Page 45 of Into Ruin

His phone died? idk. I ran into him on the quad and he recognized me. [blushing emoji] Didn’t you mention I have a bf?

Uh, no, you didn’t come up. Are you still with him? I’ll head there when this class ends.

kk!

Ishake off my frown. She’s nice enough, but we never got along. She’s texted me—and sought me out—more now than when we lived together. I skipped out before Royal or any of the other guys were awake this morning, my stomach in knots.

Something about Camden…

I don’t know.

Maybe it was what happened yesterday. The sequence of events that still makes me want to squirm in my seat.

What the hell was I thinking?

It’s bad enough that I’ve indulged in Camden’s twisted fantasies—and, maybe, even enjoyed some of them. But I’ve let him get away with a lot of other shit, too. Like filming me. Posting it to that account. And, most importantly, somehow hiding that all from my brother.

My mind goes back to the rose on his desk. It had looked like he pulled it from the garbage bin outside, but why? He hadn’t asked me about it. Didn’t use it to torment me. I didn’t find the petals scattered across my bed or anything creepy, which is what I would’ve come to expect.

Ugh.

It might just be a mystery that will never be solved.

I focus back on the professor’s lecture and scribble notes to punctuate their key points. Basically, desperately trying not to lose my academic cool in the first semester at FSU… I can’t flunk out. Not when Royal somehow maintains a three-point-two grade point averageandplays hockey.

He would never let me live it down.

And if he finds out what I’m doing with Camden?—

Wait. When did it becomewithCamden? And not what Camden is doingtome?

Shit, this is worse than I thought. Three orgasms in a row clearly went to my head, impacted my sleep, and made me delusional.

Once class is over, I pack my bag and shoot Royal a text.

Me

Class just ended, so I’m heading to the arena

Just in case you get your phone charged before I get there

There’s no reply, which makes sense. I don’t know what he needs from me at the arena. There was one time he forgot his stick at home, and Mom and I had to rush back home to get it.

To be fair, he was ten when that happened, and his teammates ridiculed him so badly, I doubt he’s ever forgotten his stick again.

Or helmet.

Or skates.

So… what does that leave?

Oh, God.

The blood drains from my face. I tried to be quiet last night, but what if heheard? What if he’s packed my shit and decided I’d actually be safer somewhere far, far away from Camden Church?

It wouldn’t be the worst idea, but it would also suck now that I’ve discovered the magic of his mouth. And that’s dependent on if he would use it again.

Now, fully convinced Royal is staging an intervention where he feels most comfortable—the arena, obviously—I shrug on my jacket and make the trek down the street from campus.

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