Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1)

by Thalia Sanchez

  “Am I?” The question is rhetoric because we both know it’s not like that. He reminds me of my uncle. They both have that egocentric energy around them. Silence. That’s all I get from him. “You’re bothered by the fact that this is the only professor that hasn’t bowed to you and the whole sports department that swears you’re some kind of god. I’m sorry that things don’t go your way, but that’s life. Deal with it.”

  There’s a fog covering his gaze. For an instant, I think that I made a mistake by ranting about him when I don’t truly know him. But I’m blind by the anger, by the frustrating feeling that doesn’t abandon my system, and it’s pushing me to the edge.

  Stanley doesn’t utter a single word, and I know that he’s not going to reply or protest. He just accepted my terms without fighting them, without defending himself. Either he’s processing the blow, or he’s neglecting it.

  I don’t care.

  Flicking my tongue, I push him out of my way and resume my way out of the building. Taking a glance at my phone, I make sure that I have enough time to grab a bite before my next class. A call clouds the screen, and a photo of my mother pops as the phone vibrates.

  “Give me a second,” I ask as soon as I answer, and fetch for my earphones in the pocket of my backpack. Once I have them snuck in my ears, I concentrate on her as I walk.

  My mother, Sabrina Pierce, is a forty-three-year-old woman with dark mahogany hair, hazelnut eyes, and fair skin with a galaxy of freckles covering her whole face. I can’t see her entire hair now because she has it tied in a tight bun that she covers with a net, so strands don’t fall into people’s foods. She took off the hat, but she still has her chef’s coat.

  Mom is the executive chef of the well-known restaurant in the center of the city that my family owns. It was my mother—the only daughter—that had a real interest in being in the kitchen after my grandmother was too old to be in that kind of stress. My uncle Parker, Luanna’s father, handles the finances of the restaurant, so he’s more on the administrative side along with the board.

  I’m not sure who will take over the restaurant when my mother becomes too old to cook. Seeing that uncle Parker already trained my cousin Holly to handle things for him, the kitchen place will be empty. I know that I don’t want it, and James doesn’t either. He signed a contract with the MLB, and I can barely be next to the stove without it catching on fire. Luanna is probably going to be a great scientist. She doesn’t want anything to do with the restaurant or business in general.

  “How did your test go?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. Out of all of the things that she could’ve asked, she picked that one. I’m embarrassed to admit that I failed after studying so hard. I don’t know a more frustrating thing.

  “It didn’t go so well.”

  Her expression changes, morphing into an empathetic one. Mom’s eyes glow with a hint of compassion.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I know you studied hard, but don’t worry, there will be more chances to pass the class. Plus, Lu is going to be able to help you after November,” mom cheers me.

  The last bit catches my attention. My brows shoot up with curiosity. I’m intrigued to find out if she’s staying for real or just visiting. Mom had been pressuring uncle Parker to let Luanna rejoin society after being a castaway for over a year.

  “Are they going to let her come?” My mother nods, leaving me stunned. I can’t believe uncle Parker allowed Luanna to apply to Moss. “That’s a miracle.”

  I hear her sigh.

  “I had to make some arrangements with your uncle, but it’s happening. I couldn’t let him send her off to a farm with her grandma when she has so much potential. Sure, she’s made some mistakes, but who hasn’t?”

  Although Luanna and I are close, at least as close as we can be living in different places—I still don’t know her whole story. I know that she was in a private school with the best of the best, but something happened during the junior year that made her delay her educational process. Lu even left school for four months before my uncle shipped her off to a military academy in the middle of nowhere. As far as I know, she’s staying with her grandmother during the weekends and when the academy gives her a break. Now she’s finally getting away from her punishment—or torture.

  “I’ll text her soon to know the deets. I can talk with the girls so she can stay with us until she gets settled,” I offer because I’d love to have Lu around for a while. Not only for her knowledge but because I’ve missed her a lot.

  “That would be fantastic.” Her gaze shifts to attend someone nearby. She nods a couple of times and then turns to me. “I gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight.”

