Page 20 of Trust Me
I usually love school and learning, but lately, I can’t help feeling left out at times. A lot of my classmates are excited about the positions they’re applying for post-grad, while I’m lost.
I know the positions my parents would like me to apply for, but all those options do is make my stomach churn.
The wind rustles against my arms, a chill shooting its way up my spine. I opted for a black T-shirt, ripped jeans, and my black sandals. Regretfully, I didn’t bother bringing a jacket.
Outside of the business building, I spot Camille sitting on a bench, eyes glossy as she looks at her phone.
Standing in front of her now, I softly place my hand on her shoulder, giving it a shake. “Cami, what’s wrong?”
She jumps and lets out a shriek, a hand going to her chest. “Oh, you scared me, Jasmine!”
I sit down next to her, taking in her shaken appearance. “I’m sorry. What’s going on?”
She wipes away the tear that’s escaped down her cheek while taking a quick, deep breath. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re upset. It’s clearly not nothing. Talk to me, let me help you,” I plead, my eyes bouncing from one of her blue glassy eyes to the next.
“I will, but not right before class. Come over for a girls’ night tonight and I’ll tell you everything.”
“I’ll be there. I promise,” I tell her, pulling her into a hug. Camille clutches onto me, and once she’s ready, we pull apart and stand.
“All right.” She beams, attempting to look more like herself. “Last first day of school ever. Let’s do this!”
I chuckle, following her into the building and into our class—business leadership for fourth-year students. It’s not as busy as a first-year class, but there are still about seventy-five people in the room already.
And of all the seventy-five people in the room, he just had to be one of them.
Elio.
Stifling a groan, I yank on Camille’s arm, pulling her down to a seat in the back row with me. It’s not where we usually sit, but for whatever reason, I don’t want him to see me.
We literally live together, but I can’t see him more than I already do.
He’s at the front, talking to the professor and probably trying to weasel his way out of assignments because of hockey season. In the front row, a group of girls are perched in their seats, giggling and blushing as they unabashedly gawk at him.
My eyes roll into the back of my head. What do they see in him anyway?
“What’s with the angry eyes?” Camille asks, nodding toward the front row as she takes her laptop out.
I snap out of it, realizing my face was indeed set in a scowl. “It’s those girls. He’s like any other person trying to get his degree. Why can’t they be cool about it?” I ask before taking a sip from my water jug.
Camille half laughs, half scoffs. “It’s because they are thinking fuck the degree, and about how can they fuck him instead. They want to be with the retired NHL player who was deemed the sexiest billionaire in America.”
I nearly spit out my water. “A billionaire? How much money did they pay him?”
“The league would never pay him that much. Are you crazy? It’s probably from his endorsements, investments, and other avenues he explored. He seems like a savvy businessman, which is why I can’t figure out why he’s even here in the first place,” she ponders while opening her Word document.
I’m asking myself the same question, especially now, knowing that he’s loaded.
Why is he here?
And why am I paying him rent? Oh, that would be because I’m an idiot with too much pride and self-respect.
I push the thought away and silence my phone, then pocket it in my bag to help me focus during class. Then I get my notebook, pens, and highlighters out. Unlike Camille, I prefer taking notes by hand and use a color-coded system I’ve used since I was a kid. It’s the only thing that helps process information.
Eventually, I lose focus of the commotion at the front of the room and everything around me as I set myself up for class. Until I feel him beside me, his presence making itself known whether I want it to be or not.
“Funny seeing you here,” he whispers just loud enough for me to hear as he plops down into the seat next to mine.