Page 42 of Tell Me You Like It

I turn around to face her, but she’s running ahighlighter across some text in her textbook. “What do you mean?” I ask.

She shrugs but doesn’t look up. “That group of guys…I mean, they’re bad news. They’re gods on this campus, and they get away witheverything. I’m pretty sure they could murder someone, and the university would happily look the other way.”

Yeah, I’ve heard they’re gods around here, too. But getting away with murder? “No way. Stop.”

Emily glances up at me then. “Are you kidding? Their families pump so much money into this university they practically own it. Their names are on all the buildings. Their money pays three-quarters of the salaries around here…”

I blow out a breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Once I find Bree, I’m cutting all ties with Roman.”

I’m even considering transferring to another school once all this Bree drama is over. After the year I’ve had, this stress is too fucking much. Nothing is worth risking my mental health–not even a full scholarship to one of the best schools in the country.

Nothing.

I’ve worked too hard to get back to a place where I can even get out of bed in the mornings. And if I’m being honest with myself, my mental health is still pretty fragile. It wouldn’t take much to throw me back into an emotional spiral.

“Breaking ties wouldn't be a bad idea,” she says. “But I wouldn’t get too attached to the idea of freedom. Roman doesn’t seem like a guy who just lets people walk away—unless he’s the one to walk away first. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

I turn toward my dresser, and sift through my drawers, looking for something to wear tonight. I don’t have any clean pants, so I opt for a long skirt, graphic “fuck the patriarchy” baby-T (it feels appropriate), a short-waisted jacket, and sneakers. Easy. Casual. I have no idea what kind of get-together Roman is taking me to, but everything here in Southern California is casual—so it’s a safe bet.

By the time I’m dressed, and I have my makeup freshened up, it’s a little past eight o’clock and my phone is blowing up. Several texts from Roman light up my screen.

I’m downstairs.

At the curb.

Are you coming down?

Don’t make me come get you.

With a huff, I type out a quick text.

Omw ffs.

This guy is so high-strung.Jezus.

I don’t even bother taking my wallet. If I need money, then Roman can fucking pay. I didn’t ask to tag along. I was ordered to attend, so he can pay for my shit. Besides, I have my credit card on my phone—so if I’m really in a pinch, I can use that.

“Okay, I’ll be back at some point tonight,” I say to Emily.

“Have fun,” she says. “Try not to worry about Bree. Her mom is probably right. She’ll turn up in a day or two.”

“Thanks, “ I say. Not worrying about Bree is going to be next to impossible, but I’m going to try and shove my concerns away—if only for the night.

As I walk out the door, before I shut it, I twist and poke my head back in. “If I’m not back by morning, I’m telling you right now, something is wrong, and you shouldabsolutelyworry.”

Emily laughs. “Okay. Got it.”

I click the door shut and suck in a breath. I feel like I’ve been doing that a lot lately–just trying to catch my breath.

Roman is downstairs, his car parked as close to the building as possible. He’s leaning against the shiny sportscar—I don’t even know what brand it is. That’s how clueless I am about cars. And with no visible logo, all I can be sure of is that it’s probably very expensive.

As I walk up to the car slowly, I take a second to admire Roman’s physique. I’d never admit this out loud, but he’s pretty fucking hot. He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his muscular thighs and a black t-shirt. His arms are crossed over his chest, his sculpted biceps pulling at the sleeves.

He must work out. I can’t imagine when he’d have time—what with all his lying around being worshipped. That must be very time-consuming. But it’s clear he findssometime for the gym.

“Hey,” I say when I’m within a few feet of him.

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