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“You’ve told me before that he flirts with everyone.”
“He sort of does.” Iris winces. “But honestly? I haven’t heard much about him since school started.”
“It’s the first week. How much could you hear?”
“A lot, especially when you take into account that it’s Rhett we’re talking about. He played a bunch of girls hard last year.”
“That was last year,” I say with a shrug, hating what she just said. “Maybe he’s not like that anymore.”
“But maybe he is. Just—be careful, Willow. I don’t want you to fall completely for this guy and get your heart broken.”
“He won’t break my heart,” I say with a ferocity I don’t quite mean.
I hope that’s true, but I don’t know. Maybe he will break my heart.
Maybe I’ll let him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rhett
It’s around nine o’clock when the party is finally rolling along at a decent clip. There’s plenty of alcohol flowing. People brought their own. Plus, Brooks has an older brother who supplied us with a couple of kegs that are currently inside the crumbling old building that used to be part of the campus back in the day or some shit like that.
I don’t know much about this school, but that’s the story I’ve always heard. It’s also where the annual Halloween party is held, which is epic. I went to last year’s and got drunk off my ass.
“Where are all the girls?” Brooks grumbles into his red Solo cup of beer.
I’m tempted to tap the bottom of his cup and make it spill all over his face, but I don’t do it. I’m not that much of an asshole. “You know how girls are. They take ten hours to look like they just rolled out of bed.”
“Wish one of them would roll out of my bed.” Brooks Crosby is a grumpy motherfucker. He’s always complaining about something, which I find hilarious considering he’s richer than God—but not the Lancasters—and realistically shouldn’t have a single thing in his life to complain about. I’ve never seen someone so spoiled and so fucking cranky about it all the time.
I think that’s why he’s on the football team. It gives him something legitimate to do—and complain about. And while I’m not big on people who gripe all the time, I do care about my friend because he’s as loyal as they come and fast as fuck on the field. He’s my number one wide receiver and we’ve made more touchdowns together than me and anyone else. Our coach loves us.
The girls love us—well, me. Brooks? Not as much.
I blame that fact on his mouth and all the shitty things it says. Since I’m pretty much the same way, I figure this is why we’re such good friends.
“You start flattering them instead of giving them grief all the time and you’d find one,” I tell him, sipping from my cup of beer. It’s mostly foam and getting warmer by the second, but it’ll do for now. It helps knowing that if we want to get really fucked up, I have a stash of liquor bottles hidden behind a pine tree.
Not that I’m looking to get fucked up tonight. I have priorities, and at the top of my list is one Willow Lancaster. I have a feeling she’s no into sloppy drunk guys. Does she even drink? Or is she holier than thou when it comes to booze and drugs?
I won’t touch drugs, especially during football season. Our coaching staff has a zero- tolerance policy and I’m not about to risk it. First, my dad would murder me on the spot. Second, my mom and grandpa and everyone else on the Callahan side would murder me if my father didn’t do it first. I’m not about to ruin my chances. I have plans, and all of them have to do with going pro. Keeping up the legacy is important to me.
This is why I treat my body like a goddamn temple and work out morning, noon and night. So much exercise means I consume a ton of calories, and I just love when the girls say, “where do you put it all?” when they watch me eat.
I exert it all out on the field, ladies, is what I want to tell them but I don’t. They don’t get it. Well, some of the girls who are also athletes do, and I tried to date a couple of them—not at the same time of course—but I ended it with all of them. Always felt like we were in competition against each other and I hated it.
Weird.
Then there’s Brooks who smokes blunts and hits the occasional bong. Currently he’s going through an edible stage and he’s high at this very moment, but never worried about it. His family has gone to this school for generations and he knows if he was caught doing drugs, nothing would happen to him. His dad would throw money at the school and they’d have a new building under construction in no time. They’d name that bad boy Crosby too.
Wonder what it’s like, to be that untouchable? I come from a privileged background, and I never deny it. I thought I had it pretty good growing up, but then I came here and realized how we live is different compared to some of the people I go to school with.
They come from big money. Generational wealth, meaning they’re part of a long line of rich assholes who managed to make a fortune in the early days and the generations that came afterward managed to not fuck it up and spend it all.
Mom comes from wealth. My grandpa Drew Callahan’s dad was rich as hell too, and none of us wanted for anything growing up, but there are things people do here that we’d never think of asking for, let alone receive. Hell, there was a senior last year who brought her maid with her everywhere she went. In class. At lunch in the dining hall. During P.E. That poor lady was at this rich bitch’s beck and call at all hours of the day and night, and I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Here comes the Lancaster girls,” Brooks suddenly announces, his tone snide.
