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Kim lifts her head high enough for her gaze to lock on mine, though she keeps her mouth firmly wrapped around Rom's cock. Her long lashes bat innocently.
"The house is a fucking disaster. Sort it out."
She lets go of the shaft between her lips with a pop and pouts. "I'm not good at cleaning, Cam. Can't you get the staff to do it?"
In othercircumstances, I might have, but we both know she's attempting to mark her territory. "I'm not calling them during the weekend because you're a lazy fuck. Get your shit off myfurniture, or get out of the house."
"But I told you, Rothford housing doesn't have a room ready for me yet.” She makes a moue. “I enrolled too late."
No fucking shit. "And you can stay until the faculty finds you a room, so long as you pick up after yourself. What are you, five?"
She sighs, but gets up on her four-inch fuck-me strappy heels.
She knows I have a thing for heels. I look—of course I look—but the display only serves to stiffen my determination. I need her out of here, fast.
"Come help me?" Kimberly's timbre is sultry, and as subtle as a porn star's.
She's talking to me, but it’s Roman who jumps to his feet. "You bet."
She hides her annoyance when I ignore her, making my way to Rhys, who's typing away on his computer. "Can you get her a room? I need her out of here."
"Already on it."
I breathe out in relief, and dive into the pool for my morning reps.
Seven days until I get to touch Morgan again. It's going to be a long fucking week—especially with Kimberly in the picture.
ChapterFifty-Four
My roommate is incredibly helpful through the weekend.
Everything about her, from her It Girl persona to the company she keeps, and the fact that she’s just so damn nice to me, makes me uneasy around her. I doubt someone like her would give me the time of the day if it wasn't for Camden. She's invaluable all the same. She offers to pick up my books with hers, and takes me around campus, pointing out all the key locations, so I know where to goon Monday.
I can’t decide what her endgame is, but I let her help me out when she offers anyway.
I have an appointment to stop by the registrar’s office to talk about my schedule on Saturday morning. The charming receptionist manning the desk on weekends takes me to an advisor who talks me through my options.
"Unless you have a clear future in mind, freshman year ought to be about exploration. We offer a wide range of STEM courses, and we recommend you diversify as much as possible. Now, your file states that you're unavailable on Fridays?" she pauses, checking with me.
Jesus, that’s written in my file? I wonder what’s listed as the official reason. Presumably, Camden didn’t say it was because he planned on keeping me too busy with his cock in my mouth.
I hope she doesn't question why I blush. I bob my head up and down to agree.
"It’s not a problem. We’re very flexible here at Rothford,” she assures me. “Only a few courses will be affected. I took the liberty of crossing them out on your list. You'll need to pick before the end of the weekend on your online portal. Once you're done, you'll be able to print your schedule yourself. Do you have any idea what you’d like to do in the future?" she asks me. “I can help you narrow down the necessary courses if you have a definite career path in mind.”
“I don’t,” I admit. For too long, my questions about the future were limited to wondering how I’d pay the next bills. “I’m not bad with computers and math.”
“That’s a start—but what do you enjoy doing?”
I shrug.
The advisor is undeterred. “Don’t worry. You’re, what, eighteen?”
“Nineteen.”
She waves her hand like it’s the same thing. “I had no clue what I’d want at your age. Some people are halfway through life and realize they still don’t. Or they change your mind. Take your time and explore your options. That’s what college is for. Who knows, you could become an astronaut, or discover new technology.” She shrugs. “Or throw it all out in your third year and become a ballerina. If you do go that way, we have an excellent performing arts department, by the way.” She winks, and I manage a smile.
One thing is sure: I might have no clue what I’m doing, but the advisor sure chose the perfect career path for herself. I’m lighter than I’ve been in days when I leave the administration building, heading to the library across the square.