  We say goodbye, and she blows me a kiss before hanging up. I put the phone in my back pocket and continue towards the cafeteria.

  The place is filled with students, even though it’s only nine o’clock. It doesn’t matter how early it is. People concentrate on areas they can get cheap food, even if it’s not the best. However, even when it’s not gourmet, I’m a conformist and make the line to order a sandwich.

  My next class is in the humanities building, and that’s ten minutes away from the cafeteria. My schedule is tight.

  After I order, I take out my phone to entertain myself until my food is ready. It usually doesn’t take long, but I’m an impatient person. My head needs to focus on something, so I don’t feel how time stretches when I’m waiting.

  “You’re the girl from last night.”

  I raise my eyes from the screen and stumble upon John’s. He’s a mess with his morning hair and black eye bags, but he’s still hot as hell. I can’t see his tattoos because he’s wearing a black hoodie, but I remember them. The perfect mix of black ink with his pearly white skin is highly addictive.

  Instinctually, I take a subtle glance over my shoulder. I confirm his words were indeed meant to me when I notice that the only ones that are behind me are deep in an interesting conversation about how one of them hasn’t had her period in over two months.

  The topic seems intriguing, but I can’t listen to the rest of it when John is right in front of me, actually talking to me.

  “I guess I am,” I finally say.

  “You got lucky.”

  Confusion clings to my face like a second skin. I didn’t see that one coming, not even in a million years. Hell, I would’ve expected him to ask me to move or something, but not that. I don’t completely understand what he means.

  “What?”

  “If I hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’t have stood a chance,” John clarifies.

  The audacity he must have to say that to my face. John Carter doesn’t know me to understand that I snap easily. I grew up with a rebellious player boy. I know precisely how to deflate his damn ego if I want to. I know what to say and how to defend myself if he keeps pushing my buttons.

  “Excuse me?” I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my abdomen.

  John shrugs as if his comment wasn’t a big deal. Maybe it isn’t for him, but it is to me because I can sense the misogynistic undertone. This doesn’t have to do with me winning. I bet that if I was a guy, he would let it pass, or ignore it.

  “I’m just saying that it would’ve been impossible for you to do that. It was probably a lucky strike.”

  I laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s unbelievable. His comment is diminishing, and he’s trying to mansplain the situation to me. I was there. I know my abilities, so why is he talking about them like he knows them?

  “I have a pretty good aim.”

  And a terrible taste in men, I add to myself, unable to believe that this is happening. My bubble about him has been bursted. He’s a fucking dick.

  “I don’t buy it. Truth is you didn’t follow the two-beer limit to play.”

  I scoff with irritation. I’ve had a rough morning, and he’s trying to test my temper.

  God wants me to commit murder today because there’s no way that I can handle two assholes in less than an hour
.

  “Look, I get that you’re a terrible loser and that you’re the joke of your teammates.” The laughter in the back confirms my words. I raise my chin cunningly. “But I kicked your butt, and everyone saw it. So, take your beaten pride out of my fucking face before I drag your sorry ass in front of your homies.”

  His dark glare stabs me with despise—or maybe hatred—as he swallows his words because he stays quiet. John walks away to a table where I recognize the other guy from last night, Ryder, hollering like a hyena.

  Although I’m close to stabbing someone, I can still feel proud of not letting them step on me.

  In the middle of my anger, I smile.

  Chapter Three

  By the time I get home, anger is still flowing through my veins. The burning sensation hasn't abandoned my skin, turning my flesh on fire. There's a hot feeling in my cheeks, spreading down to my neck as I clench my jaw. My hands curl into fists when the memories of what happened today float to the front part of my brain.

  As much as I want to be pissed at Bree for everything that she said about me, I find that I'm angrier at myself. It was me who screwed up big time.

  With every grade that I get in this class, my GPA sinks further down, almost impossible to hold on to it. I'm growing desperate because I need to pass chemistry with a good grade like I need the air to breathe. If I don't, I'll have to say goodbye to everything I've built in the past two years. All of my goals and dreams would disappear into thin air.

