BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (50)
  1. Prologue
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Part Two
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  40. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  41. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  42. Chapter Forty
  43. Chapter Forty-One
  44. Chapter Forty-Two
  45. Part Three
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Epilogue

We drive back to the frat house in uninterrupted silence, aside from the music playing softly. When we pull up outside, he doesn’t put the car in park, but he at least looks less frazzled by the time he glances at me. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

“You’re welcome.”

He shocks me when he leans over, pressing a gentle, quick kiss on my lips. It’s over as soon as it started, but it still wasn’t what I expected. I get out of the car, waving at him before heading inside. Once I’m in the privacy of my own room, I rest my back against my closed door, bringing my fingers up to my lips.

This night was fucking weird.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Cash DeMarco

I’m getting whiplash from Stone. He’s hot and then he’s cold. I can’t keep up. Not that I didn’t figure he’d freak out after what happened last week in his car, but Jesus. He’s been nothing but nice and professional all week, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice his lingering stares and the number of times he’s acted like he wanted to say something to me when we were alone in the classroom but didn’t.

My classes on Fridays are slim. I only have two classes, both in the morning, so I’m done by noon. It was this way one of the semesters last year too, and I really enjoy it. Makes me feel like I have a longer weekend. I’m on my way to meet my buddy, Branson, for lunch at a burger place near campus.

It’s bustling with college kids when I walk through the door. He told me he was in the back of the restaurant already with a table, so I head that way. He scored us a corner booth, and his lips turn up into a smirk when he sees me.

“What’s up, man?”

“’Sup, B. How ya been?” We don’t hang out as much as we used to. We don’t really have classes together anymore, and he doesn’t come to the frat parties often. We used to hang out damn near every day, but that’s okay. People drift as they get older. Doesn’t mean we aren’t close.

“Pretty good, bro. Classes have been chill this week. How about you?”

“Same, honestly. Did you go home for winter break?” Branson, along with all our other friends, lives in Bellingham, which is about four hours northwest from here. When I was growing up, my family lived there too, but a few years ago, my parents moved back to Dallas.

“Yup, sure did. You went to Dallas to visit your folks, right?”

“Yeah, it was nice to get back home and nice to get away from the frat.”

“You’re moving out at the end of this school year, yeah?”