Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(48)

I prefer the Drake anyway. With Lo around, I have less chance to do something moronic. Like listening to my lower brain.

“My place is fine.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder as we leave. “But I live with my boyfriend, so we’ll have to be quiet.”

He whistles. “A junior and shacking up already. That explains a lot.”

He holds open a glass door for me, but I freeze before stepping onto the campus quad. “How so?” Do I wear everything right on my chest? Or is Connor Cobalt so arrogant he believes he has me all figured out in a short study session?

“A lot of girls here are from family money—”

“Wait,” I stop him before he continues. “How do you know I have money?” I glance at my wardrobe. Nothing on me screams distastefully wealthy. I wear a pair of Nike sneakers, track pants and a Penn sweatshirt. If Rose saw my style, she’d have a hernia.

“Calloway,” he says my name with a laugh. “Your daddy is a soda mogul.”

“Yeah, but most people—”

“I’m not most people, and I make an effort to know names, especially ones that matter.”

Uh, I have no idea how to respond to that conceitedness.

He leads me outside into the chilly night. “Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra lifting—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”

What a horrible generalization. Not all women would throw away their careers at the chance of being taken care of by a man. I could punch him or vomit. Either one seems like an appropriate reaction. I bet he also believes women should only pop out babies. God, Rose would scratch out his eyes if she heard him.

But I’m not as bold as Rose, and it’s too late to find another tutor. So I bury my thoughts and follow this asshole outside.





*


“Lo!” I shout, walking through the door with Connor trailing behind. “Lo!” When he doesn’t answer the third time, I presume he’s left the apartment entirely. I shoot him a text and hope he’s not too sloshed to feel the vibration.

We set camp at the bar counter. I pour through three different books, making slight progress but not enough to count as a success. On the problems Connor dishes out, I get twenty-five percent correct. That number has yet to fluctuate.

Two cases of Red Bull and a pepperoni pizza later, it’s eleven o’clock and Lo still hasn’t returned home. My phone sits lamely on the counter, and I glance at it, expecting to see a missed call. I told Lo about my tutoring session, and we went wild this afternoon. Maybe he thought he satiated me enough, so he planned to ditch me tonight and do his own thing.

I bite my lip. Worry starts to set in a few minutes later, and concentrating on the problems becomes near impossible.

“Maybe he just lost track of time,” Connor says, watching me check my phone repeatedly. “I think someone is throwing a highlighter party on campus tonight. Lots of the underclassmen I tutor were talking about it.”

“Upperclassmen don’t go?”

“Not usually. We’re more focused.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Another wide generalization. Lo would hate this guy. I must still look anxious because Connor closes our books.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “We can call off the bet. You don’t need to lose your money because I can’t concentrate.”

“I’ve never failed on my tutoring promises. The bet still stands. You’ll pass your exam, Lily. I’m certain of it.” That makes one of us. “Now, you’re obviously really concerned about your boyfriend. Until we find him, you’re not going to learn anything, so where do you think he could be?”

Huh? He’s offering to help me track down my boyfriend? I blink away the strangeness of Connor Cobalt and try to concentrate on Lo. Where would he be? That’s a good question. He partied himself out his first two years of college and has recently stuck to bars. Usually he arrives home at a reasonable time so he can drink heavy liquor here and pass out.

If I’m not driving him, then he has to be somewhere on campus. “You said that the highlighter party was on campus?” I ask.

“It’s outside on one of the quads.”

“We’ll start there.”





*


Strobe lights flicker across a grassy field. Bodies pump together to the hypnotic beat of house music. We approach at a distance. Most people wear white clothes with streaks of paint and marker that glow in the black lights. They run around and grind, almost animalistic in the cold night.

How will I be able to find Lo in this mess?

Before we integrate with the bumping and sweaty crowds, a petite redhead clenches my elbow. “Hey, you’ll need this.” She passes me a white tee. I frown as she hands Connor a much bigger size from the cardboard box by her feet. He doesn’t seem fazed as he unbuttons his dress shirt and pulls the other over his head, handing her his button-down.

“I’m not getting that back, am I?” he asks her with a flirtatious smile, or maybe it’s just a nice one. It’s hard to tell with a socialite like him.