Page 8 of Smolder

The one thing I dreaded about tomorrow was seeing Merce. I hadn’t seen him since he’d broken it off with me two weeks ago. With the gambling ring starting back up, I’d be forced to run into him, possibly play a game or more with him.

Merce was the president of Alpha Epsilon Tau. Just like his brother and father before him.

The Dancastles were a powerful political family. His father’s upcoming reelection campaign was why he’d broken up with me. I wasn’t the kind of girl he needed attached to his name. His father had told him to end it with me, so he did.

During the eight months that we had dated, I’d never been to his house or met his parents. He kept me completely separate from them.

It hadn’t really dawned on me that he had kept me a secret until I saw a picture of him and Opal Dalton, the governor of South Carolina’s daughter, at a benefit gala in DC this past weekend on the Campus Happenings website and socials. The speculation that the two were dating was an actual article. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be photographed and have my love life shared with the world, but I realized that he had never intended for us to be more. Why he had pursued me so hard for more than a year before I gave in and went on that first date with him was beyond me.

He hadn’t hurt me, not really. It stung my pride. But that was about it. I hadn’t been in love with Merce. We just had fun. Then, he’d ended it. Which was for the best.

It was hard to have a relationship and survive my life. I had to stay focused.

This semester, I was taking more classes than allowed—for a student who was actually enrolled. But the more classes I attended, the more essays and papers I could write. I needed the money.

Tad, one of the football players I had met last semester in one of my classes, waved me down before I reached the door to the building. I stayed put while he jogged over to me. We had one class together this semester—History of Ideas.

“Hey, Royal,” he called as he slowed to a stop. “I lost your number. Got a new phone over the summer. My old one was sacrificed in the ocean—long story, but beer was involved,” he said with a grin.

“Sounds tragic,” I replied.

He chuckled. “Yeah, kinda was. I’ve been looking for you. By the time class was over, you were gone, and I need help.”

“The philosophy distribution of ideas paper,” I said, already knowing that was what he was going to say.

He nodded. “Yes. I have no fucking idea what Page is talking about. She scares me, looking out of those glasses with that disapproving scrunch of her nose.”

Professor Page was one of the best at the college. She had been teaching here for over thirty years. I was pretty sure she was aware I wasn’t a student here, but she never said anything.

“It’s gonna be two fifty. That’s not an easy assignment, and it takes a good deal of research,” I told him.

He nodded. “Sure, yeah, anything. If you don’t do it for me, I’ll fail, and I need this scholarship.”

He was here because he was talented at catching a ball and running. Nothing more. I liked him and all, but I did wonder what his GPA had been in high school. There seemed to be little knowledge swirling around in that head of his.

“It’s due in two weeks. I’ll have it to you two days before,” I assured him.

“You’re the best,” he said, then opened the door for me. “See you later,” he added as I walked inside.

In response, I lifted a hand in a wave and hurried to get to my next class.

•Four •

“I just don’t have time in my life for a stalker.”

Sebastian

The details that Wilder had pulled up on Crown “Royal” Shelton were limited. It took me a few minutes to get over the fact that she was named after a Canadian whiskey—and a fucking awful one at that—to realize how lacking her background information was. Typically, Wilder had every detail of a person’s life after he did his research. He’d said that was all he could find right away, but he was still digging. She didn’t even have bank accounts in her name. Her high school transcripts were impressive though, and she’d been offered several scholarships to colleges in other states, but she hadn’t taken any of them.

Her home address was in the information, so that was where I started. It wasn’t much to look at—that was for damn sure. The place was falling apart.

When she walked out of the front door, I was relieved. I’d wondered if Wilder had gotten it wrong.

Merce Dancastle attended many of the same functions I was forced to go to with my father. He always had some elite socialite on his arm. Most of those females had fathers in politics, like him. This girl checked none of those boxes.

She climbed on the back of a red Vespa, and momentarily, I caught myself questioning her safety, then remembered I wasn’t here to protect her. I stayed far enough behind so that I wasn’t noticed, although I didn’t think she was paying any attention to who was following her. I did ease in, narrowing the distance, making sure other cars didn’t get too close, when some fucker in a sports car almost ran her off the road. Hell, I couldn’t help it. That electric scooter thing didn’t look safe enough to have out on the main roads like she was doing.

Why was the Dancastle douchebag letting her drive that?

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