Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I bet. The secret delinquent genius.”
“If you think insults will put me off…”
“No, that’s what I like about you. You don’t try to impress me.”
“Should I?”
“Why would you, when you’ve got this whole mysterious scumbag thing going for you? Just be yourself, right?”
That earns me a deep laugh. Oh no. I like the sound of his laughter. It has the sexiest pitch to it, quickening my pulse a little.
“How about you let the mysterious scumbag take you out tomorrow night?”
RJ aims his cocky grin and charming hazel eyes at me, and I have no doubt it’s worked wonders for him in the past. Sadly for him, I’m not just another easy mark.
“How about no,” I answer graciously.
“Help me out then. I’m supposed to go to ‘the fights.’ Whatever that is.”
Ha. I tamp down a giggle, not wanting to give anything away. But it looks like RJ has managed to get absorbed into the social structure of Sandover whether he likes it or not. This should be good. For a laugh, at least.
“I wish you well.” I finish off his bottle of water and bend over to tighten my laces before standing. I still have a few miles ahead of me before nightfall, along with a pile of homework I’m determined to finish. That scholarship isn’t going to win itself.
“Want to give me a hint what I’m in for?” His expression is hopeful.
I could. But what would be the fun in that? Some rites of passage are for the traveler alone.
So I simply flash him a sanguine smile and say, “You’ll see. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Chapter 17
RJ
On Saturday night, Fenn and I cool our heels in our room waiting for the babysitter to pass out. The way Fenn explained it, the housefather has a routine you can set a watch to: He makes a lonely dinner in his apartment downstairs, turns on a couple hours of true crime shows or that History Channel alien bullshit, guzzles a few black and tans, and then falls asleep in his armchair, snoring over the TV.
“Dude, I swear this chick’s body was unreal.” Fenn bounces a tennis ball off the ceiling while lying on his bed. “Like some regressive comic book shit.”
“Cool,” I mutter while at my computer responding to messages.
Fenn’s been going on about the girl he hooked up with last night for like twenty minutes. This after he let some Ballard girl blow him before making an excuse to bail on her and bounce to a different bar. I stopped paying attention when he wanted to tell me about the mechanics of sixty-nineing in a Porsche.
“You ever let a girl finger your ass?” he’s saying now. “I haven’t, but she offered, and I was like, what the fuck? Who wants to be on the receiving side of that? I mean, to each their own or whatever, but some things are sacred. Let me have this one tiny space to myself, you know? I just met you. We are not that close.”
“Uh-huh.”
I fully support a healthy sexual appetite, but Fenn is sort of a glutton for pussy. At the rate he’s going, he’s bound to reach a point of diminishing returns. Or a broken dick.
“Hey.” He tosses the tennis ball at me. It hits the wall barely a foot to the left of my monitors. “What are you doing over there?”
I shoot him a look of warning. “Keep your toys on your side of the room or we’re gonna have a problem, Fennelly.”
“Oh, go cry to your mommy about it, Remington,” he says, mocking me. “Seriously. You got a cyber nerd girlfriend on this or something?” Then he snickers. “Sloane would be relieved.”
“Funny.”
“When are you going to give up and stop embarrassing yourself? She’s not caving.”
“I’ve barely started.” It’s not in my nature to admit defeat.
“Alright, seriously.” Fenn gets up to hover over my shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”
“Other hackers from the boards,” I answer absently, tapping out a quick message to some guy from Denver who I enjoy talking shop with. “People always hit me up for tips or resources. Ask for advice.”
“So you’re a big deal nerd guru to these people?” Fenn’s tone is equal parts impressed and disgusted.
I shrug. “Sort of.” Obviously I haven’t been around as long as some of the old-school dudes, but I’ve been in the community since I was a little kid. I’ve built a reputation.
Fenn’s checking his phone now. “Well, it’s time to unplug, bro. That’s not real life. This is real life.”
About an hour after curfew, Fenn and I sneak downstairs, past Mr. Swinney snoring in his armchair over Ancient Aliens. At the junior dorm we meet up with Lucas, the kid who helped me sort out the printer in the computer lab, then set out in the dark to the far north end of campus. Fireflies dot the black as the lights of campus dim behind us and the grass reaches higher up our legs.