  I have a scholarship that I need to keep. I don't have enough financial aid to pay for Moss University, an important institution on the East Coast. Without the scholarship, I can't afford to be in the lacrosse team, and without that, I can't be here.

  Asking Bree if I could copy from her was a jerk move, I admit that. Desperation makes people do crazy shit. I'm a thirsty man stranded in a desert without any source of water nearby. That's how complicated things are for me.

  However, never in a thousand years, I would've thought that the only student with a perfect score in the assignment's grade is also the worst in the class. What are the odds of that happening? In what world does something like that happen?

  There's no way that it can happen. The chances are slim, one in a million. It's unlikely, which leaves me wondering that maybe she did fail on purpose, or perhaps she doesn't give a crap about the class.

  The memory of the way her hazel eyes were glassy as she vented in the hallway resurfaces, and my stomach swirls. No, Bree wasn't faking how angry and upset she was. She's not that good of an actress. At least she doesn't seem to be one, but how can she be the best and the worst at the same time?

  Unless... Unless someone else is responsible for doing her assignments.

  A new wave of irritation ripples through me. I stop it before it makes me despise Bree when I shouldn't. Maybe it's hypocritical from her part if she's cheating in the class, but it's none of my business. It shouldn't be. It's none of my concern what she does or doesn't do to pass the class.

  Do I envy her resources? Sure.

  Am I going to be petty and call her out about it? I'm not a snitch. Besides, after today, I don't think that I want to talk to her ever again.

  Reaching for the keys inside my pocket, I open the front door of the apartment. The click of the lock makes me even more annoyed than I was before, if that's possible.

  The weight of the test inside my backpack is heavy over my shoulder. I drag my feet inside the flat that I share with two other guys from the team, Ryder Weiss and John Carter.

  The place is vast, with a huge and unnecessary amount of space. The decoration is minimalist and straightforward, very bachelor-type. It's full of gray shades and white tones that contrast the black couches and the marble floor. It's the kind of place that you would see in a magazine for rich people.

  Truth be told, half of the stuff in this place costs more than what I can afford, like the eighty-inches TV that covers the background wall of the living room or the oversized wooden table that we don't use unless Ryder's parents come to visit. I don't even want to get into details about the room that Ryder keeps locked with many artifacts that I could barely dream of having.

  There's no way that I could live here with my own money—or my lack of. If it wasn't for Ryder Weiss' generosity and his rich ass that can afford me living here for free, I couldn't even step into this building.

  The truth is that without him, I wouldn't even have a place to live during the semesters. At least one that I could genuinely afford in this city.

  This arrangement is a secret that only the Weiss family and I know. Everyone else—for no reason—believes that I'm part of a multimillionaire family that owns half of the state. However, my McKinleys are from a small town in Florida where my dad is a mechanic and my mom a hairstylist.

  My parents live in a simple and honorable way, but it's not enough to afford an Ivy League college.

  That's why I can't lose the scholarship.

  That's why I need to pass the chemistry class. It doesn't matter how selfish and asshole that makes me. I would do anything to save my future.

  I put my keys back in the pocket of my jeans, and I spot Ryder sitting on the couch watching TV. His blue eyes dart towards me for a split second before going back to the screen. The audio of whatever he's watching is in an unknown language that I can't quite identify, but I don't bother trying to decipher it either.

  Ryder is special, almost unique. He's an enigma that I can't understand, nor I try to. It's none of my concern what he does or doesn't.

  “You're later than usual,” he comments, his eyes fixed on the screen.

  His behavior does not weird me out. Ryder is the only one that cares about the people that live here. If it wasn't for him, Carter and I would've killed each other in the first week we shared the apartment. He's the balance between Carter's darker nature and my aura, probably because Ryder is always dancing between light and dark.

  “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.”

  “I might,” Ry insists, turning his head to glance at me. “I meet the requirements. Dead mother? Check. Rich father? Check. A stepmom 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, 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. If I need to do something meaningful out of town, Ryder lets me borrow one of his many toys. 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 Henni
g 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.