Chapter 2
Sam
Men are pigs. I’m sick of tutoring the entitled, arrogant, and obnoxious jerks on campus. So fucking sick of this shit. None of them know what it’s like to work for a living. What it’s like to have bills you can’t pay and more jobs than you can count to pay those bills.
Irritated, I slam my laptop closed and shove it across my comforter. “What an asshole.”
“What’s wrong?” My roommate, Eden, strolls into my bedroom, now hovering over me with a worried look. “You look pissed, chica.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I glance up at her. “It’s nothing. Just another asshole I have to tutor.”
Eden pushes her hands to her hips. “You can say no.”
Like me, Eden Caulfield is average but curvy, cute, but not hot. Guys on campus aren’t stopping to whistle at us, yet I still get assholes like PuckMe_69 who have the nerve to hit on me before we even meet.
Eden has been my best friend and roommate since freshman orientation. We bonded over our love of writing and now work at the school newspaper together. The Strickland Gazette is one of my many jobs, though it doesn’t pay me shit. It’s experience for my future career.
“I can’t afford to say no. You know that.”
Eden nods, holding her hand to help me up from the bed. “Speaking of things you can’t afford, it’s almost time for work.”
I sigh and then take her hand, wishing things were different and that I had the life of the wealthy students at Strickland University. My life is no picnic. I’ve never had a single thing handed to me. Now, it’s time for job number three. And if all goes well at my interview this week, I’ll have a fourth job secured for next semester.
Dressed in a green polo shirt, Eden flicks her hair over her shoulder. I work as a barista at Broad Street Beans with Eden, the coffee shop on campus. The popular hangout for students never has an empty seat, though I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting down to sip a latte. It’s not like I can afford a five-dollar coffee, anyway.
“This guy I have to meet on Friday is a piece of work.” I swap my Ramones t-shirt for the green Broad Street Beans polo. “I don’t even know if it will be worth the fifty dollars an hour he’s willing to pay me.”
She gasps. “Fifty dollars? Get out of here. If you don’t tutor him, I’ll be more than happy to take your place. You’d be an idiot to turn down that kind of money.”
“I’ll meet him,” I admit. “I don’t want to, but I will. I have to pick up groceries for my dad this weekend. I can use the cash.”
She frowns at the mention of my dad. I’m the parent in our relationship. His lack of parenting skills has made my life ten times harder than it needs to be. But he’s my dad, and he needs me.
Eden holds the front door open for me and locks it behind us. We share a two-bedroom dormitory suite with a communal bathroom and a small kitchen. I live in Jefferson Hall, although I grew up thirty minutes from campus. But I can’t stand to be in the same house as my dad.
Eden tucks her keys into her jeans pocket, her green eyes filled with sadness. “Do you need me to come with you again?”
“No, I should be okay.”
We dodge a few people as they pass us, keeping to the right side of the hallway where we have more privacy to talk. Two girls stand outside of their rooms. Their voices are so loud and clear they project down the hall. Dorm life isn’t the best. It sucks, but it beats the alternative.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind being your wingwoman.” Eden talks over the loud voices and rap music cranking out from the room at the end of the hall. “I work in the morning. I’ll be off by lunch.”
Eden’s the only person who knows about my dad and how rough it is for me to visit him every week. Most days, I do my best to forget he even exists. Until the weekend comes and the fridge is empty, he’s out of smokes, or he spends his paycheck before he remembers paying the electric bill.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.” I force a smile for her benefit. She knows I’m lying, and I love her for wanting to help. “I’ll be in and out before your shift ends.”
She nods, and we don’t speak again until we’re out of Jefferson Hall and crossing the Quad, headed toward Broad Street.
“Are you finished with your piece that’s due tomorrow?”
Eden shoots me a goofy look. “No. Don’t kill me.”
I’m an associate editor at The Strickland Gazette, which makes me Eden’s boss. Well, sort of. It’s not like they pay me, so I have difficulty considering myself in any managerial role. Jared Salt, our boss, has the final say over everything printed by our little newspaper.
“I can help you.”
She tilts her head back and laughs. “Right. With all the extra time you have in your schedule.”
