Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1)

by Thalia Sanchez

  The microwave beeps, letting me know that the pizza is heated, and I open it, sliding a hand inside to grab the plate.

  “Why are you mad at him, though?” I question with genuine curiosity, walking towards the kitchen island where I set the plate down.

  “Because he’s in a bitchy mood, and it got way worse after he argued with that girl from the party.”

  The last part catches my interest.

  An image of Bree forms in my head before I can’t stop it. Her angry hazel eyes seem to follow me around today, always popping into my thoughts without asking for permission. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize that in less than twenty-four hours, I’ve witnessed part of her worst and spiteful side, and it’s not something that I can wash away from my mind quickly.

  Bree Pierce has pure fire running in her veins, and I seem to be the gasoline igniting her.

  “What girl from last night?”

  The question is only to make sure that we’re talking about the same person. John Carter is quite popular with the girls, and there’s a long list of them that have had arguments with him. However, my intuition is telling me that Ryder is talking about Bree. She’s like a magnet to have fights with jocks.

  “The one from the Beer Pong game,” he replies, shrugging slightly.

  I roll my eyes.

  “Which one?” I insist because there were a couple of girls playing Beer Pong last night. Including Bree and a girl that the whole campus knows well, Ash Moore. Not because she has a reputation, but because she’s actually some kind of celebrity. Professional model from what I’ve heard. “Future Miss Universe, or the other one?”

  Even when I try to sound unbothered, I can recognize a small tremble in my words. I’m not casual about this as I thought I was.

  “The other one, duh. If I had been talking about Ash Moore, I would’ve called her by her name. Everyone knows her.”

  True.

  “The tiny devil?”

  Ryder snickers.

  “That’s one way to put it, yes. The one that kicked your ass last night and put Carter in his place in less than twelve hours. That’s role model material.”

  I don’t have doubts that we’re talking about the same person. Bree has some severe backbone; I have to give her that. One thing is letting me know what she thinks about me but standing up to Carter is something completely different. It doesn’t happen often. Yes, girls tend to spill their drinks on his face and slap him too. I don’t think that Bree had the same reasons that they do to be pissed at him.

  There’s still a bitter taste in my mouth when I think about her and how she treated me today. Mainly because she fell for the lies that people spread about me.

  “Bree,” I mutter in a barely audible tone.

  Ryder turns his head to stare at me. He’s frowning, completely confused with what I said.

  “What?”

  “The girl. Her name is Bree,” I clarify.

  That doesn’t help at all because his frown cuts deeper in his face. His blue eyes glow with intrigue.

  “Do you know her?”

  I nod.

  “We have chemistry,” I reply with a shrug, and I bite the slice of pizza.

  “Why do I feel like this has another explanation than the one I’m thinking?”

  I almost choke on the pizza when the realization hits me. My words sounded worse than I intended. Without the proper context, it sounds like I’m trying to imply a different thing.

  “We take chemistry class together,” I answer properly.

  The mischievous spark doesn’t abandon his gaze as he nods. Ryder’s more interested than he was before. Turning off the TV, he turns his whole body to focus on me.

  A groan wants to escape my lips, but I do my best to repress it. I don’t want Ryder to get the wrong idea about this girl in particular because I don’t think that there’s a chance in hell that we’re ending up the way that he’s probably thinking. I’ve spent a lot of time with him to decipher that his wolfish grin suggests that there’s more going on.

  “And you only have chemistry in the class?” Ry tries to sound serious as he puts his elbow on the back of the couch. However, there's a trace of laughter in his voice that only makes me want to throw him the plate. But I don't do it because I value my life and I'm also starving.

  I'll hit him later for even suggesting that.

  Scoffing, I reply, “Not in this lifetime.”

  Ryder hums.

  “You sure?”

  “Yup. Bree was close to stabbing me last night because I asked her if I could copy from her exam today.” Ryder’s laugh echoes in the apartment. “And do you want to know the worst thing? She’s worse than me in the subject.”

  Ryder breaks into hysterical laughter, almost howling. His face turns red, and he has to lie down on the couch to catch his breath. He sounds like a hyena, which is typically contagious, but I don’t find it funny at the moment.

  “Oh my God,” he says once he's recovered. Ryder lets out a sigh that mixes with a whistle and wipes a few tears that escaped his eyes. “Haven't I taught you anything? If you want to pass a class, fuck the teacher or the TA. You don't go around asking people if you can copy from them.”

  The worse thing about his advice is that I don't doubt for a second that he has done it before. He's completely capable of being able to talk from experience.

  “I learned that the hard way,” I mumble.

  He shakes his head.

  “Would it make you feel better if I told you that your Bree put Carter in his place publicly?” Ryder asks, trying to lift my mood.

  I tilt my head.

  “First of all, she’s not my Bree. And I don’t think that’s going to make me feel any better. He probably deserved it.”

  “Yeah, he did. The dumbass said that the only reason she won was that she got lucky when it's obvious that she has a good aim. Better than he does. Actually, why don't we kick him out of the team and put her instead?”

