Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Yeah right. RJ is no charity case. Whatever he is, I know I haven’t seen his true stripes yet. He’s still camouflaged, out here in this borderland between our real lives. Nothing’s authentic until we meet each other in the real world, until I discover who he is in public when other people can see him too. Because more than anything, he has my curiosity.
“Fine,” I cave. “But I’ll have to sneak out. If my dad finds out, he’ll lose it and you’ll be in deep shit.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Don’t you have a housefather or something? How are you even going to get off campus?”
RJ cracks a thief’s smile. “Don’t worry, I got it sorted. Just be ready to go at eleven.”
Chapter 19
RJ
“Settle something for us,” Fenn orders when I slide into the seat next to him in the dining hall. I made it for lunch minutes before the kitchen closed. Thank God, because I’m hungry as hell from that joint I just shared with Sloane.
I set my tray down and waste no time digging into my meatloaf. “What?” I grunt between bites.
Fenn points his fork at me. “Man-bun: douchey or cool?”
“Douchey,” I say instantly.
Across the table, Silas dons a triumphant look. “See?” he tells his roommate.
“Aww, don’t do me like that, Remington,” drawls Lawson, who’s currently sporting the aforementioned man-bun. “DiCaprio wears a man-bun sometimes.”
“DiCaprio is a douche,” I reply.
“Blasphemy. Dude’s like fifty and banging twenty-year-old supermodels. He’s who I want to be when I grow up.”
That makes Fenn think for a moment. “I guess I’d start wearing a man-bun if it got me some supermodels,” he relents.
Silas gapes at him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I think the more pressing question is, how do we feel about ponytails?” Lawson asks, leaning back in his chair.
I make a gagging sound, with Silas and Fenn nodding in agreement.
“Gross, bro.”
“Unless you’re in a metal band,” Silas counters. “But even then, that’s pushing it.”
“It’d better be a damn good metal band,” I agree.
“Look at us!” Fenn says happily, gesturing toward me. “We’re bonding!” He glances at the other two. “I’ve been trying to bond with this asshole for weeks. He refuses to bond.”
Just like that, I clam up. Because he’s right. We’re borderline bonding here, and I need to nip it in the bud before something crazy happens—like I become actual friends with these guys and join their pussy posse.
Oh shit, didn’t DiCaprio have a pussy posse back in the day?
What have I become?
“Speak for yourself,” Lawson says over the rim of his water glass. “Your stepbro and I are old friends. We’re always bonding in Lit class, right, Remy?”
I fix him with a deadly glare. “Call me that again and I’ll sneak into your room tonight and—”
“Suck me off? Excellent. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Silas snickers. “You walked right into that one.”
“Murder you,” I grumble. “I was going to say murder you.”
Lawson just waggles his eyebrows at me.
I let out an aggravated sigh. “Fuck off, man-bun.”
After lunch, Fenn and I head back to our room, where I settle at my desk and check on some outstanding projects. I keep hitting dead ends in a couple of my background digs, particularly my deep dive into our housefather.
“You ever notice how Roger leaves here around the same time every Sunday afternoon and doesn’t come back until after curfew?”
“Huh?” Fenn is on the coach, starting a video game. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What do you think he’s up to?” I pull up another window on my computer. “The guy doesn’t have a family stashed off campus, right?”
“I don’t know.” His delayed answers come between button mashes. “Don’t think so.”
“Could be a girlfriend. Or elderly parent?”
I’ve been tracking his travels, but according to the map, there’s nothing out there but empty fields and abandoned warehouses. A single paintball range and ropes course is the only operational business nearby, but it closes before sundown. Swinney has no reason to be there late at night.
“Dude, what are you babbling about?” Fenn tosses the controller down and comes to read the monitor over my shoulder. “What’s so interesting about Roger?”
“Look.” I bring up the map. “Every Sunday he drives out to the middle of nowhere, a couple hours from campus, stays there all night, then drives back. But there isn’t shit out there. Not even a seedy motel to take a hooker.”
“Maybe they stay in the car.”
“But he doesn’t make any stops on the way. Straight there. Straight back.”
“Alright, so what? It’s Roger. Maybe he’s UFO spotting.”
Huh. Hadn’t considered that. “Or burying bodies.”
“Also a solid guess.” Fenn takes a seat on the end of my bed. “Wait, how did you even know about this?”
“Hacked his phone. It tracks his most visited locations.”
“Dude, that’s fucked up.” But he laughs when he gives it some thought. I tend to find most people value privacy in principle more than practice. “What else did you get?”