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With that departing statement, he leaves just as my phone alarm pings, reminding me of class. Dropping my head back on my shoulder, I let out a soft moan. Another day of sitting through class with their cum running down my legs.
It’s going to be a long day.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Two of my best friends are assholes.
Around lunchtime, Ashton sent a text to our group bragging about fucking Kennedy and having her panties that he ripped off her body in his pocket. The fucker also told us that he left her hanging, and her orgasm was ours to claim. I knew exactly where she was since he also added that tidbit. Getting stuck in a conversation with one of my professors, by the time I arrived, Kennedy was long gone. It wasn’t long after that Callum sent his own message about how he took care of Kennedy.
The two fucktards spent all afternoon volleying details about their experiences with Kennedy. Stupid me kept reading and re-reading the messages between classes. Blue balls are a real thing. My cock is going to have a permanent impression of my zipper at this rate.
An idea forms, so I shoot off a quick message to Rodney.
Me
Make sure you are in our room around eleven tonight.
Rodney
Sure, what’s going on?
Me
You’ll see.
My message is cryptic enough to ensure I have his attention, yet not giving too much away. Rodney’s attitude towards Kennedy is better than it was. Thankfully, he has also stopped drinking so much.
* * *
My mind ran through several scenarios on how tonight would play out.
Approaching Kennedy’s room, I spot her roommate leaving. The girl is never around; I'm not sure why she just doesn’t move out.
Making sure no one is watching me, I slip into Kennedy’s room, using the key Gage gave us that we never returned.
Looking around the room, most of it is neat and orderly. Clothes are spilling out of one of the closets. Wanting to know more about our girl, I pull the closet open wider. After flipping through the clothes still on the hangers, it doesn’t take me long to figure out this one isn’t Kennedy’s.
Opening the second closet, a variety of name brands look back at me. Everything here is hung up and neatly organized. Kennedy, while dressing for comfort, enjoys the more expensive materials.
Abandoning the closet, skipping the desk for now, I move to the bathroom. Cosmetics litter the sink counter, wet towels are piled in a corner, and a lace bra hangs from the towel rack. Checking the shower, several bottles of shampoos and conditioners, all different brands and scents, fight for real estate. I start popping caps, finally finding an apple coconut shampoo. This must be Kennedy’s, as the scent is easily recognizable. Snapping a picture so we can have some in our room, it immediately gets put back in place.
A quick search of the cabinets proves to be a waste of time as both are almost bare, making it difficult to tell which one belongs to the Duchess.
My last stop is the desks. One is neatly organized with very little on it. The other one is a mess of papers. Based on the closets it is safe to assume which desk belongs to which girl.
Moving to the desk neatly organized, I start with the side drawers. Inside is a variety of graded papers organized by class and in chronological order, oldest to newest. Checking the top center drawer, various pens, pencils, highlighters, and other small office supplies are all neatly organized.
Moving some things around, my hand brushes against something harder and thicker than a piece of paper. Pulling it out, a thick business-size manilla envelope is in my hand. Flipping it over and discovering it’s unopened surprises me. Turning it face up again, looking at the label, it’s addressed to Kennedy, the return receipt from a law office in Pittsburgh.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles. After a quick check, making sure everything is where it should be, I rise to my feet, tucking the envelope under my arm. Grabbing a change of clothes for Kennedy, I lock up behind me, heading back to my room.
Kennedy’s clothes get stored in my cabinet, and the envelope gets safely tucked between my mattress and box spring. Grabbing my phone, I message my dad.
Me
Need your help. Will you be home Friday night?
Dad
