Page 16 of Personal Foul
“Oh, I can answer that. He does. Loud as fuck. Through the walls.” Waylon smirks as he comes back into the house.
“You really want to talk about things that are loud as fuck through the walls?” East gripes back at him.
“I know you’re jealous of my abilities, bud. I told you, all you gotta do is ask. I’m happy to give tips.” Waylon slaps him on the back as he walks by.
Easton’s lip pulls up into a sneer, his eyes drifting up like he’s remembering something, and I pray, hope, and beg with every silent ability I have that he doesn’t take that bait. Because I have no idea what Waylon’s abilities are, but East’s need zero improvements. A fact I wish I didn’t know for certain now.
“I’m gonna head out. See you all later.” He turns and heads for the door.
“Do you want a donut for the road?” Liv calls after him.
“No thanks.” He shakes his head but gives her a little smile, and she smiles back at him as he disappears.
She sighs, “He’s really having a hard time.”
“Well people kept trying to give him encouragement last night, and he wasn’t having it.” Liam shakes his head.
“I mean, not exactly a thing you want to be reminded of over and over again.” Ben tilts his head.
“How did he seem to you?” Liv looks at me and unfortunately, I’ve just swallowed the bite of donut I took so I have to answer.
“He seemed upset but okay. He’s Easton. I’m sure he’ll be fine once he fucks a couple of sorority girls.” I shrug and then take another bite of donut, so I don’t have to answer follow-up questions, desperately hoping that sounded as nonchalant as I mean it to be.
Because I don’t like the way I feel a little dip in my stomach at the thought of Easton with a couple of girls. And given the mood he’s in right now, I’m sure that’s exactly what he’ll be doing tonight. He is who he is. There can’t be a repeat, and I can’t be sitting here hoping for anything else.
EIGHT
Wren
A weeklater and classes are back in session, and we’ve just gotten partner assignments for my capstone marketing class. I stare at the name in the email my professor has sent me, one outlining a semester-long project and I laugh. Hard. Because it’s ridiculous. Because otherwise, I would cry. I’ve done something terribly wrong, karmically speaking, because there is no way on earth this is just happenstance. No possible way that I get paired with Easton fucking Westfield by chance.
The idea of spending an entire semester having to spend nights and weekends working on a project with him is bad enough, but that the project has a direct effect on my post-college career prospects is untenable.
We haven’t seen each other or spoken since the incident, and the last thing I want to do is be forced to strike up conversations on a regular basis for this. I could just see his face now. The knowing little smirk. The way he’ll taunt me for falling straight into the Easton trap. For having no excuse for why I was so reckless. And I don’t want to see his face, because it will remind me of all the things we did. What he sounded like. What he said. The inevitable daydream where I start reliving it all. No. I was not doing that.
I also didn’t need a rich fuckboy jock putting my entire future in jeopardy because he cares more about parties and jersey chasers than this grade. What is he even doing in this class? It’s high-level advertising and a public relations seminar. It’s designed for people who plan to have a post-college career in it. Which I do. But Easton is, for all his other downsides, a phenomenal tight end for Highland State and one of Liam Montgomery’s favorite targets in the end zone before he got hurt. And with a brother playing in the league and a father coaching in it, Easton’s NFL prospects are still rumored to be pretty damn good even with the mishap. And even if they aren’t, it’s obvious from the way he throws money around at parties and clubs that he doesn’t need a job or a career anyway. Stock investments. Portfolios. Private clubs. Those are probably his future.
So there is no way this class assignment is going to stand. I’m going to have a discussion with the professor. I’ll leave out all of Easton’s off-field antics and my general hate for him. I’ll take the high road and focus on the practical aspects of this partnership not meshing. There is no way his extracurricular schedule and my work schedule are ever going to allow us to work together. As it is, even with our friends being as close as they all are, I see a glimpse of Easton on rare occasions. Usually, as he’s headed out to a club, I’m headed up to bed. Minus the one occasion he was in said bed.
We don’t have time to work together. It’s just that simple. And my professor, if he’s worth his salt, will see that problem easily fixed by pairing us with different partners.
I close out the email and grab my bag off my bed, so I can head downstairs for breakfast. I already hear the sounds of my roommates, Liv and Kenz, chatting and making coffee. The smell of caffeine in the morning is just the thing I need after the long shift I worked last night.
When I hit the kitchen, Kenz looks up and smiles at me for a second before it falters.
“Uh oh. What happened? Shitty customers last night?”
“Bad tips again? Those assholes.” Liv shakes her head.
“No. An email from our professor about a group project. Well, a partner project.”
“Oh god. I hate those so much. Every single time I get partnered with some jerk who could care less about the assignment and just scribbles something down at the last second.”
“Yeah, those are the worst. I hate having someone else I don’t know has influence over my grade. It’s a special kind of torture,” Liv adds.
“Yeah well, I do know them. And that’s the problem.”
“Oh. Who is it? Do we know them?” Kenz looks at me as she adds another splash of creamer to her cup.
