This building has enough security to avoid anyone without a code to come up, so I don’t know how she was allowed to. It’s unlikely that the receptionist let her in because she’s one tough cookie. I’ve been living here for almost three years, and she still doesn’t smile at me.
“How did you get here?” I ask, arching a brow. “You need a code to get into the elevator.”
A code or that the receptionist opens it for you. Which I know didn’t happen.
“I have my methods,” she answers, shrugging.
I cross my arms, leaning one of my shoulders against the doorframe. I don’t allow her to come in, nor I give her signs that she’s invited to do so. At least Bree’s not imprudent enough to push me and enter my home without permission. However, that doesn’t stop her from trying to peek behind my back. Her wide eyes and her teeth digging on her lip show her anxiousness.
I don’t know what she’s looking for, but I don’t want to give her a chance to find it. I’m still pissed at her, even if it makes me immature. So, I try to make my body cover most of the space in the frame. Bree’s relatively small—she barely reaches my chest—and it doesn’t take much effort to leave her without options. She has to focus on me.
“What do you want?” The question comes out rough, almost like a growl.
Bree hesitates.
Really hesitates, taking a step back. Her lips tremble as if she was fighting against herself. Her hazel eyes are clouded by indecision, a detail that intrigues me more than it should. She looks different from the girl that was trash talking me a couple of days ago. There’s something in the way her shoulders are down like they want to hide from the world. I can almost smell the anxiety coming out of her body.
“I—…” Bree shakes her head, closing her eyes for a split second. “This is going to sound weird. Weirder than everything you’ve ever heard in the world. Actually, I’m sure that you’ve never witnessed anything alike—”
“To the point,” I cut her off, pressuring her to stop stalling and answer the question.
Her verbal vomit is making my study time shorter, and I truly need to catch up. So does she. What is she doing here, anyway? As we both failed the test, she should be trying to find a way to pass the class and not on my doorstep, babbling nonsense.
First of all, how did she even know where I live? That’s something that she should be telling me instead. We don’t party here. Why even bother when there’s always a frat party doing them for us? We just have to show up, drink a couple of beers, smile, and then carry on with our lives. The apartment is our sanctuary, the safe-hold in the madness that surrounds us. Only a few people from the inner circle and the team have been over.
She’s most definitely not part of any of those.
“I don’t know how to get to the point,” Bree confesses in a whisper.
An almost imperceptible blush appears on the olive skin that covers her cheeks, and I frown at her loss of words.
“Start by telling me how the hell did you know where I live and how were you allowed to come up.”
She shrinks, hiding her hands in the pockets of her hoodie.
“I have my methods,” she repeats her previous answer.
I scrutinize her, suspecting of her ways to sneak here. It sounds like she had no problem coming up. Either she has known the receptionist for a long time or…
“It was Ryder, wasn’t it?”
Her expression, although trying to remain unbothered, confirms my theory. There was no other way for her to do it. Ryder is also the only one capable of letting her in after spending a long time looking her up on social media after telling him her name.
Knowing him, he probably sang the complete address.
“I want to know something about your roommate,” she says abruptly, dragging me away from the thought of Ryder.
I’m caught off guard.
If Ryder let her in, why on Earth does she want to know something about him? He’s not even in the apartment, so I don’t get what his purpose was.
“About Ryder?”
“No,” she uttered, almost biting the words. “About the other roommate.”
I raise my eyebrows, wondering how a girl like her is connected to someone like John Carter. The guy is a complete ass, and while she’s stubborn and annoying, I can’t see her with someone like him. There’s a softness in her rough edges that won’t blend with Carter. Even if she tried to. The only thing that they have in common is that they both get on my nerves.
“What about him?” I question, completely lost.
Bree quivers. Her reaction is problematic.
Damn, I hope she didn’t come here to ask me if Carter has an STD.
“I want to know how frequently he checks his social media.”
Hell, I swear that every time that this girl opens her mouth, she says the opposite thing of what I’m imagining. I can never predict what’s coming out of her lips or what’s her next move. Bree is entirely unpredictable, always catching me unprepared to reply. I give her that much.
“You’re right,” I admit, and she tilts her head, waiting. “That is the weirdest thing I’ve heard.”
I’ve heard some random shit before. The way some people talk to me during parties, and counting the two conversations that we’ve had before, that is indeed the strangest thing that I’ve listened to in my life.
She moans, frustration dripping in the sound. “Please, answer the question.”
“Why do you want to know?” I ask out of curiosity.
I want to gather the details before I send her off on her way because I don’t know a thing about Carter’s life. He lives here, yes, but that doesn’t make us tight buddies.
“Just wondering.”
“Okay, what makes you think that I can answer that?” I concede, following her game, trying my best to hold back the laugh that threatens to break free.
She blinks.
“You… live together.”
“We share an apartment,” I correct her.
“And?”
I scoff.
