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“Who are you, my mother?” I quip, rolling my eyes.
I let down my backpack, hearing it collapse on the floor with a thump. Walking to the fridge, I realize that I'm starving and tired. My head hurts thanks to the stress, and I can't wait to take a nap for a bit before diving into three of my assignments.
“How did you know I have mommy issues?” Ryder asks, playing along with the joke.
A chuckle escapes my lips.
“No, you don't.”
“Imight,” Ry insists, turning his head to glance at me. “I meet the requirements. Dead mother?Check. Rich father?Check. A stepmom that's younger than my dad?Check. Ridiculously handsome, sexy, and with a dick capable of causing orgasms with the sight of it?Double-fucking-check.”
A sly smile crosses his face as he leans back on the couch, pleased with his answer.
“Actually, you don't,” I object. “Pam is only five years younger than your dad, and you adore her, and your ego is way bigger than your dick,” I let him know, earning an offended gasp from him. “But if you insist,mommy, I got caught up printing a story that I need to read for tomorrow, and I walked here because the bus was taking too long.”
I don't have enough money saved up to buy a car, and it's pointless when we're in the city. Everyone can use public transport to get anywhere, and Uber works perfectly fine.IfI need to do something meaningful out of town, Ryder lets me borrow one of his manytoys. The perks of being friends with a rich, spoiled kid.
“You could use the BMW, you know? Carter already thinks it's yours.”
But it's not.
I refuse to abuse his generosity. Ryder does more than enough for me, so I can't only accept everything he wants me to have. I already owe him a lot.
“I don't give a fuck about Carter, and you know that,” I reply bitterly.
Carter is fucking clueless to my situation, and thank God he doesn't know because the last thing that I need is his immature self getting pissed because I live here for free, and he has to pay his monthly rent. Since he's a year younger than us and Coach Hennig practically begged Ryder to put him under his wing, Carter is not familiar with how we run things here.
The thing is that he's ignorant. John Carter lives and parties hard. He has no responsibilities or a sense of what's the real world. He has lived inside a crystal ball his whole life, and no one can fix his behavior now.
“Well, I do because the asshole keeps throwing the damn door. I don't know what has his panties in a twist, but fucking hell, he needs to stop doing that.”
“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?” I inquire, arching a brow at his bitter tone.
“Change the locks tomorrow, so he can learn who's in charge.”
A snort emerges from me.
No one would believe that the biggest fuckboy that I've met is also the mother of the apartment. In a way, Ryder lives his life as Carter does, but he has a bigger image that he's privileged. Ry acts like he's free and careless, but deep down, he cares more than he lets people know.
He's a fuckboy with a good heart.
“Do you have a death wish? That kid is going to barge in to murder you if you do that,” I say as I take out the box of pizza with the leftovers from last night. Putting the slices on a plate, I put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes.
“Carter can fuck himself. I'm tired of him and his mood. If he doesn't change his shitty attitude, he'll better find another place to live.”
His statement catches me by surprise because Ryder is the most laid-back person that I know. Raising my eyebrows, I let the amusement take over my system. Although I understand where this is coming from, it’s strange to witness Ryder pissed at John. Not that he’s not entitled to, he is. The three of us share a place, and the least we can do is cohabit together in peace. However, Carter has been out of control lately, and we can’t understand where this is coming from, but we can’t put a stop to his partying spree and broodiness either.
Legally, he’s an adult, and we’re not close enough to give him lectures. Since it’s not lacrosse season either, we don’t have any leverage against him. So, this vicious cycle of his poor behavior will continue until next semester; or until it becomes a real problem that we can’t ignore. For now, it’s not that big of an issue because most of the time, he’s not even here.
The microwave beeps, letting me know that the pizza is heated, and I open it, sliding a hand inside to grab the plate.
“Why are you mad at him, though?” I question with genuine curiosity, walking towards the kitchen island where I set the plate down.
“Because he’s in a bitchy mood, and it got way worse after he argued with that girl from the party.”
The last part catches my interest.
An image of Bree forms in my head before I can’t stop it. Her angry hazel eyes seem to follow me around today, always popping into my thoughts without asking for permission. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize that in less than twenty-four hours, I’ve witnessed part of her worst and spiteful side, and it’s not something that I can wash away from my mind quickly.
