“Hey, you know the bet we made last year?” I blurt out against my better judgment. I don’t know why I’m bringing this up. I want nothing more than to forget the embarrassment of this morning, but I just can’t seem to let it go. Blondie has haunted every moment of my day, her presence lingering like a damn poltergeist.
Mason pauses with one foot in the hallway and spins around, inching back into the kitchen, crossing his lanky arms over his chest, which makes him look about as tough as a Twizzler. “Oh, you mean the one where I said I would give you my Maserati if you completed a sex bucket list of my choosing?” The grin slips from his face, and he glares at me. “Yes, I know the one. The video did go viral after all.”
The video. As if I needed reminding of that. Our bet was definitely not the most mature move on my end, but we had agreed to keep it between us. Sure, that was mainly to avoid skewing the results in either of our favors, but still, it was meant to stay on the down-low. That was until Mason—possessing a whopping two brain cells—decided to post a livestream on social media of him handing over his Maserati when I won. A video in which he divulged exactlywhyhe was giving me his car because the part of him that wasn’t livid he lost the bet thought the whole thing was funny.
To say the video unleashed pure chaos on my life would be an understatement.
“I still miss that fucking car,” Mason whines. “You better be treating her well.”
I shrug. “You shouldn’t have bet against me.”
A skeptical look creases his features as he plops back down on the chair beside mine, staring at me like my face is one of those crowded pictures in aWhere’s Waldo?book. “What made you bring that up? I thought you said, ‘We need to forget this ever happened,’” he says in a poor imitation of my voice, hooking his fingers into air quotes.
Ugh. Doomsday. Time to be judged.
“I accidentally brought home a Repeat last night.”
“Dude.” Mason reels back, wrinkling his thin, pointed nose. “Rookie mistake.”
My lips twist into a grimace as I glance down at my shorts.Yeah, tell that to my bruised dick and balls.
A hollow laugh fills the silence between us, and I internally chastise myself for divulging this information to anyone, especially Mason of all people. I’ve known the guy for seven years—we went to the same private high school and now attend the same prestigious university, mostly because our daddies were rich enough to buy our admission—but I’d hardly call him my best friend. I’d barely even call him a friend. He lives for the drama and is about as loyal as Judas.
Still, I don’t really trust anyone else at this college either, leaving me with few other options when it comes to venting my frustrations. A less wealthy person wouldn’t hesitate to sell my secrets to TMZ, and after the fallout from the video last spring, I have to believe Mason will think twice before doing something so stupid again. Or at least he’ll have the sense to ask me first. I hope.
But dumbass or not, the reality is, Mason is one of the only people at this school who gets me. When you come from an affluent family, it’s hard to know who your friends are and who’s just getting close to you for your money, which can make life really lonely. Mason might be a grade-A ass, but with him, I know my family’s net worth has zero bearing on why he talks to me. He sticks around because we entertain one another, and for now, that’s good enough for me.
“So, who was it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “That’s the thing. I can’t remember her name. I only remember who she was on the list.”
I conjure a mental picture of the bucket list Mason created last fall and silently tick the box next to each line.Theater girl. Check. Another guy’s girlfriend. Check. Two sorority girls at the same time. Check. Check. Professor—oh, that one was fun.Check. Bonus points for twins. Check. Check. Check. Check.The list goes on and on in my head until we get to Blondie.
“By all means, keep me in suspense,” Mason deadpans.
I hesitate for a moment, then push out a breath through my nose before muttering, “Poor Girl.”
His brow furrows, and I can practically see the cogs turning in his tiny brain as he funnels back through whatever memories he retains from last year, assuming he still has any brain cells at all. God, that first semester was such a shitshow.
He blinks a few times as if the mere process of thinking is painful. “The scholarship freshman?” he finally works out.
“Well, she’s a sophomore now, but?—”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember you talking to some random blonde last night. I didn’t recognize her. Not that I would,” he adds with a derisive chuckle.
Hunching over the table, I lean my weight on my elbows and roughly comb my hands through my hair. “Yeah, I didn’t either.”
Come to think of it, I can’t recall ever seeing her in passing on campus or at Phi Sigma’s parties aside from last night’s. Other than the handful of times we met in the university library my junior year, there was only one other instance I saw her, and that particular interaction was as memorable and painful as this morning’s. Maybe she doesn’t live in the dorms? If she’s a townie, that would explain why we haven’t crossed paths on a social level since we hooked up.
As for school, I don’t think we share any classes, and it’s unlikely we’d spend our spare time the same way or even in the same places. Scholarship students like her are usually working in the administrative office or library during their free periods and evenings, or doing whatever else it is that poor people do for fun. We might as well occupy different hemispheres for how much separates the two worlds we live in.
Huh, I guess it really is true what they say: out of sight equals out of mind. The last time I saw Blondie was shortly after Mason’s video went viral. After that, I didn’t see her again, so I never spared her a second thought.
Except…I’m thinking about her now. She isn’t out of my mind anymore. And I have no fucking clue why.
Getting kicked in the junk has clearly rattled my senses,I tell myself. Yeah. That must be it.
“You don’t remember her name by any chance, do you?” I ask, failing to achieve the air of nonchalance I was trying for.
