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“Okay, I guess I can see that,” she admits.
As soon as she starts eating, I can see how hungry she is. She hums when she eats, vocalizing her satisfaction in a way that is both charming and outrageously sexy.
I hope she decides to go to the next level. No one is going to say it out loud, but it is up to her. The thing is, once you get the whole football team to fuck a girl, she pretty much stays fucked. It takes a special kind of girl, and I don’t want to scare this one off.
Lindy is special. Everybody can see it. She is her own person. Not cut from a mold. She doesn’t even entirely seem to know that.
She seems like the kind of person who has been so mission-focused that she hasn’t spent a lot of time navel-gazing. For instance, we haven’t had a single conversation about her feelings, her childhood, or anything else. I know it is all in there, but she is not self-centered like that.
Instead, she thinks about what she makes. She thinks about art, relationships, finishing school.
I think that might be why she doesn’t take this BUST thing seriously. It doesn’t fit into her worldview.
Spencer is a little bit dramatic. But still, when we first saw how many search results there were for her name, it was shocking. And the pictures are definitely an invasion of privacy. I mean, if she had an ex-boyfriend following her around doing this, I’m sure she would be freaking out.
But I guess that isn’t the situation. So this is all very abstract for her. But not for me.
I’ve seen the other stuff in the system. It’s not like that. It’s more out in the open. Not a lot of shower scenes, for instance.
Trevor’s suggestion that there are even deeper layers to the system is very upsetting. Why didn’t I know that? Why didn’t I think to look?
And what is in there?
Maybe I am being squeamish, but since Lindy hasn’t asked, I’m not overly eager to dig in and find out. The first order of business is figuring out who has been targeting her, and then we can work on blowing the whole thing up after that.
Dinner is pork loin and mushrooms with scalloped potatoes and broccoli on the side. I try to keep away from the potatoes as much as possible and stick with the low-carb options, but it isn’t easy. Watching Lindy eat has given me a bone-deep hunger that I am finding it difficult to satisfy.
She eats everything. Not a picky eater. Not an ostentatious dieter. And she lets us fuss over her, taking away her salad plate as soon as she’s done with it. Refilling her sweet tea every time it gets half-empty. Trevor brought her an apple turnover right away too, to make sure he made an impression.
Lindy takes to it right away, acting like a queen. Not ordering us around, but accepting our attention. That’s exactly what we need.
The guys in the frat house are respectable but observant. Now that we are openly fussing over her, I’m sure the situation is clear.
It feels good, I notice. Sometimes I have missed having a woman around, but the restrictions Spencer placed on us have been insurmountable. The football team comes first. I understand that.
Then again, I am a twenty-one-year-old man with a raging libido. It’s a struggle.
Somehow, I guess I convinced myself to go into hibernation. But I feel it awakening again. Optimism.
Hope.
She’s a good pick. She’s beautiful, sexy, brilliant. She’s worth sticking around for, that’s for certain.
In a corner of the dining hall I hear voices, and something about the timbre catches my attention. I don’t know what it is. I just raise my eyes and see a couple of the guys glance up, catch my eye, and quickly glance away.
That’s suspicious.
Sitting back, I just wait to see what they do. They’re hunched over, leaning their heads together, talking. Laughing. Is it just the four of us and Lindy? Are we the spectacle? Or is something else going on?
After they punch each other on their arms for a few minutes one of them finally gets up and comes over, sheepish and laughing to himself. When he gets to the perimeter of our group, Spencer twists around in his seat.
“Can I do something for you, Ben?”
Ben grins, all crooked teeth and patchy facial hair. He holds out a napkin.
“Not you, Spence,” he snorts.
“Probably just move along then,” Spencer commands him.
