There’s no chance that I could laugh in this situation. Twenty comedians could walk in front of me, and I would still remain stiff as a pole. If I was messing with her, I wouldn’t be able to restrain a smirk, but I can barely move my quivering lips to pronounce words. The pressure is making me feel all fuzzy.
It seems that I’m not going to heaven after all.
Bree grabs my arm, pulling me with her as she walks to a less crowded hall where the labs are closed. The dim light gives us enough privacy to maintain our conversation a secret. There’s no one around to overhear our mad and risky plan.
I appreciate her effort to do this in a private place because what we’re about to do is riskier than everything that I’ve done in my entire life. The moment where I take the phone out of the pocket, it will be official that we committed a crime and that we’re going to collaborate to cheat in a university that has a zero-tolerance policy against that. Two different things that are forbidden on campus, and one of them is more than illegal. This is wrong on so many levels, morally and ethically speaking.
But desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Show me the phone,” Bree requests as she holds out her hand, expecting me to give it to her.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take the phone out of its hiding. I notice her eyes glowing with hope for a split second before they’re clouded with confusion. A frown cuts her forehead.
“Why are you shaking?”
I lower my gaze and notice that indeed my hands haven’t stopped trembling. If anything, it has accentuated as time passes.
A groan emerges from my lips.
“I’ve never stolen anything, so I’m a little nervous, okay?”
I avoid her sight, but from my peripheral vision, I can see that she purses her lips together in a lame attempt to hold back laughter.
“You’ve never stolen anything?”
“No,” I mumble immediately.
Why is that even a question?
Bree rolls her eyes. “Of course, you haven’t. You’re the golden boy.”
Intrigue finds its way into my system, tingling in my veins as curiosity takes over.
“Have you?” I inquire with a raised brow.
She limits herself to shrug.
Fuck, she’s a thief too? Who the hell is this girl?
“I have a brother, Stanley. I’ve obviously stolen things from him,” she clarifies, stopping my wild thoughts from wandering to random and dangerous places.
Somehow, that fixes it a little and explains why she’s familiar with this whole business while I’m about to have an existential crisis.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have any siblings,” I mutter with annoyance.
Bree barely reacts, her expression unbothered by the information.
“You don’t say. Another point to your golden boy profile.”
There’s a touch of irritation blooming in my chest. I’ve never understood why Bree keeps assuming things about me. She doesn’t know me or how my life is. I’m far from being that perfect golden boy that she thinks I am. If Bree only knew the truth, she would back off. But I won’t lose time correcting her.
“Could you stop assuming things about me?” I ask.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“If you stop taking the easy way out. Cheating on tests will not make you pass your classes.”
Is she ever going to let that go? We’re on a whole different topic, and she’s still in that like a broken record.
“Not if I keep copying from you,” I spit back, forcing a smile to spite her.
She gasps in a fake way, pretending that she’s affected by my words.
“That was a little offensive.”
“Like everything you say about me. We’re even,” I settle with a bitter tone.
Bree crosses her arms, pursing her lips together.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” she insists, wanting to have the last word.
However, she’s far from having it. Now that we’re talking and we’re going over the topic, I can’t help but wonder why she despises me so much. I can recall that she looked at me this way before I even managed to utter a word at the party. We’ve never talked before this. A week ago, we were strangers.
I’m not a bad guy. I know that, but it bothers me that she doesn’t consider getting to know me before forming an opinion.
“Why don’t you like me?” The question bursts out before I can think twice.
This is probably not the right moment, but it’s too late to take it back. Bree sighs, her eyes getting lost for a second before she makes a face.
“Because I’ve seen a lot of guys like you. Trust me,” she says, and I disagree with her. “And I don’t like them. Taking the easy way out leads to nowhere.”
I can feel the anger boiling my blood. I’m typically a laid-back guy, I don’t have beef with people, but she’s managing to get on my nerves easier than anyone else.
“Well, you’re a hypocrite,” I accuse her, maybe rougher than I intended to. But I honestly don’t care. She needs to know the reality of her situation because she’s not a saint. I’m no angel, but I’m not a devil either, just like her. “This phone thing is the easy way out from your problem.”
An angry blush starts blossoming on her cheeks, expanding swiftly all over the olive skin that covers her face. She seems like she’s about to explode. Bree is seconds away from turning into a small version of the devil, and I’m not prepared to handle that. I can barely handle her at all, this isn’t something that I’m not equipped to deal with. But I’m not ready to back out either. I don’t want Bree to win this argument.
“Explain to me how the fuck this is the easy way out?” Bree asks rhetorically, moving a step closer with her hands closed in tight fists. “For Christ’s sake, you stole a phone, and I had to coax your address from your roommate.”
“I bet that was hard,” I reply with sarcasm.
Ryder has no self-control when it comes to pleasing girls. All she needed to do was bat her lashes on his way and drop a flirty comment or two to have him wrapped around her finger. Shit, considering that he saw a glimpse of my anger towards her, he probably did it on purpose, only to see what the outcome of this chaos would be like.