“That doesn’t make us the closest pair.”
We tolerate each other, extending some courtesy, but that’s as far as it goes. We share an apartment and a field. But other than that, we don’t share the same interests.
Sometimes I even doubt that even Ryder can have a real connection with that guy.
“Yeah, but you live together. Does that give you some proximity title?”
I roll my eyes, feeling annoyed.
“I don’t know what kind of relationships you have with the people that you live with, but we don’t do that here. He’s just a guy that happens to live in the same apartment that I do. There’s nothing else.”
Bree remains quiet, staring at me for what seems like an hour. Indecision returns to her eyes as they hover around the edges of the doorframe.
“Hmm…”
“What?” I insist.
She shakes her head.
“No, nothing.” Bree pushes a smile on her face that I can see that it’s fake from a hundred miles.
It’s the same smile that she used with the Harpy since we started the class, so I’m familiar with it. Mainly because it’s also the same smile that she used with me after the test.
“You clearly came here to ask something.”
“Well, tell me what I need to know.”
Interesting choice of words. That information is not something that she wants but needs. Since when did something so trivial become a need?
“Why do you wanna know?” I press. “Are you stalking him?”
She rolls her eyes so hard that there’s a chance that they’re going to stay stuck in the back of her head.
“I’m not stalking him,” she spits out roughly. “Stanley, just answer the damn question, so that I can leave and we’ll both be happy.”
“You haven’t answered mine,” I remind her.
Bree groans with defeat.
“Fine,” she grants. “Maybe, and I make empha
sis on that, a friend sent him an embarrassing message by mistake, and I want to know how much do I—… She has for him not to notice it or to find a way to cancel it. Wait, is that possible? Can you cancel a message after you sent it? Because that would be great. No, more than great. It would be perfect. A blessing from God. Do you know that miracle where he turned water into wine? That has been quiet since someone mentioned the miracle of canceling a sent message.”
I’m perplexed with the number of words that she pronounced nonstop. Bree just kept throwing all kinds of sentences without thinking that it only makes her look guiltier.
The side of me that wants to be petty has the impulse to ask Carter for a screenshot of the message, but at the same time, I can understand where her embarrassment comes from. Honestly, if I were in her place, I would be planning my death, but this isn’t my problem. I had nothing to do with that, and I don’t owe her anything.
“That was a huge monologue, Bree.”
“Yeah, whatever. Now it’s your turn. How much time does my friend have?” Her emphasis only cuts my smile wider.
“She doesn’t. He probably saw it,” I reply with a shrug.
Panic covers her expression as her body freezes. Her eyes are wide open, and her chest rises and falls. She looks like she’s living her worst nightmare, and there’s nothing that she can do to escape from it.
“How could you know that?” The question comes out in a squeak.
“He always reads the previews but never replies.”
Bree barks out a nervous laugh.
“He what?”
I press my lips together as I do my best to remain serious. It’s not that I’m lying to her because Carter rarely answers messages or enters the conversations. Ryder taught him that trick when he complained about girls asking him why he left them on read.
“Yeah, he gets tired of girls asking why he reads the messages but doesn’t reply, so he reads the previews.” Bree’s eyes water, and I’m afraid that she’s going to burst out crying. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t because I can’t handle when girl’s cry. I’ll end up doing anything she asks me—sympathy pools in my stomach. I’ve seen many girls fall for the Carter effect, but I didn’t think she would be one of them. She’s too tough for that, but looks are deceiving. “Look, if you wrote something and he saw it, the chances are that he won’t remember it by tomorrow.”
My words are honest, and I genuinely mean them. Carter is too much of a dick even to remember who texts him. Fuck, the asshole doesn’t even remember to reply to my messages sometimes, and we live together. I’m confident that a message from her isn’t going to make a big difference. Only because she finds it embarrassing doesn’t mean that he’s going to do something about it. He’ll forget about it soon enough.
Bree moans.
“That doesn’t help me sleep at night.”
Well, I did my daily act of kindness.
“Too bad, buddy. If you excuse me, I have to go back to study,” I announce and turn around to close the door.
Bree’s hand wraps around my arm, stopping me before I’m able to get away. I arch a brow in her direction.
“I can help you with chemistry if you do me a favor.”
I don’t hold it. The laugh runs free and loud before I can even process it.
“Thanks, but I learned my lesson,” I let her know, shaking my head. “Remember? It happened this week. You even got a grade lower than mine.”
The bitter taste from the grade is still present in my mouth. It’s a memory that it’s not going to be replaced anytime soon.
“That offends me, but I’ll take it because I’m desperate,” she comments, going back to her usual careless tone. “The person that helps me with the class is a chemistry genius. She’s my cousin. I can get her to do your assignments… for free.”
Fuck me.
The word “free” is more than tempting. My body itches with the need to agree to her terms because I need to pass the class. Bree’s offer is on a silver platter, ready to be served.
