That doesn’t really explain it, though. My usual taste is girls with toned bodies who are relaxed and carefree. A girl wound tightly enough to chase me to the polo field and call me an asshole over some dumb project neither of us is going to remember in a month is definitely not my type. Even if she does have curves more fitting for a Vegas stripper than a college kid. That body could revive a corpse, and my dick obviously isn’t immune because it’s getting hard at the thought of her.
It’s not the body,my gut whispers. I’ve been around women who were even hotter. It’s just…Aspen looked at me like I was an annoying pest, which people simplydo not do. They’re too impressed by my parents—and their fame—to notice or care that I don’t like or respect them. I shouldn’t put too much significance into her actions, though. She probably doesn’t know who my parents are. Once she finds out, she’ll smile and gaze up at me like I’m some kind of minor deity, like everyone else.
For some reason, the possibility annoys me.
It’s perverse that I want her to continue to hate me over the stupid class assignment, even though her reaction was over the top. The entire point of taking Culture and Music in History is to slack off. Everyone on campus knows this. Taylor is a pussy who wants to feel important. He’s a total tyrant to students he deems of no consequence and nauseatingly sycophantic to those he thinks are special.
I happen to fall into the latter category, because of my parents. It’s amazing how useful they are—for once. I don’t even need to show up for class to get an A.
After the first class, Taylor came up to me and said, “I’m so glad you’re in this course, Grant. I have such admiration for your father’s work. And your mother! What a treasure to humanity.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a we-are-different-from-themsmile. But the hungry edge to his expression betrayed his desperation tobespecial. “Just the fact that you’re here elevates everything.”
“If you want, I’ll see if I can show you Mom’s ‘Twenty-Seven.’” There are fifty photos in the series, and Mom gave me “Twenty-Seven” on my eighteenth birthday. It’s never been shown publicly, and the mystery surrounding it makes it one of her most talked-about works.
He gasped. “Would that really be possible?”
“I can ask,” I said, not making any promises. “Twenty-Seven” is in a climate-controlled vault in Geneva. And I’m not taking it out, certainly not for Taylor.
“It’d mean the world to me.”
And it means a lot to me that I don’t have to lift a finger and will still get a good grade in the class. It’s a pointless course a lot of students are forced to take. There are better professors for it, who could make the material more interesting, but Taylor is the dean’s nephew.
However, you can get a good grade in his class even if you don’t have fancy parents. Suck up to him a little, and he hands out A’s like an overly generous granny on Halloween. So I don’t understand why Aspen was acting like she’s on the verge of getting some shitty grade.
“What are you doing? Planning a hot date?” Will positions his head so close to me that I can feel the hot air coming out of his flaring nostrils. Gross. Even if I played for the other team, he wouldn’t make the grade. He’s okay looking, with straw-colored hair, average blue eyes and an average nose and mouth. But his social skills are awful.
I shift away, not bothering to point out his obnoxious intrusion. If he hasn’t learned the importance of respecting other people’s personal space by now, he’s not going to. “No. I’m trying to cover my position.”
“For what?”
“For a trade. I have to do that before the market closes in half an hour.”
He scoffs. “Nothing has to be done today. Do it tomorrow.”
“The trade won’t be good by then. The window will be closed.”
He makes awhatever, dudenoise in his throat. “How much are you trying to make?”
“Twenty grand. At least.”
“Pssh. Pocket change. Tell your dad’s assistant you need some money.”
“I’d rather get tied to Starfire and get dragged for a mile.” Starfire is one of my horses. She’s gorgeous and loves to gallop down the polo field like a goddess of victory.
“Hey, is it true Sadie dumped you?” Will asks, apparently having decided he doesn’t want to talk about my trade or how much I despise asking for money from my dad. He has more interesting things to gossip about. Like my ex-girlfriend, who’s the queen of the campus. But this makes sense because he has only one priority: getting laid. If the college offered a degree in it, he would be a dedicated doctoral candidate. “She says she did because she got tired of you taking her for granted, but nobody believes her.”
I make a vague noise in response. Campus gossip is boring.
“Gretchen said she saw Sadie texting you, like, a hundred times during Victorian Lit yesterday.”
She might’ve. I blocked her number following her tenth text, aftershewalked away because I wouldn’t agree to go to that dumb gala with her. Apparently, my refusal to cater to her every whim makes me a shitty boyfriend. All the other boys she’s dated must have kissed the ground she walked upon.
I only do as much as I want for the girls I date. If they don’t like it, they’re welcome to go find somebody else. I’ve never stopped a girl who wanted to move on. Life’s too short, and there are plenty of fish in the ocean.
“She isn’t acting like she dumped you.” Lurid excitement puts an odd hitch in Will’s tone.
“She wanted me to be a better boyfriend, but I didn’t know how. So she walked. End of story,” I say.
“You didn’t try to stop her? She’s hot!”
