Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
I grin a big, silly grin at him.
“Life’s a hell of a ride, huh?”
Instantly, it’s like a switch flicks. His hands drop from me, and I frown, my mind whirling as he suddenly pulls back from me. Water cascades over both of us, dripping from his face, but is eyes are hard, and cold, and distant now. I frown as I step towards him.
“Camden, what’s—”
“Fuck, what the fuck are we…” His eyes close tight, his jaw grinding as he shakes his head. His eyes open, and suddenly, he’s backing away from me.
“Wait, what the hell is going—
“Stop, Waverly,” he growls, his face hard and lines, his eyes wild as he holds a hand up when I move towards him.
“Camden, what the hell just hap—”
“I can’t do this,” he growls lowly, his eyes hard as he slowly shakes his head. “I can’t, Waverly.”
He just keeps backing away until he grabs his discarded towel off the ground and wraps it around his perfect body. His eyes dart to mine a whiteness on his face as something dark and haunting flits over it.
“I’m sorry,” he growls softly before he turns and storms away.
What. The. Fuck.
The water still pours over me, and I just stand there letting it, feeling empty and numb. Minutes ago, I felt on top of the world. I felt invincible. Now, I just feel nothing.
Eventually, the water begins to lose its heat, and I turn and shut it off. The locker room is silent but for the thudding of my pulse and the breaking of my heart.
7
Waverly
Fuck him.
The first thing I do the next day is skip my gym period. Spending an hour in the weight room or on a treadmill with him lurking around me, being hot and cold, and hot and cold, or just being an asshole?
Yeah, fuck that.
Skipping gym class to take a study period is one thing but skipping swim practice is another thing entirely. I do, for a second, weigh the idea of just quitting the team forever, but reason rolls its eyes at me.
Fuck Camden Kirby. He might be a bi-polar fucking dick, but he’s sure as shit not taking swim away from me. I do ignore him when I show up though. I glance over enough to know that he’s staring right at me, that dark, brooding look on his face that I once found irresistible. But I hold my head up high and go about my stretching, and then my time drills for the day.
At some point, he comes over to go over some things with the girls’ team, but I never make eye contact with him, and only nod when he tells me what we’ll be doing in the next practice routine.
Eventually, we take a break to rest up for a second. And that’s when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn, half expecting Camden, but instead, it’s Ian.
“Sup, girl?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I smile thinly at Ian. “Uh, hi, Ian.”
Ian’s not necessarily a bad guy, he’s just kind of a douchebag. Let’s be fair, most of the kids at Winchester come from more money than they know what to do with. I mean even me and my mom are pretty well off from her first career in the private law sector before she moved into education. That and the trust my dad left us, oddly enough, when he ran off with his business partner’s wife when I was six.
But Ian is another level of rich. He’s old-money rich, and he’s got the dickhead pedigree to go along with it. The fact that he goes around talking like he’s some kind of hip-hop star is just another layer to his douchery.
“Girls team ready for the meet next week?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I think so. Hamstead Prep has a crazy good four-hundred meter relay team this year, but I think we can—”
“Awesome!”
I frown, a little bewildered at him cutting me off, but I shrug it off.
“Hey, so, listen. What are you doing tonight?”
I arch a brow. “Homework?”
He grins. “Nah, fuck that. Listen, you know Scott Manning? Graduated last year?”
I nod. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, I don’t know him, but I—”
“Well he’s home for the week from NYU, and his folks are in Europe. There’s going to be this sick party, and you should totally come!”
I frown. Everything about what Ian’s just said sounds awful. For one, I don’t do parties. I don’t drink, because it would be ridiculous with all the training and conditioning I do. For two, even though I don’t know Scott Manning, I know of him, and he’s even more of an old-money rich douchebag than Ian is. And for three?
Well, I could honestly go on for several reasons why going to a douchebag party with douchebag Ian doesn’t sound like my idea of a fun time, but the first two are pretty much good enough as they are.