“What’s the catch?” I ask cautiously because I can sense there’s something that I won’t like about this.
“Steal—no, more like borrow his phone and delete… bring it to me, and I’ll delete the message.”
It’s official. Bree Pierce is a mad woman and has a death wish. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to be able to pull off a robbery. Besides, Carter would cut my balls if he caught me stealing his phone.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Please?” Bree asks with a pout.
Not even if she crawled on her knees.
“Don’t even try,” I cut her off. “It would be best if you gathered what’s left of your dignity and left.”
A long and strained sigh erupts from her.
“I’ve resigned to believe that it doesn’t exist. I was born without it. It’s the only flaw of my personality.”
“I can think of a few more,” I whisper under my breath.
“What did you just say?”
Bree’s eyebrows shoot up, and her glare is daring me to repeat what I said just to see if I have the balls to do it.
I’d rather keep them safe and away from her rage.
“That I need to study more.”
She bites her lip.
“You won’t help me?”
I purse my lips together on a tight line.
“I’m not suicidal,” I say, grabbing the doorknob. “Do you want my most profound and honest advice on how to handle this? Drop out.”
“From college?” Bree creaks out the question.
“At the current time? From life.”
I offer her a final smile, enjoying her expression that yells to the four winds how much she wants to kill me, and close the door. Going back to my place at the table, I touch the laptop as my eyes linger on the paused video.
Reality hits me like a cold wave. I’m wasting my time. I’m not going to learn a thing this way. I won’t pass the class, and I’ll have to say goodbye to my scholarship. I’ll end up working with my dad or sweeping the cut hair from my mother’s salon.
Biting my inner cheek, I make a desperate decision that I’ll probably regret in the future.
I’m going to steal that damned phone.
Chapter Eight
I can’t stop the tremble shaking my hands. They just keep moving out of control as I walk through the hall on my way to the chemistry classroom. I’m hyperconscious of the extra weight in the pocket of my jeans. It’s light, but I’m paranoid and anxious, so it feels like I’m carrying a brick. Hell, it’s not even that big of a deal, but I can’t help but feel that I’m going to get thrown in jail if I get caught by the police.
I stole the phone.
I, Stanley McKinley, stole a freaking phone. Not just any phone, but my housemate’s. I’m not even sure how I pulled it off. I sneaked into his room when he locked himself in the bathroom. It didn’t take me long to reach the phone sitting on the nightstand, charging and accessible. It was an easy task. However, that doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel like I was about to die the whole time. During those two minutes, I felt and heard every noise down to my core. I sweated like a pig, and I still haven’t been able to calm my heartbeat.
If my mom finds out that now I steal phones to pass my classes, I won’t see the sunlight again.
Or maybe I’m exaggerating.
Considering how detached Carter is when it comes to social media and keeping in contact, maybe he won’t realize that his phone is missing. He barely uses it. I’ve heard him curse when it rings, so it’s not like he cares.
I spot Bree sitting on the floor in front of the classroom with her head leaned against the wall. She has her earphones, and her eyes are closed. I can feel my heart thumping faster as I walk in her direction. The anxiety is coursing through my veins, the adrenaline burning my skin. I know that once I tell her that I have the phone, I’ll officially be a thief.
I hesitate for a second. Do I really want to do this? I can still t
urn around and pretend like this never happened. I have time to change my mind.
But that will certify my failure in the class, and I can’t afford that.
“After class,” I tell her before I enter the classroom.
“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Bree asks, following me inside.
“After class,” I repeat to her dismay.
The class passes excruciatingly slow. I try to take notes, but I end up with a blank page in front of me, incapable of writing something else than today’s date. My fingers can barely hold the pen, so I stop trying to force myself to write anything at all.
An hour and a half later, the Harpy lets us go, and I leave the room with Bree. She has a crease on her brow, analyzing me through half-shut eyes.
“Okay, what’s up with you?” she blurts out, irritation present in her voice.
“I’ve got it.”
Three simple words. That’s all I can manage to pronounce, but Bree seems to get what I mean. Her eyes widen with disbelief. I think she accepted that she needed to confront her reality because the last time we spoke, I basically told her to fuck off with her crazy plans.
But well, the world works in mysterious ways because here I am now with a stolen phone in my pocket. I’m allowed to swallow my pride to do something that will benefit both of us.
I need to get a good percentage in the assignment’s grade to get back on track. Right now, I just need to pass. It doesn’t matter if I don’t get an A. My GPA can handle a C. Even if it hurts and damages my aspirations of graduating with the highest honor.
“Are you kidding me?” Bree questions cautiously.
She stares at me, her hazel eyes piercing through me as if she was trying to decipher if I’m joking around.
I wish that I was because that would mean that I’m not a step away from becoming a criminal.
“I swear that I did it,” I assure in a low voice, keeping my face straight.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 7
