Page 55 of Kingston
ELLIOT
English 101 is a snorefest.Totally not my jam at all. I’m going to have to have words with Mr. English Major Dane about the absurdity of why freshmen are required to read and study works that are hundreds of years old. I’m sure he’s going to give me someblah-blahexplanation.“It’s important to learn from our predecessors” or some lameexcuse, but damn, some of this stuff is mind-numbing.
I let my mind wander, thinking about the backyard blowup yesterday. Kingston is clearly in his feelings about something, and I’m not altogether sure what exactly it has to do with me. He was fine before Sunday night when we fucked. I mean, not fine—he was standoffish and overbearing. Now, though, he’s thrown up a barrier between us and hasn’t bothered to toss a rope over to me so I can scale it. And as fucked up as it sounds, I want to claw and climb my way to him, because every time he unleashes on me, I see something in his eyes that makes me wonder if he really means anything he says.
After Cannon took me back into the house, to his credit, he’d tried to reassure me—finally finding his phone in his gym bag so he could text me. I appreciate that he was trying to help, but my head was still outside with Kingston and Archer, wondering what the hell was going on.
I cautiously glance down at my phone in my lap, reading through the texts Cannon and I had exchanged as he did his best to reassure me.
I’m sorry. K has some stuff going on.
You don’t deserve to be his punching bag.
So, it’s not me?
Well. I’m not completely sure, to be honest.
Where are they?
I don’t know.
But probably down at the creek.
There’s a creek?
Yeah, at the very back of the property.
Kingston goes there to think sometimes.
Um. Was he mad
about you and me?
He—shit, I don’t know. I don’t think so.
I don’t see how he could be.
He’s been a dick to you.
A BIG dick.
It seems like he’s got
all this pent-up anger.
Leave him to me. I’ll talk to him.
But then this morning’s commute to campus had been deadly silent, and I have no idea if Cannon’s had a chance to talk to Kingston because I’m pretty sure he and Archer were both hungover. There was an empty whiskey bottle in the recycling bin.
“So, do you wanna get lunch?”
I blink, searching out the owner of the voice, which happens to belong to this guy, Patrick, who has occupied the seat next to me two classes in a row. I guess he’s finally gotten up the nerve to talk to me. With spectacularly bad timing, I might add, considering Kingston and Archer are waiting for me across the hall. I bite my lip, turning quickly to Patrick. “I’m so sorry, I can’t today.”
“You sure? I’ve heard there’s a taco bar on Thursdays.” The look he gives me is so hopeful and cute. And absolutely going to get me in trouble.
I give him a weak smile, my gaze flicking back over and meeting Kingston’s murderous stare. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you in class Tuesday?”
He smiles, looking slightly confused, but then glances in the direction I’m looking. “Oh. Someone waiting for you?”
