When Sinners Play (Sinners of Hawthorne University 1)

I tilt my head, scowling at her. “What the fuck makes you think I want to keep Gray Eastwood of all people interested in me? I’d love it if he’d leave me the fuck alone, but since he’s obviously not gonna do that, I’ll fight back if I have to.”

“Oh, please.” She tosses her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I know your type.”

“Yeah? What type is that?”

“This.” She waves her hand at me, as if encompassing everything I am. “You come from a foster home and you have a tragic little backstory, and you’re all edgy or whatever. And that makes people kind of interested, because it’s different. You latch on to any kind of attention you get, especially when it’s more attention than what you’re used to getting, and you think you can climb out of the cesspool you came from. Whatever this little game is, it’s going to end, and end soon. You’re not going to get anything out of Gray.”

I roll my eyes. “Yup. You got me. This was all just a clever ploy to snag a husband. I’m so glad my idea to grow up in foster care with a bunch of shitty families finally paid off. It was a long game, but I think it was worth it.”

Max busts up laughing, but Caitlin looks nonplussed, like she can’t tell if I’m joking or being serious.

I roll my eyes.

She fucking doesn’t get it. But then again, why would she?

For her, status and connections are all that matter. Her future prospects are tied in knots around the connections she makes and the man she lands while she’s at Hawthorne.

She has her sights on Gray—on his money, and on the security and power that comes with having a husband who could buy a small country if he wanted to. She needs to sink her claws in someone, and she clearly doesn’t plan on graduating without securing a match first.

But that’s not why I’m here.

I take a step forward, and a rush of satisfaction moves through me when Caitlin jerks back.

That’s right, bitch.

Even without a wealthy husband, she has more money and power than I do by a long shot. But if it comes down to a physical fight between us, there’s no fucking question who would win.

Me.

And she knows it.

“I don’t want Gray Eastwood,” I grit out. “And unlike you, I don’t need Gray Eastwood. We’re not in competition for him, and if he’s not into you, that’s got nothing to do with me. Now, I’m not going to say it again: fuck off.”

Caitlin stares at me, eyes narrowed to slits.

She doesn’t believe me. Of course I have to have some ulterior motive for what I just did inside the party. Of course it must all be part of some master plan to seduce Gray and trick him into knocking me up or something. She doesn’t understand, and I don’t expect her to.

She can barely comprehend that something she wants isn’t something I need.

I turn away from her, shaking my head.

“Believe what you want. Max and I are out of here.”

14

I stretch out on the bed, tablet propped up on one of my pillows and a book open on the screen. The weeks since Gray’s party have been the most peaceful ones I’ve had since coming to Hawthorne—which doesn’t really say much, considering I still get glares, sideways glances, and rude comments everywhere I go.

But the attempts to capture me naked on camera has stopped. Either because the game stopped being fun when I one-upped them all or because they don’t want to go up against Gray having called off the bet, I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t care.

I haven’t been to another party since my now-infamous stride through Gray’s living room, but I still look forward to the weekends. They’re my one chance to hole up in my dorm, paint, do homework, and generally try to forget the rest of the world exists.

I’m almost a week ahead on the reading list for my literature class, and while I could give less than a shit about Hemmingway, the satisfaction of proving my professor wrong about me is worth the effort.

Late afternoon sunlight is pouring through my windows, and I’m sprawled out on the couch reading when I hear a click at my door—a sound that should only come from someone unlocking it.

I stiffen and sit up, dropping my tablet on the couch cushion beside me.

Fuck. It’s been long enough that I almost forgot about it.