Losing Princeton Charming
C.M. Seabrook
Frankie Love
Copyright © 2019 by C.M. Seabrook
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Losing Princeton Charming
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Princeton Charming Series
C.M. Seabrook
Also by C.M. Seabrook
Frankie Love
Also by Frankie Love
Losing Princeton Charming
All is fair in love and war … but is this love?
Spencer Beckett may have fallen hard for Charlotte Hayes, but one lie has their relationship crashing to the ground.
Their glass castle is about to shatter. Breaking Spencer’s heart in the process.
When tragedy strikes, Charlie needs a man who won’t let her down.
Even princes need second chances … but there’s still a knight fighting for her honor, asking for her hand.
Who will be there when she needs saving?
And what happens if she tries to save herself?
One kiss and Spencer knew: it was Charlotte, always Charlotte.
He isn’t quitting on her. Not now. Not ever.
One day his princess will come.
1
Charlie
There are moments in your life that you know as they’re happening will change everything. The sting of Tatum’s fist against my temple, the sharp crack as it hits, even through the shock of it and the nausea that builds, I know the damage is irreversible. And that everything is about to change.
Oh god. I suck in a breath, bile rising in my throat, and try to keep the damp towel from sliding off my body as my knees give out on me.
Tatum drops beside me, “Charlie, shit. I didn’t mean...fuck...”
“Get away from her.” Spencer pushes Tatum away, and even though the man is a good three inches taller and twenty pounds bigger, he lets him.
“I’m...okay,” I manage to say, despite the throbbing in my temple. I know Tatum didn’t mean to hurt me, but Spencer is looking for any excuse to push my best friend aside.
“Get some fucking ice,” Spencer spits out, lifting me in his arms. Anger vibrates off him, intense, cold, his features like stone. And I know what he thinks, what it looks like - me being here at Tatum’s place, practically naked. But I’d needed my best friend, needed the warmth of alcohol to dull the pain of having Winslow Harrington humiliate me, knowing Spencer was what? Too embarrassed to invite me to the benefit.
He’d lied to me, and yet right now it’s me who feels like I have to justify my actions.
“Spencer, it’s not what you think...nothing happened...”
His jaw clenches, lips thin and he doesn’t look in my eyes. But he also doesn’t release me, just picks me up and carries me to the living room and sits me down on the couch.
When Tatum returns with a washcloth filled with ice, Spencer places it on my temple. The ice burns when it touches my skin, but I know it’s necessary. I can practically feel a bruise forming.
“Is she okay?” Tatum asks. “Should I call an ambulance.”
“No,” I groan out, trying to push away from Spencer, but the world spins. “Oh, god, I feel...sick...”
It’s only partly because I just had the wind knocked out of me...and it’s not the whiskey either. It’s being here, naked, only a towel around me. I know how this looks. Doesn’t matter how much Spencer trusts me, this is bad. I can only imagine how I’d feel if the situation was reversed.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, closing my eyes as another wave of dizziness hits me.
“Where the fuck are her clothes?” Spencer’s voice is low, hard, filled with venom. I’ve never felt his wrath before, but even though he won’t meet my gaze, I can feel all his anger - his hurt.
“She puked on them.” Tatum sounds utterly miserable, and when I glance over, I catch his eyes before he looks away, guilt tightening his features. “I put them in the wash.”
“Get her something to wear. Now.” The last word is a demand that has even me jumping slightly.
Tatum leaves again, but I wish I could reach out and pull him into a hug, let him know that I know this was an accident - but I’m still naked and Spencer is here, and it’s not the time to comfort him.
Spencer’s right eye twitches. “This is so fucked up.”
My gaze narrows on him. And while I agree with his statement, and even though my temple throbs I can still read the man who lied to me - he’s hiding something. I saw him at the auction. If he wants to get all high and mighty with me now, he has another thing coming.
I’m not the one who has been keeping secrets.
“Here.” Tatum is back, and he places a hoodie and sweats on the coffee table beside the empty bottle of Jameson.
I groan when I see it. “No more whiskey...ever again.”
Spencer just grunts as he helps me sit up, then hands me the hoodie, glaring at Tatum.
“I’ll, uh...go. Let you change,” Tatum says, starting to turn toward his bedroom. “I’m really sorry, Charlie.”
“I know.” I hold the ice to my head. “It was an accident.”
He swallows hard and nods before disappearing into his room. The shot was meant for Spencer, and if I hadn’t stepped between them, it would have been him with a raging headache right now. But the cut on Spencer’s swollen bottom lip makes me think he was already fighting before he got here.
