Everything I’ve known about love comes crashing to a fucking standstill. I feel so...betrayed.Broken.
I take a few deep breaths. “I want you out.”
“What?” she asks.
I turn around to face her. Feeling absolutely gutted inside, I repeat myself. “I said I want you out. You have an hour. Get what you need and get the fuck out. We’re done, Sarah.”
“This is my apartment too.”
“You know what? You’re right, it is.” I smile demonically. “I’ll call the landlord right now and tell her to switch the name on the lease to yours. Enjoy paying rent.”
Her face falls flat. “You can’t do that. I don’t have a job. I put my life on hold to support you.”
“I didn’t know supporting me meant you got to fuck around with other people. I think we have a different view of what supporting really means.”
Not sure if it’s me asking her to leave or the realization that she has nothing without me, but panic lights up her eyes. “Listen, Silas, we can work this out.”
“The fuck we can. Now you either pack up and get out of here in an hour, or the apartment is yours. Rent is due in a week.”
And with that, I storm out of the apartment and as far away from her as I can get.
We are so fucking over.
And I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone treat me like that again.
ChapterOne
OLLIE
“To the worst internship of our lives,” Ross says, holding up a shot glass.
I hold mine up as well. “And may Alan Roberts’s teeth fall out for creating the toxic workspace we’ve suffered through all summer.”
“Cheers to that.” Ross clinks his glass against mine, and together, we take down a tequila shot, quickly counteracting the bitter taste with some lime.
When we finish, I let out a large breath. “I can’t believe the fucker is making us work extra to earn our internship credit.”
Ross licks the lime before setting his down. “That’s what happens when you’re fucking the head of the journalism department. You get what you want.”
I grip Ross’s arm. “Do you really think Roberts is fucking Professor Wheeler?”
Ross purses his lips and gives me his telltale look for “girlllll.” “Please, Yamish saw them in her office last spring. That’s how Roberts nabs all of those summer interns to do his dirty work because he siphons them straight from the department.”
“We were siphoned,” I say.
“Exactly, and look where that got us. Sure, we worked a paid internship for college credit. That was great and appreciated, but at what cost? We lost one of the greatest summers of our life to Alan Roberts and his coffee order of steamed milk with a teaspoon of espresso. And now, when we finally have a chance to take part in writing something for his elusive website, we have to do it when school starts to earn our credit. What the fuck is that about?”
“Poor time management,” I say as I pick up my margarita and twirl my straw. Our drink of the summer has been a margarita on the rocks with a shot of tequila on the side. It gets the job done with no hangover in the morning.
Ross and I met our freshman year. We were put into a study group together and immediately hit it off. We bonded over face creams, fashion trends, and workout routines that gave us the best results with the least possible injury.
“Have you even looked at your assignment?” he asks.
I slip the envelope handed to us when we left work today out of my purse and hold it to my chest. “I have not. Have you?”
“No.”
“Want to do it together?” I ask.