“Don’t say it that way.” Bree snarls, but it’s not like I don’t know my friend. Ryder’s tongue is too loose for his good. “My point is that none of this has been easy. What do you suggest that I do? What’s the good path?”
“Put your big girl pants on and accept that you screwed up,” I spit out roughly, the truth sounding harsher than I initially intended to.
Bree’s lips quiver as she tries to pronounce a comeback. She presses her mouth into a thin line, her eyes piercing into me.
“Fuck. You.”
My head tilts as my shoulders go up in a shrug. I raise my hands in peace, trying to ease the thick tension in the hall. None of us is going to do the right thing. She’s too stubborn, and I’m not going to be the one stepped on.
“Sorry, Bree, but it’s the truth. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.”
An excruciating silence installs around us, wrapping us. Bree remains unbothered, her expression emotionless with her eyes still glaring into mine. Fear claws its way into my system as time passes. Maybe I screwed up, and she’s waiting to knee me in the balls and take the phone with her.
Why isn’t she reacting?
“Are you going to start singing now?” Her voice breaks the silence, taking me by surprise.
I blink, making my best effort to understand her comment, but my mind is blank. What the hell is she talking about?
“What?”
“You sounded like a character from a musical about to start singing and dancing.”
I inhale deeply, hoping that the air will give me an additional source of patience to tolerate this girl for the rest of the semester. I’m not even sure that I’m going to be able to do this. Not with her, after all.
She’s the last option that I have, I remind myself.
“Let’s concentrate on the phone, okay?”
“Sounds good to me,” she agrees with a single nod.
For the first time, we’re on the same page.
I turn on the phone and slide my finger over the screen. The passcode jumps in, and I freeze, my fingers lingering over the numbers.
“I don’t know the code,” I mutter with closed eyes in an attempt to hide my shame.
How did I forget about that? I was so caught up trying not to get caught that I didn’t even stop a second to think about a passcode. I figure that John has nothing to hide because he barely uses his phone. Why does he need a passcode anyway?
“Jesus Christ, do you even think about what you’re doing before you do it?”
“Can I ask you the same thing?” I say back, glaring at her.
I know that I hit a nerve because she flashes me her middle finger.
“Try something simple like ‘1,2,3,4’. He seems like a simple guy.”
Agreeing with her, I put the numbers in. It doesn’t work. I try four zeros, but it doesn’t work either.
“We’re a little fucked.”
“What about his birthday?” Bree suggests.
It’s a good idea. Lots of people use their birthdays as passwords all the time. It’s common, and that’s how people are easily hacked.
But then again, I’m a terrible person because I don’t know the date. I’ve lived with the guy for over a year now, and I don’t even know his basic information. What kind of roommate am I? What kind of person does that make me?
I grab my phone, searching through the contacts until I find Ryder’s number. I let it ring on speaker, keeping the moment crystal clear with Bree. That way, she won’t be able to complain about how I didn’t keep her on track with everything.
“What the hell do you want?” Ryder’s sleepy voice fills the silence in the hall, and I’m afraid that someone will hear the conversation.
Bree is smart enough to stretch her arm and lower the volume.
“What’s Carter’s birthday?”
“Why do you want to know?” he immediately questions, sleep fading from his voice, being replaced by interest.
“Just answer the question,” I request, desperation decorating my tone.
I swear that if I became a criminal for nothing, I’m going to consider dropping out.
“No, no, no. You just woke me up at this unholy hour, so you better tell me the reason because I’m sure that you’re not planning a surprise birthday party for him.”
Bree whimpers. “Oh, God, just tell him.”
“Wait, who was that?” Ryder’s curiosity chirps in. “Is that who I think it is?”
“You better not be thinking I’m some random girl, or I’m going to be offended,” Bree comments.
Ryder barks a laugh at the other side of the line.
“It’s definitely you,” he purrs, letting his fuckboy side come out.
I need to stop this. I know that I was going to let him do whatever he wanted, but not with Bree. Not now that we have a deal, and she’s going to be around for a while. The last thing that I need is for her to get her heart broken by my roommate.
“Keep it in your pants, dude,” I groan in a severe tone.
“Cockblock,” Ryder complains.
Bree frowns.
“What cockblock? I’ve been ignoring you since Friday for a reason.”
I raise my brows with amusement because this may be the only girl that’s immune to Ry’s charms. Am I witnessing a miracle person?
“You really know how to hurt a guy’s pride.”
Tell me about it.
“Whatever. What’s the guy’s birthday?” she presses, preventing him from getting lost in the conversation. I appreciate it, but there’s no way that I’m going to admit it.
Ryder scoffs.
“Since you asked so nicely.” His sarcastic tone doesn’t go unnoticed. “He was born on the first day of March. Now I’m going back to sleep to recover from being rejected.”
He hangs up, and I insert the numbers of the date in every possible way. None of the combinations unlock the phone.
“Give it to me. Maybe I can think of something,” Bree says, stretching her arm to grab the phone.