  “Because she’d kill me instead,” I remind him.

  I don't know her a lot—or at all—, but I've seen that she's reckless. I can perfectly picture the way her face must've transformed as she turned into a little devil, making him go through a humiliating hell for even trying to suggest that.

  “Carter's a sore loser,” I comment.

  “What's her full name?” Ryder asks out of nowhere.

  I frown.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I'm building an altar for her right here in the middle of the living room, and I'm going to slaughter virgins in her name,” he says, sarcasm spilling in his words. “Because I want to look her up on social media, Sherlock.”

  I find it weird that he wants to do that, but Ryder does random stuff. Especially when it comes to girls. Once he had a fling with a girl that was into role-play in sex, and I saw him dressed as a cowboy and a cop during a whole weekend.

  I don't doubt for a second that he's going to try to get into her pants. If he wants to, I wish him luck because that girl is the devil, and she's capable of eating him alive.

  Chapter Four

  I spend the whole Friday focused on finishing a project for my photography class. I don’t even abandon my room—only to grab an occasional snack—because I don’t have self-control, and I will talk for hours and never finish this assignment before the due date. Thankfully, I haven’t encountered my housemates, and I’ve had the chance to put my fingers to write the analytic essay of the photographs that professor Meyer sent us.

  For this reason, and only for this one, I’m glad that we have different schedules. Typically we see each other on campus, but Fridays are busier for them. Cora has to go to the ballet academy, where she dances most of the day. Ash usually has photo shoots scheduled, and Karma spends the day at her studio trying to make the most of it.

  I’m determined to end this so I can have the full weekend for myself. After the rough week that I experienced, I sure need to take some time off to process e
verything. Starting with the fact that I spent the first days trying to absorb the chemistry book—only to end up failing the test—, the Stanley argument that still has me bitter, and the deception of getting a confirmation that guys are assholes. My taste for men hasn’t evolved at all. Apparently, it has gotten worse over the years.

  I think that I’ve been grateful for not hanging out with the girls this week because I’d tell them everything, and that will take a toll on me. The alcohol-involved kind of toll. This weekend I’m going to need at least a bottle of wine because I plan to drink until I forget everything that happened this week. This is why I need to finish the essay before I gather my friends and drag them along to this wild ride.

  A girl’s night is precisely what I need to wash away the frustrations from the past couple of days. Part of me already fears that I may do something stupid that I’ll end up regretting tomorrow, but I can’t care enough to put a stop to the plans for tonight.

  There will be no harm as long as I don’t leave the apartment.

  The screen of my phone lights up as many notifications hit, but I focus on finishing the essay, even when my hands ache to grab it and read the messages. If I lose concentration, it’s over for me, and I’ll leave it until the due date.

  It’s not until I turn in the essay, and I’m free of any academic baggage that I leave the laptop on the desk and reach for the phone instead. Proving that I’m a free soul during the next two days, I answer to a couple of messages in my family group, assuring them that I’m fine and I haven’t been kidnapped by aliens either. Then I simply check the social media notifications. As I swipe my thumb over the screen, I meet a few ones that catch my attention.

  In the middle of the notification center, right under the Instagram logo, I can read: ryderweisss followed you. The thread of bubbles tells me that he liked some—if not all—of my photos.

  I’m confused. I can’t completely process what happened, and I’m lost, swimming in a pool of concern and curiosity.

  Why the hell is Ryder Weiss following me on social media? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I don’t have many photos of myself because my profile is primarily directed towards my photography.

  I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know about me. I think. We’ve never crossed paths, other than when I saw him at the party a couple of days ago when he was standing next to John, and then with Stanley during the Beer Pong game. Other than that? Nothing. Nada.

  The only information that I have about him is that we go to the same university; he’s a lacrosse player and fills a defensive position there. I don’t pay attention to him or to the rumors that always surround guys like him. He’s irrelevant.

  Maybe he’s not a bad guy or doesn’t have other intentions, but we don’t mingle around the same group of people. I don’t think that we would mix well either. People like Ryder and people like me don’t associate.

  Completely weirded out, feeling that something isn’t right about this, I choose to take a look at his profile. His bio is short and straightforward, only revealing his age—twenty—, the initials of Moss, and the number of his lacrosse jersey with an emoji of a golden trophy next to it.

  Swiping down, I check out his photos. He’s active on the platform, having a fair amount of followers and many posts. His images vary a lot, although he’s the protagonist of most of them. Doing exercise in the gym, dressed up at formal events, some promos of the athletic department, and selfies too. Stanley is with him in some photos, which makes me roll my eyes, but I keep seeing the rest of the images. There are videos of him working out shirtless,

  I admit that he’s handsome. He’s attractive in the “I’ll rip your panties off with just a smile” kind of way. His face has almost symmetrical and perfect features. A sharp jaw, pale blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a couple of freckles decorate his face over his cheeks. His smile is gorgeous with pearly white straight teeth, and dimples form with it.

