Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Well, you passed the nerd test,” Noah says.
The surfer guy leans in. “Ignore him. He’s a closet Trekkie.”
Damon points as he goes along. “That’s Rebecca, Skylar, Wyatt, and Noah. Everyone, Maddox.”
Staring at the group, I can’t help noticing how mismatched they all are.
“Damon, I think we broke your friend,” Noah says. “He’s staring at us weird.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just … odd dynamic.”
“Think you have us figured out already, huh?” Damon asks. “By all means, tell us how we’re odd.”
I’m worried I’m about to offend a table of people I’ve just met. “Uh …” I clear my throat. “Wyatt surfs. Skylar’s in a band or is an artist, and Rebecca looks like she’d be a nurse or in childcare.”
Noah leans in, resting his elbows on the table and his blue eyes shining. “And me?”
“I could see you as an athlete. Basketball or track, maybe.”
“Congratulations,” Damon says, “You got none of them right.” Everyone at the table snickers. “Although, you came close with one. Skylar’s the nurse, not Rebecca.”
The black-haired punk smiles at me. “Pediatric nurse to be exact.” My eyes fall to her tatts. “I wear long sleeves at work and take out the nose ring.”
“Rebecca’s in some of my law classes, and she’s going to be a killer litigator,” Damon says. “Don’t let the sweet appearance fool you. She’s a shark. Wyatt’s an analyst—”
“I’m not an analyst. I’m a data manager for a start-up.”
Damon shrugs. “Same thing. And then we have Noah. Noah is, uh …”
“Go on, Damon, you can say it. I’m a trust-fund baby and haven’t worked a day in my life.” Noah turns to me. “But if I hadn’t been so terrified about my team beating me shitless, I would’ve played basketball. So you were close.”
“You’re forgetting you lack a thing called ball skills,” Damon says.
Noah flips him off.
“That was a fun lesson to not judge those by how they look,” I say.
“We all found each other in college,” Damon says.
“And now that you’ve had your fun,” Noah says, “we get to have ours and guess who you are.”
“Frat boy,” Rebecca says.
“Marketing major,” Wyatt says next.
“Total manwhore when it comes to the opposite sex,” Skylar adds.
“He may be a manwhore when it comes to women, but we know he’s only recently realized he’s into guys,” Noah says.
Meanwhile, I sit here with my mouth hanging open. “How did you—”
Damon nudges me. “They’re not psychic, just assholes. I already told them about you. I also told them to be nice, but they’re ignoring me.”
“Nothing wrong with a little hazing,” Noah says.
“I made it through Alpha Phi rush week, so hazing doesn’t scare me,” I say.
Noah grins. “Want a drink, newbie?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a cocktail. Because, you know, I have to order those now.”
Four pairs of eyes blink at me.
Damon laughs at me and mutters, “Now you’re the asshole.” He turns to his friends. “He’s fucking with you. He’s best friends with my sister, so do you expect any less?”
“Ooh, we love Stacy,” Rebecca says.
Damon gestures to me. “Meet male Stacy.”
Eww. Damon sees me as the male version of his sister? No wonder he doesn’t want to hook up.
“So, that drink?” Noah asks.
My phone dings in my pocket. “Sorry, I thought it was off—” I go to turn it to silent but see it’s a text from Stacy.
Stacy:
It was Matt Jackson you hooked up with, wasn’t it!?!?
Panic has my fingers flying across my screen.
Maddox:
How did you find that out?
I glare at Damon, but it’s premature.
Stacy:
Check the news.
“What is it?” Damon asks at my furrowed brow.
“Nothing good,” I murmur.
Stacy attached a link, and when I click on it, photos of Matt in a compromising position with another guy pop up on screen. From what I can tell of the dark images, he’s in a club.
The headline reads NFL Star Matt Jackson Spotted at Gay Nightclub.
“Ah, shit,” I mumble.
“What?” Damon asks.
I shove my phone at him. “Guess you were right.”
“Matt Jackson is your ex-hookup?” Damon asks incredulously.
“The Matt Jackson?” Noah asks.
“Who?” Wyatt asks.
“Geez, Wyatt,” Skylar says. “Even I know he’s a tight end for the Pennsylvania Bulldogs.”
Damon scrolls through the article. “This is bad.”
“What is?” Noah asks.
“This article outed him,” Damon says. “There’s definitely no denying it’s him in the photos.”
Noah holds his hand out for the phone. “Damn.” He pinches the screen and zooms in. Matt’s holding up his shirt, showing off the lower part of his abs, while a guy’s on his knees in front of him. “Can’t see any of the good stuff.” Noah gives me my phone back. “Although, you’d think they’d come up with a better headline. How did they miss a pun about being a gay tight end?”
“At least he isn’t a wide receiver,” Skylar jokes.
Normally, I’d laugh with them, but I can’t help wondering how Matt’s dealing with this.
“This isn’t a professional press release or tasteful at all,” Damon says. “His contract is up, there’s been no public announcement of renewal yet, and the season’s over. I hope he has good representation.”