Who does she think she is? In what universe is it okay for her to do what she did and then go on living her best life like she’s not a lying, backstabbing, disloyal bitch.
As much as Rob likes to dog her, saying she destroyed his life, she really didn’t. After all, money talks. But my earlier thought from after class lingers: what if she were to do the same to a guy who doesn’t have pockets deeper than Mary Poppins’ bag? What then?
It’s not fair to let her potentially ruin someone’s life.
I’m drawn from my enraged musings when the trio stand to throw their trash away. The blond giant takes hers from her and disposes of it with his own.
They stroll out of the dining hall, and I follow behind them at a safe distance, listening to as much of their conversation as possible.
Which, unfortunately, isn’t much.
I’m half tempted to call my first foray into stalking a bust. That is until the trio stops in front of a dorm building. Specifically, Lookout Hall, which is a strictly female dorm. Which means, unless they’re here to add another person to their merry band of assholes, Emmalyn lives here.
Holy shit. In one day, I’ve managed to acquire both her phone number and her dorm hall. This is one-hundred percent what winning feels like.
I linger as the three chat for another few minutes, then finally Emmalyn turns and retreats into the building. Unfortunately, they continue down the path in the opposite direction of where I’m waiting.
I don’t let the strike-out bother me though; today’s still a win.
I’m about to head back to the psych building when a familiar voice calls my name from somewhere behind me. I debate hauling ass, but she catches up before I can.
“Sterling Abbot! I thought that was you.” She bats her lashes and wraps her arms around my middle, pressing her breasts against my chest in a bone-crushing hug.
“Melanie.” I reluctantly return her embrace.
She’s nice, but clingy. I took her out with me to a party once as friends as a favor, and she all but growled at any female who got within a five-foot radius. Clearly our friendship never progressed.
“What are you doing over here in my neck of the woods?”
“Just enjoying a little fresh air.”
She laughs like I’ve just delivered a witty punchline.
“How’ve you been?” I ask when she doesn’t speak.
“Really good. So good.”
“Glad to hear that, Mel.”
Her eyes sparkle at the abbreviated version of her name. “Is this your dorm?”
“Yep. I’m an RA, too.” Her eyes widen, and she gently smacks a hand against my chest. “Oh my God! And you’re a TA, from what I hear. How crazy is that?”
“So crazy,” is my dry response.
Melanie beams up at me, not picking up on my tone in the least. She’s an attractive woman, but the marry-me-and-give-me-babies streak runs a little too deep with her.
We both start to speak at the same time, and I quickly offer for her to go first.
“We should catch up some time,” she murmurs, stepping closer.
Instantly, I regret not speaking first. Because now, instead of some generic parting words, I find myself reluctantly saying, “Sure, what did you have in mind?”
She nibbles her glossy lower lip. Instantly, I compare it to Emmalyn’s much fuller ones, which only serves to piss me off. Hot or not, Emmalyn Price is a fucking she-devil. “Well, there’s a party this weekend at the Delta Psi house.”
The thought of partying with her again sends a shudder through me. Until she adds, “It’s the first party of the year, and me and the other RAs are getting all of the girls to go.”
“Girls as in the ones who live in your dorm building?” I ask, suddenly interested.
“Yeah, we like to think it’s a good way to ease them into the college party atmosphere.”
“Text me the details,” I tell her, mentally reminding myself to unblock her number as soon as I walk away. “And I’ll meet you there.”
“It’s a date.” Melanie pops up onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my cheek.
She says something else, but I’m too busy plotting to pay her any more attention.
Chapter Fourteen
Emmy
“Do we have to go?” I whine, tossing myself back onto my bed.
“Babe. It’s our first real college weekend. It’s a rite of passage. We have to,” Stella continues rifling through my closet. “Plus, Melanie said she really wants us all in attendance.”
“Ugh!” I throw my hands over my face. “Fine.”
“Yay—oh! You have to wear this skirt with a top I have!” She tosses my oldest, most favorite denim skirt my way. I’ve had the damn thing since I was fifteen. It’s distressed and soft-as-silk from wear.
“What top?” I ask, suspicious.
“Just trust me?”
I bark out a laugh. “Solid maybe.”
“Please?” She pouts with big puppy eyes.
“I’ll try it on,” I concede, “but no promises.”