Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

He inputted his name and number in my contacts list then pinged a message through to his. I watched the delivered tick flash up.

“Now we’re properly acquainted,” he said. “You can reach out, if you need me. I promise I won’t bail again in a hurry when some asshole wants to scare me off.”

He handed back my phone and I held it tight, staring at the new contact information.

“Thanks, Jake Wharton,” I managed. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you, Paige Emmerson,” he said.

I walked. Slowly. Headed back to lectures and the gossip tsunami without so much as a backwards glance.

My tits burned at the memory of his fingers all the way.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

My pussy was burning harder for another man.Chapter EighteenBrandonThe afternoon was drawing to a close when Lance approached my desk with a raft of paperwork under his arm. He pulled up a seat on the other side and handed it over.

I took it with greedy hands, eyeing up the enlarged library card photo of Paige on the opening page. He’d been busy. His smug smile told me as much as he reclined in his seat with his arms folded.

“She’s a delicate little thing,” he said, and I grunted in affirmation.

I took in the header. Paige Rowan Emmerson. A Pisces from up in rural Somerset. Her smile was nervous in the photograph. Delicate, as Lance had put it so delightfully.

“I followed her this morning through lunch,” he told me. “Kept my distance but she was easy enough to keep track of.” He pulled out a fake visitors badge with the college crest in the corner. “Security isn’t up to much around these parts.” I kept staring at her picture as he cleared his throat. “Approaching nineteen. Good student. Good attendance. Studying psychology. Lives in a dorm on-site with a couple of other girls. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good,” I said. “And what gems of insight did keeping track of her reveal?” I asked him, flicking through the first few pages.

I saw the answer before he had the chance to fill me in. My gut lurched like a train off the tracks, a pathetic reaction to something entirely predictable.

I recognised him, even in daylight. One of those wimpy little boys from the beach towering over her like a horny prick by a big fucking tree somewhere. He was taller than I’d given him credit for, more muscular than I’d observed when I’d floored his sorry ass. His expression was serious, his arm pressed across the pretty tits he’d pawed so greedily. His hand gripped her arm in a display of dominance, which didn’t suit the sad cunt one little bit.

“A hook-up?” I asked Lance with narrowed eyes.

He barely shifted in his seat. “Not obvious. No groping or tongue action. Just some guy, pulled her out of the library block. They talked a bit. He obviously had the hots for her. I think she likes him back.”

I flicked overleaf to find two more pictures of the same encounter. On one she was handing her phone to him. On the next he was using it as she stared up at him.

“Swapping numbers?”

“Looked like it. Setting up a date, I’d guess. You’ll have to watch out for that shit if she’s coming here.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you, Sherlock.”

I was taken aback by the inner burst of rage at the prospect of that wimpy piece of shit chasing down a date. I should’ve shoved him a damn sight harder when I had the chance. Maybe busted a kneecap and prevented him getting back on his feet half so fucking easily.

Already I was well aware the girl was worth a fuck load more than a guy who’d grope her tits and dash away like a pussy boy when the going got tough.

“Did she leave with him?” I asked.

Lance shook his head. “Nah, she headed back to classes. Nothing more to see there.”

“Good,” I said. “There won’t be any hangers on waiting on the outside when her sixty days begin, I’ll be making sure of it.”

“There’s talk all over the fucking campus,” he told me. “Talk about shit here. Talk about serious cash for spreading your legs and taking a beating. Talk of the Emmerson girl running back to her dorm with her tits out and her arms filled with cash the other night. I’m guessing that was you.”

“Is that so?”

His expression was serious. “Seriously, there’s gossip fucking everywhere. You can thank the Lane girl for that, by all accounts, everyone is talking about her, too. They didn’t even shut up long enough to let a college visitor pass them by, most of them.” He paused. “This Paige girl has some balls on her, hanging around through that amount of bitching.”

I nodded my head at his compliment of her.

“I’ll be addressing Miss Lane’s big mouth soon enough,” I told him. “She’ll learn her fucking manners all over again.”