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"No password? Really?"
I shrug. "I'm an open book."
"Somehow, I doubt that." His thumbs move across the screen for a few seconds more before he hands it back to me. "I put my number in. If you need something, hit me up."
Taking it from him, I drop it onto the bed next to me. "Do I look like the kind to need something?"
"No," he says with a grin. "You look like the kind to do everything yourself or die trying. But in case that changes, you know how to reach me."
After a quick wink in my direction, he turns around and walks out the door.
"Don't count on it," I call out.
"Wasn't going to."
UNPACKING IS BY FARmy least favorite thing to do, and I should know—I've done enough of it. Moving from town to town was a common theme when I was younger. My father was not a man who liked to stay in one place for too long, which only makes the fact that he's been locked in a five by ten cell for the last decade that much sweeter.
I pull the framed picture of Davi and me from my purse and place it on the nightstand. It's always been my favorite of the two of us. The smiles on our faces show how happy we were, like nothing in the world could bring us down. And that day? Nothing could. That picture is a reminder of how much she did for me, and how much we meant to each other.
The door opens, and I brace for impact as my roommate comes in. She picks a paper up off the ground that someone must have slid under the door and then pushes her glasses back up her nose.
"Ugh. Another party?" she grumbles. "Do none of these scoundrels actually come here for an education?"
I snort at her choice of vocabulary and she startles, dropping the stack of books in her arms on the floor and pressing a hand to her chest.
Great. Let's hope there's never a killer loose on campus.
"Oh, dear. You frightened me."
My brows raise. "Uh, I see that. I guess you didn't realize I was moving in today."
Her confusion morphs into excitement in seconds. "You're my roommate! Tyeler, right?" I nod and she rushes over to shake my hand enthusiastically. "Beverly Babbington. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Beverly Babbin—Wow. That's a name."
She grins as if that was a compliment. "My grandmother says it's the name of a future politician. Maybe I'll even become president one day."
Don't laugh. Don't fucking laugh."Well, you know what they say. You can be anything you set your mind to."
"That's exactly what Gran-Gran says!" The girl lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. "Oh, I have a good feeling about this, Tyeler Morgan. We're going to be the best of friends."
Not a chance in hell, lady.
I glance down at the flyer that's among the scattered books on the floor. "You said that's for a party?"
Following my eyes, she grimaces when she sees it. "Ugh, yes. It seems like all these hooligans do is party."
"Those kids and their bad choices," I mock.
"I know! Their parents would be so ashamed if they knew."
Oh, I'm sure they know. Any parent in their right mind knows exactly what their kid is doing when they go away to school. After all, college parties aren't a new invention.
I bend down and pick the paper up off the ground, looking it over. Apparently it's being thrown at "Casa Bronsyn-Donovan." Whatever the fuck that means. However, judging by the looks of it, and that there are actual flyers being handed out, one thing is for sure.
I found my target.
