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I shouldn’t have wasted my time thinking about it. When I woke up, he was gone.

Chickenshit.

It was no surprise after what he’d done last night before falling asleep. What he’d allowed me to do to him.

It was embarrassing to admit, but last night hadn’t been a premeditated step in my plan to fuck with him.

It had been a tease. A dare. A way to get him out of his head, yeah, but not for nefarious purposes. Because it’d seemed like he’d needed it.

I’d never expected him to go along with it.

I thought back to the times he’d watched me get off with other people. All those times I’d performed for him. Thought about how hot his stare had felt. How his breath had caught. How he’d tried to hold back his gasps.

I was still shocked he’d been so quick to let me take control last night. So eager to let go and let someone else tell him what to do. Almost like he’d been waiting for it.

My dick was already hard, but memories of his little whimper, his inability to stay strong and deny my prodding, made it even harder.

Fuck. I could have come from that memory alone.

Why the hell had he done it? Why had he let me see him like that? He had to assume I’d use it against him, so why had he let it happen?

For the millionth time, I thought back to our second year. To how my borrowed suit had pulled too tight across my shoulders as I stood in a reception room with my sister and her pre-law classmates. To how composed and elegant she’d looked, chatting with her peers, and how I’d been swamped with fierce love and pride when one of her professors had called Gracie’s fellowship essay “inspirational.” To the presenter saying, “Our recipient embodies leadership, resilience, and the power of opportunity. Congratulations…” To how the cheap suit material had felt against my damp palms as I’d waited for Grace’s name to be called.

“…Corbett Austin McNeely III!”

I’d stared in complete shock as a wave of humiliation and stark reality had crashed over me.

“People like us don’t get to win, Ells,” Dalton had always said. “The game is rigged. Don’t ever forget it.”

My uncle was right. The game was rigged. It hadn’t taken me long to realize the Hawthorne Fellowship had been endowed by one of Senator McNeely’s largest campaign donors.

Coincidence? Unlikely.

Welp, that memory was enough to deflate my cock.

I bit out a curse and forced myself to get up. I had a shit-ton of school work to get through today, and I planned on parking myself at the library to cut out all the distractions.

But first, I grabbed the marker for the whiteboard and made a quick change.

VAUGHN: 6

BABYGIRL: 1

I allowed myself one moment of smug satisfaction, imagining his annoyance when he saw it later, before forcing myself to mentally prepare for a productive study session in the library.

But the first thing I saw when I entered the building was distraction incarnate. Bett fucking McNeely was holed up in a study carrel with his back to me. A large to-go cup from Regent’s Coffee sat next to his laptop, and his hair looked like he’d been running fingers through it.

There was no way I’d be able to focus here, so I took off and headed for my favorite coffee shop on the opposite side of campus from Regent’s.

BB’s was tucked behind the Alumni Office on a little side street still lined with overflowing flower baskets from the summer. After grabbing my order, I spotted my friend Rowan working at a nearby table on her laptop.

“Hey, beautiful. Hard at work this morning?”

Her face lit up when she saw me, long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and faded blue Demere T-shirt loose around her slender neck. “Hey, you. How’d the fight go the other night? I got caught up on a thing with my mom and couldn’t make it.”

I shrugged. “Fine. Same old shit. Except now Dalton’s saying he thinks Jack Youngblood looks good for running the fights next year when I’m gone.”

Rowan’s eyes bugged out, which was satisfying. I wasn’t the only person who thought it was a bad idea.