“She had to make a call, but our girl here will replace her,” says Cora, elbowing me gently. “Who knows, maybe you stand a chance of winning after all.”
As if he stood a chance.
I choke back a chuckle.
He missed that train four cups ago. It’ll be fun to watch him try. No matter how hot he is, my competitive side is bigger than anything else. I’m probably worse than any jock, and I’m not ashamed of it. My brother is the one to blame for my behavior.
John doesn’t mind. He probably thinks that he can recover his dignity. Poor guy. He makes his remaining shot, and it proves that he has no chance of winning this. He’s drunk and his aim is off; not even the fact that his position in the team consists of throwing a ball across a field will help him now. Oh, the irony.
I smile, watching him drink while I grab a clean ball. Closing one eye to sharpen my aim on one of the cups left, I throw it. The sphere enters the cup, making a splash as it falls on the beer.
John’s lips curl in disgust. He grabs the plastic glass to empty it, while his eyes glare at me.
I throw again, and the ball dunks into the other cup.
I have two more shots, but I only need one.
Blowing the ball to clean it from the beer, I concentrate. When it’s scorched, I make my shot; everything moves in slow motion. The ball turns in the air, going straight into the…
“Yes!” Cora and Karma high five and hug me.
“C’mon, Carter. Are you serious?” Ryder, one of his teammates, elbows him with a playful smirk. “You got beaten not by one, but two girls who are not even in sports. Are you sure that you can throw a ball for a living?”
John still has a redemption shot, but for that, he has to eliminate all of the cups left. The world is against him because making nine shots when he’s drunk it’s not happening. He could have a chance on a good day. Tonight, it’s impossible after all that he’s drunk. Scoffing, he throws the cup on the table and leaves.
“I want in. Against you.”
I arch a brow at Stanley. I almost laugh as I watch him take John’s place and starts rearranging the cups. A couple of guys help him by opening the cans of beer and filling them.
“You’re going to lose,” I warn him, shrugging because I’m overconfident.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Cora’s scowl. It reminds me that this is the exact reason why I didn’t come to the party. Once I touch the Beer Pong table, I can’t leave.
I have a test in a couple of hours. I shouldn’t be here.
But this will be quick, I think, as the tip of my tongue caresses my bottom lip.
“We’ll see,” Stanley mutters. He presses his lips together to fight a smile.
“What do I get out of this if I win?” I ask.
I know what he wants if he wins: to copy my exam. Even if he ends up being the winner, I’ll have the last laugh because I know shit about chemistry. I’m only passing the class because my cousin, Luanna, does my assignments. If it weren’t for that, I’d be carrying a big ass F on my back.
“Whatever you want. Name it.”
Oh, that sounds tempting.
The possibilities are endless, and I can’t just pick one.
“Okay.” I raise my chin cunningly. “If I win, you’ll become my bitch for the rest of the semester. Deal?”
People around us start laughing, and I can hear them making bets. I notice a couple of them taking out some bills to leave them with the bank, the person who will make sure that the money gets paid to the winning side.
“You asked for it, darling.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the smile that draws on my face.
No, Stanley, you did. It’s what I tell myself. I grab the first ball and allow the game to begin.
Chapter Two
I arrived two minutes late to the exam because I had to run to campus—and I don’t have a single athlete bone in my body—risking that the Harpy wouldn’t allow me to come in. Imagine my reaction when I saw Stanley sitting behind my usual seat with a bright smile, looking like he didn’t consume a single drop of alcohol last night. He looks radiant, completely perfect in every way.
How is it even possible that he can have that much tolerance to alcohol, and I end up looking like trash after three drinks? I think while frowning, losing track of the topic of the question I’m supposed to answer. It’s unbelievable. Can something bad happen to this guy? For real, he needs a piece of karma.
The universe seems to laugh at him because I can hear Stanley shifting on his seat, trying to get a better look at my answers. His knees touch my lower back, and I flinch, earning a suspicious look from the professor.
My lips press together into an innocent smile. The only thing missing for me to look like an angel is the halo above my head. Of course, the feeling is fake because there’s no way I can feel that way. It’s impossible.
I wish I could say I got something good out of this—of the hangover and the bet—but the universal scale of my emotional state is leaning towards the negativism. The worst thing is that I had it coming. I have no one to blame, not even stupid Stanley and his tempting offer, but myself. The need to fuck things up for him was bigger than my reasoning. I didn’t even take three seconds to think that my ego was on cloud nine after beating John’s ass; I was overconfident.
I can’t say that I lost, but it wasn’t a victory either. We both had a remaining cup when someone screamed that the neighbors called the cops, and all of us fled before we got arrested for underage drinking. So, there was no way of knowing who won.
Tie.
It was a tie.
I’ve never tied with someone before.
I don’t know how to feel about it, besides regret for not being responsible and fighting my destructive instincts. Is there a way to know at what age I’m supposed to control myself? Because I’m nineteen and I still have the mouth filter of a four-year-old with ADHD. My mother surely didn’t think that I was going to turn out this way.
