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Lincoln’s words sting, and anger sparks in my veins, which is only exacerbated when Serenity responds with a sly smirk.
I’m not sure why I do it—probably the alcohol—but I stand and march toward them.
They all look over in surprise as I stomp into the light, wiping dirt and grass from my backside. “And I suppose next you’ll say I’m tolerable?” I snark at Lincoln, stepping into his space. He smells faintly of beer and weed with a potent dose of musky sandalwood.
“Well, well, what’s this?” Lincoln’s tone is cold and condescending, and his eyes are practically black as I stare up at him in the flickering firelight. “Are you living out your ownPride and Prejudicefantasies eavesdropping in the darkness?”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised that he understood my reference. “Please,” I scoff, “you’re hardly comparable to Mr. Darcy.”
Which is a lie. He’s just as hot—if not hotter—with an attitude to match.
Lincoln glances around with a cocky grin. “I suspect most of the girls on this campus would disagree.”
He looks at Trey and reaches for the joint, takes another puff, then blows the smoke in my face.
I step back, wrinkling my nose at the skunky scent. “Yeah, you’re right.” I seethe. “You’re arrogant, conceited, and self-centered, so I guess the attitude fits.”
I turn on my heel and stalk away, grinding my teeth when I hear their laughter behind me.
As the adrenaline from the encounter drains from my body, I feel perspiration trickling down my back. I walk over to the drink table and snatch a bottle of water, twisting at the cap angrily when it slips against my sweaty, shaking hands.
“Let me help.”
I tense in surprise, looking up to find Trey standing next to me, his hand outstretched in askance. I narrow my eyes at him but hand over the water bottle. Our fingers graze, lingering a bit too long, and a spark of warmth flutters over my skin from the contact.
Trey opens the bottle and hands it back to me.
I take a sip, studying him. Trey’s even more stunning up close, his hair a mess of blond highlights, and his eyes warm, caramel brown. He smells faintly of apples and cinnamon, and when his full, pink lips curve in a roguish smile, I feel my stomach flip.
“Don’t let Link get to you,” Trey says. “He’s been through some shit.”
“We’ve all been through some shit,” I retort. “But some of us still have manners. We’re not all self-righteous assholes.”
Trey smiles widely. “Fair enough.” He runs his thumb along his bottom lip. “What’s your name again?”
I hesitate before I answer, eyeing him. Fiona said I shouldn’t trust Trey, but he puts me at ease for some reason—though I can’t for the life of me understand why this beautiful, charming guy is friends with Lincoln. “My friends call me Charlie,” I say finally. “My full name is Charlotte Bennett.”
“Bennett? Like Elizabeth Bennett? You do have her sass.”
I shake my head with a small smile. “How do you guys know so much aboutPride and Prejudice? Are you English majors or something?”
“Nope, but we’ve watched a lot of movies. Link is double majoring in theater and film.”
I nod, somewhat relieved that Lincoln won’t turn up in any of my English classes. What a nightmare that would be.
I glance longingly at my dorm. I’m tired. “I think I’m done for tonight. It was nice to meet you, Trey.”
“See you around, Bennett,” he says with a wink, and my stomach does that weird flip as I walk back across the quad.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLIE
The clouds still hang heavy in the late September sky, but the rain isn’t in full swing yet, so it’s perfect fall weather. Whitmore’s campus is adorned with clusters of Japanese maples that light up like fire as the season starts to turn.
The start of my first week has been hectic, but I’m easing into the feeling of going to school again. My stepbrothers have been calling me a lot to check in—or rather my youngest older stepbrother, Sebastian, has FaceTimed while Marcus ignores me in the background. I try not to be hurt by Marcus’s indifference. He still blames me for my mom’s death and my stepfather—their father—leaving. The guilt and anger are constant weights on my chest. Sometimes, I can’t breathe.
I think Seb is afraid that I’m going to let the anxiety overwhelm me, and I get it. He was the one who found me sobbing on the bathroom floor the day my mother died. But I eventually learned to control the panic attacks. As long as I felt in control, I could act normal, be normal.
