Page 324 of Vicious Saint
42
Hendrix
“Ireally fucking hate that I’m not coming with you.” Saint curses as he adjusts his sports duffle over his shoulder, still loitering by the entrance to my dorm room.
I won’t lie, the idea of not having Saint with me at the university has been weighing on me too, especially since last minute jitters have been wreaking havoc on me since yesterday.
“It’s your championship game, Letterman,” I tell him as I fasten the last button on my blazer. “Pretty sure that takes precedence over sitting in a waiting room as I try selling myself to Bromwell University’s President.”
He grumbles something about killing the guy if he denies me under his breath, and as much as I appreciate the psycho sentiment, we both need to get moving.
Marching over to Saint the best I can in heels, I squeeze his shoulders. “Thong or boy shorts?”
He quirks an intrigued brow.
“To bring with you for good luck.”
The words sound as ridiculous in my head as they do out of it, but I need Saint’s head in the game, because if I leave Riverside with even an ounce of doubt he’s not focused, there’s no chance guilt will allow me to be focused. Therefore, if stuffing my panties inside his pockets like a damn security blanket is what it’ll take for him to feel less guilty, so be it.
“Both.”
Of course.
I make my way over to my drawers, pulling out the first thong and boy shorts I see, one black one white, then march those suckers over to slap in his hand. “Here.”
After a quick examination, he stuffs them in his sweatpants pocket. “I prefer the blue thong, but whatever.”
Fucking, Saint.
“Well, maybe if you’d stop tearing them in half they’d be an option.”
He shrugs.
Pressing my hands against Saint’s cheeks, I focus my eyes on him. “We celebrate two wins today, yeah?”
This results in a wicked grin and his hands squeezing my ass.
“Don’t you even think it,” I warn. “My hair is done and you already wrinkled these pants enough last night.”
A solid time, by the way, for me to agree to role play sexy sportscaster.
“Can’t help it, Jimi, this outfit makes me feral.”
“You’ll be just as feral later.” I bring Saint’s face to mine and kiss him hard. “Now get outta here and kick some Catholic high school ass.”
Carlo showed up about ten minutes after Saint left, and it took a lot of self-control not to sharp left onto the football field as we made our way to the parking lot to get in his Escalade.
The university is about a half hour away, and we’ve spent fifteen minutes of it with me going over talking points anddigging relentlessly through my portfolio to make sure I didn’t forget anything.
I was given the option to send my files to admissions via email for this very reason, but to me, virtual is not personal.
I want the BU president to hold my portraits in his hands, feel the blood, love, and tears I poured into every curve and shadow. To read through my comics organically, give him the chance to envision them as a book or even better, a future cartoon series.
“We’re almost there,signorina…cinque minuto,” Carlo announces from the driver’s seat, keeping his eyes on the road.
Five minutes he says.Five freaking minutesbefore I potentially walk into the rest of my life.
With every stop and go of Carlo’s truck, my palms become sweaty, so I allow myself one more look into the folder before placing it next to me on the seat.
