Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Carson shrugs. “At this point? Yeah, man. We’ve had a shitload of practice by now.”
It’s a true statement.
“Alright, I’m out then to try and find her.”
“Good luck,” Griff mumbles as I step into the elevator and let the doors close behind me.
I drive my Range Rover back to Southworth, parking in my reserved spot at the commuter rail station before jogging back to Winchester. It’s way after curfew, but I know all the easy spots by now to slip out of, or back into campus, so it’s an easy move. I think about the fact that Zara’s just managed to sneak out and back in, and I grin.
Who knew our resident band geek had such a bad-ass streak?
Once I’m back on the grounds, I can relax a little. So far, it’s just after campus curfew, which just means we as students just need to be on campus at this hour. Dorm curfew isn’t for another forty-five minutes.
I start to head for Marshall Hall, the senior-girls dormitory, but halfway there, I pause. Instead, on a hunch, I start to jog over to the music building. My mind wanders to Zara Bateman sneaking off campus again, and I grin. I’m impressed that she did. A little band nerd like her, sneaking off like that? I know what it means. It means she wanted this gig. Which is good, because we seriously need her.
I need her.
Something fierce burns inside of me as I think of her tumbling into my arms like that back at the rehearsal space. Those soft curves filling my hands, her tight little body pressed tight to my bare chest. The smell of her blonde hair in my nose. The gasp from those pouty lips. Or shit, the way her skirt slipped up to her hips for a half second as she fell into me, giving me this visual that I will never forget: the fact that nerdy little glasses-wearing band-geek Zara Bateman showed up to a rock band audition in the world’s skimpiest, laciest, most see-through black pair of thong panties ever.
My cock lurches at the thought, and I growl as I storm into the lobby of the building that houses the band and orchestra rehearsal spaces, the practice rooms, music classrooms, and the Lindholt Performing Arts Center auditorium. There’s a flash of jealousy as I step inside. Every high school has a hierarchy, and rules that “groups” have to follow. Winchester is basically no exception. The jocks stick to the gym and the playing fields and courts, and the music and arts kids stick to the studios and rehearsal spaces.
But man, Griff, Carson, and I would have killed to have been able to openly use these music facilities instead of practicing in secrecy.
The building is mostly dark this late at night, especially since it’s close to dorm curfew. I glance at the sign-in sheet and spot Zara’s name from a mere ten minutes ago, and I grin. She’s up in one of the piano practice rooms upstairs, so that’s where I head. I take the stairs slowly, my mind still whirling, and my cock still swollen from the memory of her in my arms.
Fuck am I into her. And fuck is that a problem. She’s beautiful in this completely unaware way. Sexy as fuck without really knowing it. Look, she wasn’t wrong before. Guys like Griff, Carson, and I are the kings of this school. We could get any girl we want. But, at the same time, that’s not us at all.
The three of us have been friends forever. I mean hell, we all went to the same elementary-level boarding school when we were kids. All came to Winchester together. Football made us family, but it’s music that made us whole. It’s music that made us inseparable. Maybe it was because it hit us all at the same time, and it was equally forbidden in this fucked up way for all three of us. I know that sounds absurd, but in the world the three of us grew up in, playing in a rock band is just not on the fucking table.
My dad’s the same as Griff’s or Carson’s dads. They want us to play football, win a championship, and go to some Ivy League law school like them. We’re supposed to get married, make partner at a firm, have kids, and then send them to Winchester just like us.
Rinse. Repeat.
Fuck that.
I step out of the stairway into the practice room hallway. It’s dark, again, since it’s so close to dorm curfew and no one is even here. I frown, my ears perking up. Come to think of it, it doesn’t sound like anyone is here. I don’t even hear Zara, which is odd seeing as the one person rehearsing up here should at least be somewhat audible, even in the mostly soundproofed rehearsal spaces.