Following the Rules (The Script Club 1)

“…you never listen to me. You never—”

Oh. No, thanks.

I scooted my chair closer to Cody’s, glancing toward the register when a familiar figure stepped forward to place an order.

Holy crap on a cracker.

“Switch seats with me,” I hissed in a low tone, interrupting Cody’s colorful description of the pre-party before the band’s final show.

Cody started, accidentally jostling my elbow and sending the end of my straw halfway up my nose. I squealed in surprise, blinking back tears as I fumbled for a napkin, nearly knocking over George’s drink. He saved his teetering latte with a “WTF?” look and turned to see what had flustered me.

“Hey, isn’t that your old football conquest?” he asked.

“Shh. Don’t stare. That was a bad chapter, and he was no Prince Charming.” I thanked Cody, stealing one last peek at the six-foot-two hottie showing off his ripped muscles in a snug T-shirt just as he lifted his right arm and wrapped it around a stunning blonde.

When I let out an involuntary gasp, my friends shared a puzzled look followed by a quick spark of recognition…then proved for the zillionth time that they were the coolest people on the planet.

George scoffed. “He’s a jerk.”

“Don’t waste your time or a single valuable brain cell on him,” Asher coached.

Tommy nodded in agreement. “He’s not all that and a bag of chips. Never mind him….whatever his name is.”

“Jake,” I mumbled.

Holden leaned across the table and patted my hand. “No dwelling on past mistakes. Let’s concentrate on other things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, the carpets are being cleaned at our new house today. Big men with big hoses are waltzing through our living room even as we speak,” Holden commented matter-of-factly, raking his fingers through his short brown hair.

George waggled his brows lecherously. “Then what are we doing here?”

Holden narrowed his eyes and pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We won’t get the keys until Friday evening.”

“That was sarcasm, Holden,” I said, taking another sip before pushing my cup aside. “Shall we get started?”

We spent fifteen minutes going over the logistics of moving day. We made lists of cleaning supplies and shared essentials we needed and reiterated who was getting which room to avoid any issues later. No doubt we could have handled this via text. However, details mattered, and my friends and I were not the types to leave specifics to chances.

I typed a couple of notes on my cell, nodding distractedly when Holden suggested that we create a chore schedule. My gaze drifted to Jake and his pretty girlfriend now sitting at a table for two near the front of the shop.

Why did I fall for straight jocks with bi-curious sides who claimed I was special? I clung to compliments and turned them into promises, but let’s face it, “You suck cock like a champ” didn’t translate to “You’re the one for me.” I was either an eternal optimist or a sadist.

Cody kicked my shin. “Focus, Christopher.”

“I am. I was just thinking about our summer challenge,” I lied, blinking as a new idea hit me out of nowhere.

“What challenge?” Asher asked.

“You know, broaden our horizons with interesting experiences and publish our findings online in a student forum.”

Tommy cocked his head. “That was a summer project, and summer is pretty much over. Did you do something you want to write about?”

God no, I mused, resisting the urge to glance Jake’s way again.

“No. And I don’t think I’m the only one. So maybe we should discuss continuing our quest for self-betterment and turn it into our exit project…which we all need to graduate.”

Five mystified faces turned to stare at me.

George frowned. “I don’t have time for self-betterment or cultivating new experiences.”

“Me either,” Asher and Tommy groused in unison.

“Okay, maybe we should discuss other options, like a project that makes us money.”

Holden frowned. “Makes money? I think that concept is diametrically opposed to the purpose of the project.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re allowed to profit from our exit projects. It’s against the rules. Isn’t it?” Asher furrowed his brow and plucked nervously at the collar of his T-shirt. “What did you do, Cody?”

“I wrote an eighty-page thesis on experimental and critical data,” Cody said.

“Wow. That sounds interesting,” Tommy enthused. “I’d love to read it. I have about twenty pages written for mine and—”

“Let’s come up with other ideas,” I suggested. “Something with an entrepreneurial bend. We’re just brainstorming. What do you think, Cody?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Okay, well…how about doing a podcast?”

“I like that idea. Of course, we’d need equipment and sponsors. Can we get those quickly? And what would we talk about?” I ran my fingers through the condensation on my cup, shifting slightly in my chair to steal another peek at my ex-booty call.

“We could talk about bad hookups,” George offered, fixing me with a stern look.

I sighed theatrically and shrugged. “I have plenty of material there.”