Stanley buffs behind me when I lean to the right, covering the panoramic view he had of my paper. A smirk crosses my face, knowing that I have the upper hand now. Or at least a small advantage considering that I’m practically the size of a dwarf next to him, so I barely block his sight.
I try my hardest to concentrate on the sheet of paper in front of my eyes. It’s full of hieroglyphics that I don’t understand, but I do my best. Repressing the temptation of putting a few answers wrong, I bite the inside of my cheek. There’s no way that I’m passing this test with a good grade. Hell, I’ll be lucky if I even get a passing grade. I’m not risking it. No matter how much I want him to get a taste of his own medicine, which he’s still going to get.
My head is close to exploding, constantly beating, feeling every sound drill my skull with a painful stab to the temple. I’m tired and dehydrated, showing off dark eye bags that furrow my face. The lack of sleep is taking over, making my eyelids heavy while reading the questions on the paper. There’s a constant hammering inside my brain, and the words clump together, forcing me to blink frequently as I do my best to stay focused and comprehend the test.
Looking at the test, the questions keep mixing with the others, my mind getting absorbed into a spiral that erased any chemical knowledge from my brain. Frustration takes over because I know that I’ve seen and read the topics mentioned, but not a single memory of the process jumps to save my ass. The only thing that I know for sure is that I’m the first to finish the test. Putting the pen in the back pocket of my jeans, I walk instinctively towards the wooden desk where the Harpy is sitting, and I turn in the exam.
Professor Byrne always corrects the tests when we turn it in, so we can’t leave the room until she’s done. It’s her way of making us suffer more than we already do. A new method of torture invented by her.
My eyes travel towards the blond guy who copied my answers without knowing that I’m the worst in the subject. He’s frowning so deep that his eyebrows are almost touching each ot
her, and he licks his lips in concentration.
I translate it differently.
His whole expression screams that he doesn’t understand shit of what’s in the paper. I know it because I had the same one.
“Here you go. Now leave,” Byrne dismisses me, handing me the folded test, hiding the result from my eyes and the others that surround us.
What a sweetheart, I think, as I suppress the superhuman need to roll my eyes, grabbing the test from the other end of the paper. I offer her a smile when I catch her disappointed glare. The Harpy is undoubtedly tired of having dumb students who don’t get whatever she’s supposed to teach us. Of having me as her student. However, every effort I make to seem excited and content with the result is an act to make Stanley believe that he can trust the answers he copied.
The pleasant surprise he’s going to get when he gets his test back will be my payback. I can almost sense the sweet taste of satisfaction on the tip of my tongue. He’s going to take a sip of his own medicine.
Hell, I even wink at him to make it seem like everything is going great.
The reality is far different from what I’m trying to make it. Honestly, I only knew my name because I had to double-check my student number.
Dragging my feet outside the classroom with my backpack over my shoulder, I maintain the façade until I reach the hallway. Walking away from the door, I unfold the paper with shaky fingers. I’m so nervous that the sheet gets slightly humid with the swear coming from the palm of my hands.
“Lord, I know I’m not devoted, but please make me the miracle,” I plead in a whisper as I convince myself to see the grade.
There is no miracle.
In the top left corner, there’s a huge “F” written in red ink. The punctuation is fifty-seven percent. Well, fuck me. I curse under my breath as my eyes roam over the paper, absorbing my mistakes. I even got wrong the ones that I answered confidently. My whole paper is crucified with ink. This is it. I’m going to end up repeating the class. There’s no way that I can make up for this and reach a passing grade.
My only hope is to continue cheating on the assignments. Even if it’s not technically the best and ethical option. I’m not willing to pay hundreds to retake the same class. My luck isn’t going to save me from this professor again.
Groaning, I shove the test inside my backpack, hoping never to see it again. Frustration starts blooming in my belly, settling in my stomach as minutes pass by. I’m mad at myself for not being able to handle courses that are supposed to be of general knowledge. I passed high school chemistry—barely, but I did it. Why is it so complicated for me now?
“Wait!”
Even when I’m on the verge of crying in the middle of the hallway, a smirk sneaks into my face when I hear Stanley’s voice. His slightly raspy voice is full of rage and anger that’s directed towards me. I turn on my heels with a smug expression. Satisfaction flows through my veins; the sensation is gratifying. I may be the smallest one out of the two of us, but at this precise moment, I’m huge. My ego has blown up, power rushing in my system when I realize that karma punched him in the guts.
For a split second, I’m afraid that his whole head is going to explode. The skin covering his face is as red as a tomato, the blush expanding to his ears and neck, getting lost in the hem of his blue hoodie. On his right hand, Stanley is holding the wrinkled test, probably picturing my neck instead.
However, no one told him to take advantage of people. If he weren’t the king of campus, maybe he would study.
“Good morning, Stanley. How are you today after that hangover?” I chirp in the softest and sweetest tone that I can come up with at this time in the morning. Knowing that he’s mad at me is what inspires me to behave this way.
He scoffs. I can almost hear his teeth creak together as he clenches his jaw. The muscles of his arms tense under the soft fabric of his hoodie.
