got a paper to write.” It’s not a lie. Although a single compliment for Judd is all I’m able to muster. Besides, I’m starving.
I climb a flight of stairs, and then I climb another one. The third-floor suite consists of a big bathroom and two oddly shaped bedrooms—one giant, one tiny.
Mine is the closet-sized room, obviously. It’s the cheapest room in the house, and the one that nobody ever picks. “It’s, like, the servant’s quarters,” one guy had said during last year’s rooming draw.
I’d pretended to do them all a favor by claiming the miniscule room, but I can barely afford even this. When I reach the top of the stairs, I pause on the landing, keys in hand. I don’t hear any voices. Or any sex noises.
Sweet, sweet silence! Keaton must be at his girlfriend’s place.
Yes, my neighbor’s name is Keaton. It’s worse than that. He’s Keaton Hayworth III. And even worse than that?
He’s my opponent in the race for frat president.
Most of the other guys think he’s a shoo-in to win. And fine, he does tick off all the presidential boxes—on paper. He’s well liked by almost everyone. His father runs a multinational pharmaceutical company, so he fits the wealth criteria. He’s a football player, so he has the athlete thing going for him.
But like I said, it’s all on paper. Off the page, he’s a bit—fine, a lot—self-absorbed. The frat president has to put the needs of everyone else before his own. I don’t think Keaton is capable of doing that, and the others are going to notice as the campaign unfolds.
“Dumb” and “selfish” will definitely be the descriptors I use if I decide to run a smear campaign against Mr. Jockface.
“Seriously hot” also works, although it kills me to admit that. Still, even though the guy’s good-looking, he’s not my type at all. I don’t go for preppy jocks. When I’m in the mood for a guy, I like ‘em a little rougher around the edges. But, hey, if you like handsome rich dudes, Keaton is your man.
I lock our door behind me. My stomach is growling like a beast.
You’d think that the kitchen would be a good place to keep my sandwich ingredients. But you’d be wrong. The guys I live with help themselves to whatever is in the refrigerator, because they have no shame. And they can’t conceive of a world where those last four cheese slices are all I’ve got to eat.