  There’s probably some drool sliding down from the corner of my mouth, even when he’s not the type of guy I’m into. Not that I have a type, but I know when someone is not right for me.

  Most of the time.

  For a minute, I debate on whether I should or shouldn’t follow him back. I could benefit from the support and his account. Although I’ve gotten most of my followers, thanks to Ash and her career—I’ve taken many of the photos that she posts—it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to benefit from. As a thank you gesture, I end up hitting the button.

  It’s not like that will connect us. He does follow a lot of people, and I’m no different from the rest of them.

  Dropping my phone on the bed, I leave my room, walking towards the kitchen. I hear laughter and music coming from there, and I instantly recognize the voices. The girls are at home.

  Ash is in front of the stove with her raven hair tied in a bun to prevent strays from falling into the pot of what she’s cooking. Cora is waiting for the microwave to finish warming up her food, and Karma is sitting on the kitchen counter, nearly choking on a greasy hamburger that makes my stomach cry out in hunger. Ash and Cora usually keep a healthier diet for their careers, but Karma and I take any chance to consume any junk food we can.

  “Give me a bite,” I tell Karma, taking the burger from her hand. She whines but lets me feed myself from her meal. “I’m ready to get wasted tonight.”

  They all stare at me as if I’ve said something out of the ordinary.

  “Are you okay?” Ash asks, cocking her head.

  I nod, giving Karma her burger, and I walk to the cabinet where there’s an opened bottle of wine next to the fridge. I can sense their gazes focused on me, analyzing every movement. Especially when I take the cap off and lead the bottle to my mouth, chugging the alcohol. There’s not enough wine to share it with them, and since I bought it, there’s not an issue with me drinking straight from the bottle.

  “Wow.” I hear Karma mumble behind me.

  I’m not a hardcore drinker if I’m honest. I don’t tolerate alcohol well, and it’s worse when I haven’t fed myself properly before consuming liquor. Tonight, however, I’m looking forward to get wasted as soon as possible, which is why I don’t care about making a big meal before ingesting any substances that might make me do things that I’ll regret.

  I groan loudly, trying to put my thoughts together before I start having a long conversation with them. My friends never want me to skip details about what’s going on in my life. That’s the thing about living with your best friends. It’s hard to keep things from them. Even the embarrassing or infuriating stuff that you want to maintain hidden from the world.

  Ash, for instance, grew up with me. She reads me like a letter and knows when something’s up with me. This time isn’t the exception. Something is going on, maybe not what they expect, but there’s a variation of different events that have transformed my life the past couple of days. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions that I still haven’t sat down to process.

  “Yeah… No—both?” I stutter because I can’t put it into a single word.

  I feel bad because I failed the test after I burned my lashes studying. For once, I realize how screwed up liking John Carter is, and I’m confused because I don’t understand why Ryder Weiss decided to follow me.

  Of course, there’s also the Stanley issue that has been the source of my anger this week.

  “What happened?” Cora questions in a cautious but caring tone. Instantly, I recognize the future therapist's voice that she uses when she’s trying to get someone to spill their guts.

  Scoffing, I take another sip from the bottle. It gives me a couple of seconds to put my thoughts in order. At least in chronological order.

  “For starters, I failed the test, so there’s a big fat F in my back.”

  “We’re so sorry about that, Bree. We know you studied hard,” says Cora, tilting her head, and her blonde hair moves with her. Her green eyes glow with a hint of empathy.

  That’s the problem with the class. I’ve b
een working my ass off for the past month, trying my best to keep up with the lectures and discussed topics. Everyone has been in the same position when they fail a test; it’s part of the student life. However, it’s still frustrating to know that you put all of your efforts into something that ended up being a complete failure.

  I’m disappointed with myself, and that feeling takes a toll on you. It’s tough to get back from that sensation because it’s all that I can think about. Disappointment can be one of the worst feelings in the entire world.

  A sarcastic laugh emerges from my lips.

  “That’s not even the worst part. Remember the party?” They nod, seeming lost because they don’t know where I’m headed with this. “Well, I take chemistry with Stanley McKinley—”

  “Why hadn’t you mentioned that before?” Ash questions as she crosses her arms.

  I shrug.

  “Because it’s insignificant,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “The point is that I saw him at the party, as you all know.”

  “It was an intense game,” Karma chimes in with a trace of amusement. “I’ve never seen you almost lose.”

  Almost lose? It was a fucking tie! There were no winners or losers.

  Although her words offend me, I do my best not to let it show. They won’t stop bugging me with it if I make a scene out of it. Hopefully, they’ll forget about it next week, and all of this will be a blur.

  “It was a tie,” I correct her, forcing a tense smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “The point is that Stanley asked me if he could copy from my test.”

  “Why? You suck at it,” objects Cora and I glare at her. “Sorry, Bree, but it’s a fact.”

  Sighing, I don’t fight against her comment. I am bad at chemistry, and there’s nothing that I can do about it. Chemistry is not for me, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not bothered when someone points out that I suck.