Page 75 of Kings & Corruption

Ispent the next couple of days trying to focus on school. Not just the work, but the social scene, which was ten times more interesting. Everyone still treated me like I might have a communicable disease, but I made an effort to be friendly anyway.

If I was going to figure out what happened to Emma, I needed friends, and that meant I had to send the signal that no one was going to get their limbs ripped off by the Kings if they talked to me.

By Thursday, I was settling into the routine of driving to campus with the Kings — sometimes with Neo and sometimes without — and going to class, eating in the cafeteria with Claire, Quinn, and Erin, driving home with the Kings, doing homework in my room until dinner, which was always something amazing either cooked by Rock or ordered from one of the restaurants in town.

I was in the middle of an Econ paper Thursday night when my phone pinged with a text from Mara.

Please tell me you’ve fucked at least one of those boys.

I grinned.I have not. Sorry. What about you?

Nothing but preppy fuckboys here.

And the Kings aren’t fuckboys?I texted back.

Our fuckboys are better than their fuckboys.

I laughed out loud. She wasn’t wrong. When you grew up around a bunch of big-dick criminals, polo-wearing trust fund boys didn’t hold much appeal.

Fair. How are you otherwise?

Bored af. You?

I considered my answer. I’d only been at Aventine a week and my other lives — the one where I hung out with Mara after school, the one where I hopped on a plane on a whim — seemed light-years away.

Getting used to it here.

There was a pause, and I wondered if Mara was holding back too. There was only so much you could say via text.

You okay?she finally texted back.

I’m good.I was surprised that it wasn’t entirely a lie.It was weird at first but it’s getting less weird.

Except for the part where I was seriously considering fucking two of my roommates. And the part where I had to force myself not to fantasize about my stepbrother. And the part where I was going to have to break into someone’s house and then steal the stupid medals.

It was too much. Too much to tell her via text and maybe too much to tell her ever.

I’m glad, she texted back.FaceTime soon?

Yes please.

She sent me some kissing emojis and I sent some back before setting my phone down. I tried to refocus on my Econ paper, but my mind was scattered. I was almost relieved when my phone pinged again.

I picked it up, expecting it to be Mara, but it wasn’t. It was a text from Rock in the group chat.

This meatloaf isn’t going to eat itself.

I stared at my phone and briefly considered passing and going down later after everyone else had eaten, then sighed and got to my feet. I told myself it was because I was hungry, but the truth was, I’d started to enjoy the nightly routine.

I liked the other guys in the house, except for Enzo, who still looked at me like dog shit on his shoe. I enjoyed the banter and laughter and camaraderie, probably too much, and as much as I hated to admit it, the house was starting to feel a little like home.

Everyone but Neo was already there, piling meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes on their plates, when I got to the kitchen. The other guys moved aside a little as I came into the room, something I’d noticed they always seemed to do, like they were afraid to get too close to me.

Except for Rock and Oscar, who continued to kiss me and pat my ass and do all kinds of other things I would have broken anyone else’s hands for doing. I couldn’t get my head around why I allowed it — why I liked it — but I’d put that particular question aside for the time being.

“Want a beer, tiger?” Oscar asked, standing in the open door of the fridge.

“Sure.” I still had to finish that paper, but one beer wouldn’t kill me.

---