“Cut the bullshit. You did it on purpose,” he accuses and purses his lips together.
Yes, darling, I didn’t tell you that I know shit of chemistry on purpose because I hated the shameless way you asked if you could copy from me.
I raise an eyebrow with a naïve undertone.
“Do what?” I question, playing dumb as I bat my lashes.
“This.”
I tilt my head, trying to comprehend the vagueness of his statement.
“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that,” I recommend, intertwining my hands in front of me.
There are a few things that I could’ve done on purpose. It doesn’t mean I did all of them. That would’ve required more time and effort than what I’m willing to give him.
“Putting the wrong answers on purpose. You wanted me to fail,” he speaks harshly.
I hope he’s not planning on being a detective. Sherlock Holmes would be disappointed. He’s so wrong and far away from the facts: I suck at chemistry. Is it really that hard to get?
I’m not the brightest student around. If I want good grades, I have to work my ass off, spending long hours reading, and practicing to learn. Sometimes, even when I do that, I still get paralyzed when I’m given a test full of questions that I’m meant to answer in a certain amount of time.
It’s unbelievable that Stanley can think that I would risk my future to piss him off. Who in their right mind would do something like that? This is college, for fuck’s sake. We’re not kids. We’re paying for an education, not for obtaining low grades and screwing up our GPA’s.
“Uh, no. What I did do was hide the fact that I have a C-minus in the class. My knowledge is limited, but seeing you fail with me is oddly gratifying,” I say, raising my chin.
He snorts with disbelief.
I can see that Stanley is getting close to losing his mind for failing the test. None of this is my damn fault. If he knew that we had a test, why the fuck he chose to go out and party all night instead of staying home studying? Stanley needs to review his priorities and work on them.
“No?” His deep voice full of skepticism. Stanley straightens the paper in front of me, and I have to take a step back to focus my sight on his grade. A frown cuts my expression deeply when I notice that he got a fucking D. He did better than me. “Does this look like a passing grade?”
I purse my lips together in a dissatisfied grimace. It’s unfair! How is it possible that he did better than me? I’m furious, flaming as I hold back my need to strangle him. I studied for long hours during the whole week, and he goes out to get drunk the night before and earns a better grade? He can pass the class with a goddamn D!
“That’s not my fault. You should’ve studied more,” I pronounce through gritted teeth as I turn around to continue my way out of the building, but Stanley blocks my path before I can reach the stairs.
“Why did you fail on purpose?” he pressures.
The laugh that escapes my lips is sardonic, raspy, and heavy.
I can’t believe this guy.
“Do you really think I would screw my future to bother you?” I snap, pure venom soaking my words. Stanley stays silent, unable to utter a single word. “You have a colossal ego, buddy. If I ever want to commit suicide, I’d just climb to the top and throw myself off it. Certain death.”
His light eyelashes almost touch when he narrows his eyes in a fulminant glare.
“You don’t think I’ll believe that, right?”
My expression remains impassive. I frown my lips as I wait for him to realize that I’m not messing around.
“I thought we established that you’re the clown here.”
“You’re kidding me. You said you were good!” Stanley exclaims, moving his hands around, looking like he’s about to have a breakdown.
“Correction: you assumed I was good. I never clarified it. Besides, you know what they say about assuming things. You make an ass out of you and me,” I quip, shrugging.
Stanley closes his green eyes and inhales deeply through his nose.
“Let me see if I understood. You’re t
rying to say that you’re just naturally bad in class, but you’re the only one that turns in the homework without any mistakes?” He inquires warily.
I nod. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
I roll my eyes, annoyed.
“Yeah, bad for you. You copied from the only person who can’t differentiate the elements in the periodic table. Tough shit, champion.”
Passing around him, I continue my way and take a look at the watch that hugs my wrist, making sure I have enough time before my next class.
Stanley jogs, skipping a couple of steps to catch up with me once he’s out of his stupefaction.
I admit that this whole situation is confusing. I’m the only one in the class that has a perfect score in the homework grade, but those are assignments that we take home. I don’t even touch them. My cousin Luanna does since she was the only one of the family to be good at chemistry—or any science.
“Do you think this is a game for me, Bree?”
I stop midway and cross my arms above my chest to adopt a position that reassures him that I’m as honest as I can be. I’m angry, frustrated, and hangover, a detail that only makes me more susceptible.
“Do you really want to know what I think of you?”
Stanley hesitates for a second, doubt clouds his orbs.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” I insist, tilting my head.
“Just say it.”
“I don’t like you,” I establish and then catch a breath before letting out my ranting. “You’re too self-centered, and you think that everyone here revolves around you because you’re some kind of athletic god, which is absurdly cliché. I despise that you have it easier around here because everyone says you’re a lacrosse legend. So yeah, this is a game for you, one that you’re not winning for once.”
If I thought he was pissed before, now he’s about to blow off like a grenade. I can almost see the fire swimming in his green eyes. The image reminds me of a dragon about to burn a whole village.
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he mumbles, there’s a warning in his voice.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 2
