Page 123 of Burn Bright
“Fuck you,” I say with less heat. “I don’t have a bedroom; in case you’ve forgotten.”
“So shoving yourself into a four-by-four space makes total sense,” he says. “Got it.” He opens the door wider and lets me pass him. I’m halfway to the couch when he adds, “If you need privacy for a phone call, to jerk off, or just to get away from Eliot and Tom, you can always use my room or Beckett’s. One of us is usually not home.”
That stops me cold in the middle of the floor. I almost think I misheard him. I’m about to ask if he’s for real when I glance over and see him pop something in his mouth. He catches me staring and his brows rise likewhat the fuck are you looking at?
Adderall? Ecstasy? Fucking Zoloft? I don’t know. It could just as likely be an Allegra to combat seasonal allergies, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to ask.
“I’ll be sure to use your room to jerk off in,” I tell him.
Charlie flips me off, then rotates his hand to check his watch on the same wrist. “Not that I care, but shouldn’t you be at some board game thing?”
Fuuuuck.
I check the calendar on my phone. Board Game Club starts in twenty minutes. How did I even forget that? How did Charlie remember? I grab my jacket on the back of the couch, and as I hurry out the door, I hear a faint, “You’re welcome.”
28
BEN COBALT
She’s not here.
Harriet should have finished volunteering for the night about ten minutes ago, and the hospital isn’t too far from campus. I’ve shot her a couple texts, but I don’t expect a reply if her phone is still off.
Still, I’m stressed. It’s past nine p.m., and if she doesn’t respond, I might head to the hospital.
Would that be too much? I know she’s independent, and I don’t want to seem suffocating.Fuck. Why is this so difficult? I usually knowexactlywhat to do with friends. But she’s not a typical friend. She’s…more.
Maybe I could just send Novak.
“Hey, Ben.” Quentin Tupu rounds to my table ofone. I’m oddly alone in a back corner, an arched stained-glass window beside me. Four other circular tables have five to six people packed around them. The board game, Catan, sits unopened two feet from me.
Quentin is the club president, Samoan, and incredibly friendly. To the point where my ass is partially in this seat andnot in a jog to find Harriet because I’d hate to offend him or ruin his attendee numbers.
And yeah, I’ve only had two interactions with him. The last club meeting and tonight.
He places a casual hand on the Catan box. “Looks like you’re missing some players. You can join Table Three.”
“I’m waiting for someone actually.”
Quentin’s gaze veers past my shoulder toward the door. “Ah, right on time then.”
My relief floods me only to wash out to shore as soon as I rotate around.Fuck.I know Xander plays super intense strategy games like Warhammer 40k, LARPs on the weekends, and watches every fantasy show on TV. He’s even currently wearing aGame of ThronesHouse Stark T-shirt, and yet, I didn’t expect him to be here.
Geeky shit might be his thing, but clubs never were.
What’s not shocking? He’s here with Easton Mulligan. His best friend. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in five hundred years and will suck your blood if you get too close. He’s quietly threatening. Exactly what Xander would need in a friend, since he’s harassed at least once a day by paparazzi or obsessive fans.
I would’ve thought I’d be that friend for him. Battling off unwanted attention. I would’ve never predicted the turn of these tables when we were kids. That his protective best friend would be the one glaring at me.
Easton isn’t fond of me…to put it lightly.
I can’t tell if he sees me right now. He has on sunglassesindoors.
His styled chocolate brown hair is shorter on the sides, a little longer on top, and he’s tall, lanky, and pale white with a confident, unperturbed stride. What’s funny is he could so seamlessly fit in with my family.
He wears his wealth.
Expensive, fashionable style. Tailored suit pants, crisp button-down, black leather jacket, and dark Prada sunglasses. He’s a Burberry ad come alive.