“What happened?” I reach out to touch his face and he flinches.
“Prescott,” he says icily, eyes narrowing but still not meeting mine, and I know not to press him. He helps me dress, tension and anger pouring off him with each movement. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. I think so...”
He takes my elbow and helps me stand. “Then let’s go.”
I frown at him. “Where?”
“My place.”
“So you believe me?” I hate that my words are still slurred, but not even throwing up or being clipped in the temple by Tatum could get rid of the buzz of half a bottle of whiskey. “That nothing happened with—”
Spencer stops and finally meets my gaze. His eyes are so damn cold, hard. I’ve never seen him look at me that way before. Like he barely knows me. Like he doesn’t trust me.
“I don’t know what the hell to believe. But I’m not leaving you here.”
I swallow, placing my hands on his chest. His bowtie hangs haphazardly around his neck and there are specks of blood on his white button-down, and I realize that his tuxedo jacket is missing. His hair sticks up at odd angles like he’s been tugging at it, and when I hold his gaze, his eyes look almost haunted. But even worse, I see the accusation there, the betrayal.
My chest squeezes painfully. “I’d never cheat on you, Spencer.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a few steadying breaths. “Let’s just go. We can talk about this tomorrow w
hen you’re not drunk.”
“I’m not—”
His hard gaze stops my protest.
I don’t say anything else until we’re back at his place. But the silence has infused my own frustration. I get why he’s upset. What it looked like when he walked in. But I wouldn’t have been with Tatum in the first place if Spencer had just told me the truth about the party.
And then there was Winslow, flaunting her position, her status in front of me. In the past, I’d never have let someone like her make me feel less than. But I know now there’s this secret part of me that wants to be more, wants to be someone who Spencer can be proud of. And I know after tonight that I’ll never be that person, for one reason only - I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
“Let me see,” Spencer says when we’re in his kitchen. He takes the ice pack from me and gently runs his fingers over my temple. “You’re going to have a bruise, but it doesn’t look too bad.”
I place my palm over his hand, needing his touch, the reassurance of it.
When did I become this girl?
Locked in a silent exchange, I see all the words he wants to say flash in the cold blue depths.
“Let me explain, Spencer.”
He gives a hard shake of his head and drops his hand, then starts to walk out of the room. “In the morning.”
I follow him up the stairs to his bedroom, watching as he starts to undress.
God, he’s beautiful. And cold. And distant. Nothing like the playful Princeton Charming I’ve come to know and love...yes, love. I’m falling in love with him. Or maybe I’ve been in love with him this whole time.
But tonight, love doesn’t change the fact that I will never be accepted by his family and friends. That there will always be people like Winslow Harrington trying to break us up, and making sure I know my place.
That’s why all this started. Why I called Tatum in the first place. Spencer still doesn’t know about the stunt his ex-girlfriend pulled. How she tried to humiliate me in front of his parents and peers. Or that I saw him there, that I know he lied to me about where he was going tonight.
“Spencer, I was at the—”
“I said we’ll talk in the morning.” He slams his phone and wallet on the dresser.
“If you’d just listen.”
He turns and pins me with a look that makes me suck in a breath. “I’m trying really fucking hard to stay calm, Charlie. But I’m pissed. And if we do this now...” He rubs the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling. “I know I’m going to say things I’ll regret. So do me this one favor and go to sleep.”
I inhale a shaky breath and give a small nod, even though there’s a part of me that wants to fight, that needs to say the things that are bottled up. But my thoughts are still fuzzy, and I know I’ll lose any argument we have. So I stand there and watch him, unsure what to do. It would be better if I just called an Uber and went back to my dorm.
When he’s just in his boxer briefs, Spencer tosses the comforter aside and gets into bed then turns the light off.
A few seconds pass before I make the decision to crawl in next to him. I feel like crap. My stomach still churns and my head throbs. Worst, my emotions are a confused mess.
I want him to hold me, to pull me to his side, but he doesn’t, and we lay there in silence. My heart breaking. My chest squeezing painfully with all the things I want to say.
I. Love. Him.
Three words we’ve never said to each other. But I do. I love him and need him, and at the same time, there’s a piece of me that wishes I’d never met him.
How fucked up is that?
“I care about you, Spencer,” I say into the darkness, knowing things between us are irreparably broken, and not liking the person I’ve become lately.
Anxious.
Needy.
Insecure.
“Don’t say anything else tonight, Charlie.” It’s a warning, one I know I should listen to.
