Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Easton saluted, then put his hand on my shoulder. “Gonna give Crom a tour. Catch you later.” I followed Easton down the stairs that led to the quad. He took a deep breath when the humid air slammed into us like a freight train. Easton spread his arms. “This, Cromwell, is the quad.” People lounged on the grass, music playing from phone speakers. Students were reading, chilling out in couples. Again, everyone said hi to Easton. They just outright stared at me. Guess that’s what happens when you transfer in sophomore year to a rinky-dink university from another country.
“The quad. For chilling, skipping class, or whatever,” Easton said. I followed Easton to the cafeteria, then the library—which he told me wasn’t for reading books but for shagging behind the stacks. We got to a truck. “Get in,” he said. Too tired to argue, I got in, and he pulled out onto the road, heading away from the college.
“So?” he asked as I lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag. I closed my eyes as I exhaled. Nine hours on a flight without nicotine was a bitch.
“Share the joy, Crom,” Easton said. I passed him a cigarette. I wound the window down and looked out at the sports fields and small stadium for the American football team.
“So?” Easton repeated. “I get Lewis is a big draw for you, but even so, your life is made, isn’t it?” I rolled my head against the headrest to look at him. He had a tattoo on his arm. Looked like a star-sign symbol or something. Never understood why people only ever got one. The minute I got my first, I booked in for the rest. A ton later and I still wasn’t finished. I was addicted.
His speaker was playing a playlist from his phone. As if on cue, one of my mixes came through. He laughed. “In case you were wondering, that was just God backing me up on my question.”
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, just taking in the smoke. “Did a year of uni in London. It was okay, but I didn’t want to be in England anymore. Lewis invited me here to study under him. So I came.”
There was a brief silence. “But I still don’t understand. Why finish at all? You have a career that’s taking off. Why bother with college?”
A knife in my stomach twisted, my throat clogging up. I wasn’t going there. So I just kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut.
Easton sighed. “Fine. Be a mystery. Just add that to the list of things the chicks will get wet over.” He shoved my arm. “Open your eyes. How can I show you the sights of Jefferson Town if they’re shut?”
“It can be an audio tour. The way you never shut your mouth, you could make some serious coin doing it.”
He burst out laughing. “True.” He pointed at the small town we were entering. “Welcome to Jefferson. Founded in 1812. Population two thousand.” He turned down what had to be the main road. “You have all the usual places.” He said that in a horrendous English accent, which I assumed was for my pleasure. “Dairy Queen, McDonald’s, all that stuff. A few country bars. Some small diners. A coffee lounge—has some pretty good open mic nights if you’re looking to chill. Some good local talent.” There was a cinema that had four screens, some touristy stuff, and finally, we passed the Barn. It was exactly that, but Easton promised me inside resembled something you’d find in Ibiza. Having played in Ibiza the most out of anywhere I’d spun, I doubted that. But it was a place to play, and in this town, it was something.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
“Art,” he replied. I thought of the posters and paintings on the wall of our room. “I like mixed media too. Anything with color and expression.” He cocked his head my way. “I’ll be running the lights on Friday. You on the decks, me on the lights. It’s gonna be sick.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Think of all the chicks we’ll get.”
Right then, all I could think of was sleep.
Chapter Three
Cromwell
Easton was practically bouncing on the driver’s seat of his truck as we approached the Barn. It was only ten at night. I wasn’t used to hitting the decks until twelve at the earliest.
Easton was right. The place was bouncing, people spilling all over the grass outside the wooden building. Dance music pounded through the cracks in the wooden panels. I winced on hearing one awful mix slide into another tune.
Easton must have seen my expression. He pulled the truck to a stop and put his hand on my arm. “You’re our savior, Crom. You see what we’ve had to put up with? Bryce is protective of his decks. You’ve been warned.”