I take it out of her reach. I’m afraid that if the phone ends up in her power, I may lose any leverage.
“No.”
“Give it to me.”
“I can type it in if you tell me,” I babble back.
Bree rises on the tip of her toes in an attempt to reach the phone, and I struggle to keep it away from her claws. She pushes harder, clinging to my torso without realizing that she’s invading my personal space.
I trip by the sudden force of her body against mine and lose the grip of the phone. It slips out of my fist, darting away from us in slow motion. The phone falls on the screen side, crashing on the floor at the other side of the hallway and then sliding over a few meters.
My heart skips a beat and leaves my whole chest, dropping at my feet. It’s going straight to hell to salute the devil in the place where I’m going to end up in.
Bree and I interchange panicked glances. We’re truly fucked now.
Not only did I steal my housemate’s phone, but I also broke it.
Chapter Nine
I breathe deeply three times. Inhaling through my nose and letting the air out from my mouth in a long way, allowing the oxygen to fill my lungs and calm me. I can hear murmurs surrounding me, but none of them are focused on me; people are in their bubbles, their realities, and worlds that differ from mine as they order at the cashier. I look at the steaming cup that's sitting on the table in front of me, inviting me to drink it. My nerves and anxiety won't let me.
I'm a wreck.
On the other side of the table that divides us, Stanley’s eyes are roaming over the crowd in the diner. He's not drinking what he bought for himself either. Instead, his fingers are intertwined on top of the table. The table shakes, and I assume that he’s moving his legs underneath.
He has the broken phone inside his pocket as we wait for Ryder Weiss—our apparent savior—to arrive. The diner is a couple of blocks away from campus, but it’s more private than the frequently visited cafeterias. The chances of someone seeing us here are slimmer.
“So, what are you studying?”
His abrupt question catches me off guard, and I frown.
Fixing my eyes on him, I meet Stanley’s green gaze staring back at me. A shade of anxiety shines in his orbs, letting me know that he’s as unease as I am. But I don’t understand where his question came from.
“What?” I ask, arching a brow.
Stanley shrugs.
“I’m just making small talk,” he answers in an unbothered tone. He wasn’t affected by my rudeness, a detail that only confuses me.
“Why?”
I’m trying to understand where his initiative to have a real conversation with me came from. I’m not incredibly open to the idea of speaking with him, but that doesn’t mean that it intrigues me. After arguing our way to this mess, I’m not sure how he wants to have anything to do with me.
“Why not?” Stanley retorts with a crease in his eyebrow. “We’re going to be here for a while, so let’s kill time while we wait.”
For the first time, he’s not wrong, and I can’t argue with his logic. It’s probably the best thing to do. If we stay silent, we’ll be dancing around the issue, tormenting ourselves with the possibility that John will murder us when he finds out. A distraction will help us pass the time. A decent conversation won’t make us best friends, so I nod in agreement.
“Fine.” I shift my eyes to the large window of the diner, focusing on the cars that regularly pass in front of it. “My major is Photography.”
I wait for his reaction, not knowing what to expect from him.
Not everyone understands why someone wishes to major in Photography when there are thousands of short-term
courses and workshops in every corner. Pretty much anyone can give themselves the title of “photographer” on social media after posting three saturated images with a filter, but I don’t care about those people. Taking photos, immortalizing a moment, and studying what I’m passionate about is what keeps me tolerating irrelevant classes.
“And are you good at it?”
His interest is a new reaction for me. I’m used to the usual “oh” and deadly silence that I’m not adequately prepared to answer that kind of question.
“I am,” I affirm and lick my lips, thinking about it for a second. Insecurity claws its way to my system, making me shift in my seat. “I guess.”
A curious frown forms on his forehead.
“You guess? How does that work? Are you or are you not good at it?”
There’s a rougher edge to his interrogations. I can’t quite put my finger on why but I do not feel as attacked as I thought I’d be. Oddly enough, I don’t want to be defensive about this. There isn’t a right way to discuss what you want to do with your life because not everyone gets it, and that’s perfectly fine.
“Are you good at lacrosse?” I inquire.
Stanley leans back in his seat, hesitating.
I need to make him understand by putting him in my shoes.
I don’t know if he’s any good at the sport. I’ve heard that he is, or least he must be to have people kissing his feet. He has to enjoy some part of the game, whether he considers it a way to release stress, a moment where he can breathe, or if he’s passionate about it.
“I think so,” Stanley mutters.
“You think? How does that work?”
A smile appears on his lips, seeing that I’m turning it the other way around. However, his reaction is different than mine. I notice because his eyes sparkle, conceding me the win.
“People say I’m good. I think that after a while, I started believing what they said about me and stopped wondering about how I feel about my own game.”
There’s something in his voice—a trace of vulnerability that makes me see him differently. For a split second, a part of the image that I had about him shatters. I don’t see the golden boy, nor the arrogant guy who asked if he could copy from my test, but someone who has insecurities like any other.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 8