But I don’t. My mom always said my stubbornness would get me into trouble, and I know right now she’s right. Still, I can’t stop myself. I need to get things off my chest. And yeah, I’m still feeling the effects of the whiskey. I’m emotional, close to tears, and yet numb at the same time. And all I want is for him to pull me against his chest and tell me everything will be all right, and yet hating myself for how much I want it even after he’s hurt me - after I hurt him.
“I think...” If you just hold me, maybe I’ll believe everything will be okay, that we’ll be okay. I want to say the words, but instead, I say coldly. “I wasn’t the only one who made mistakes tonight.”
He huffs out a hard breath. “Go to sleep.”
I roll over on my side, my back to him, clutching a pillow against my chest, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
Why does it feel like my world is unraveling? Because you’re drunk, that rational voice says in my head. Too bad my tongue doesn’t listen.
“I want to be with you...but...”
Spencer’s breathing is heavy, and he says tightly, “But what?”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“I just...I don’t think this thing between us is going to work.”
He’s silent for a long moment before he finally says roughly, “Yeah, Charlie. I think you might be right.”
I hear the truth in his voice - I’m losing Princeton Charming. And as much as it hurts, I wonder if it’s not for the best.
2
Spencer
As hard as I tried, I didn’t sleep a minute last night, so as soon as the sun rises I get out of bed and go for a run, needing the frigid air and the rush of adrenaline to clear my head.
I don’t know what to feel. Anger, frustration, betrayal, they swirl through me like a goddamn vortex, demanding that I end things with Charlie.
I’d felt like a fucking ass putting the tracker on her phone, some primal part of me claiming that it was for her own protection. But I know it’s because I’d let Prescott get into my head. I didn’t trust her. Not completely. And I’d used it to track her down last night when she wasn’t answering my calls.
Because I knew something was wrong. Could feel it in my bones. But nothing had prepared me for walking into Tatum’s apartment and seeing my girlfriend coming out of the shower - naked in another man’s apartment.
Doesn’t matter how much she had to drink, there’s no excuse, nothing she can say to make this better.
Maybe nothing happened. But the fact that she put herself in a compromising position, that she turned to Tatum for whatever was eating at her, it’s just another wedge between us. And the world has already placed enough of them between us.
My lungs are burning as I walk through the front door, expecting to find Charlie still asleep, but she’s in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, still dressed in Tatum's fucking clothes.
“You’re awake,” I say gruffly making her jump.
“Oh, hi.” She turns, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, her phone in hand. Her hair is a mess, and there are dark circles under her eyes, a purple bruise on her temple, but her shoes are on. She’s itching to go.
I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out for her, from pulling her into my arms. All night I struggled to keep to my side of the bed. But I knew what would happen if I didn’t. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking her, consuming her...claiming her.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“Barely.” She runs a hand through her tousled hair. “I’m never drinking again.”
I manage a small smile, but god it’s painful. The thought of her naked with Tatum is punishment enough for lying to her.
But I know she won’t see it that way.
“Look,” she says. “I know we said we’d talk today, but my boss called to check in on me. There’s an extra shift I can pick up this morning and so I’m going to head back to the dorm to change so I can make it in time.”
My eyes widen. “You’re going to leave without finishi
ng this conversation?”
“I was willing to have it last night but you—”
I cut her off. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sleep deprived and the last thing I want is to fight with you.”
“You mean that?” she asks, frowning, searching my gaze.
I step toward her, taking her hand in mine. “I do.”
Her pouty lips twist, but there is a glimmer of relief in her eye. “Good because I don’t want to fight with you either. I know we have stuff to figure out, but maybe it would be better after we’ve had time to cool down?”
“Agreed.” I take hold of both her hands, our fingers lacing.
Her words last night still echo in my head. I don’t think this thing between us is going to work. I’d told her that she was probably right, but god those words had cut deep.
“I don’t want to lose you, Charlie. Not over—”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I thought the conversation was on hold?”
“Right, sorry.” I chuckle, running my hand over her hair, and breathing her in. “God, you look cute with bedhead.”
“You are such a dork, Spencer Beckett.” Her words are playful, but I know it’s a front. Her way of making all of this less painful.
“Yeah, but I’m your dork.” I wink and lean closer, needing this - needing her.
The corners of her mouth turn down, gaze searching. “You mean that?”
I nod, wishing it could be this simple. Wanting it to be, even if it’s impossible. Taking a risk, I ask, “Can I take you out after work?”
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