Boyfriend Material (Hawthorne University, #2)(7)

I rush up to the guy on the ground. My money pours out of the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt. I reach down to take it back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I call out. “I need this!”

The skinny kid—and he’s just a kid, maybe fourteen—looks terrified. He scrambles to his feet.

“I’m sorry!” he says and rushes off, his sneakers making squishing noises on the pavement.

“You should be,” I yell.

My savior takes a step to follow, and I reach out and put a hand on his arm. Or I should say huge bicep. Tingles of awareness zip over me. Eric.

He bends over with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You don’t want me to chase him down?”

“No. All of it seems to be here. He’s probably desperate.”

Just like me.

I shake my head as a realization hits me. Every loser leaves high school hoping they’ll make something of themselves. I had that hope, however distant, that I could go to my high school reunion a changed person. Successful. Powerful. Boy, was I going to show Eric that I was way out of his league.

But Sparkly-Golden-Boy Eric has always been a success since he came out of the womb.

“What were you doing? Leaving your money out like that? Really dumb, Julia.” There’s judgment in his voice, tinged with haughtiness.

There’s the Eric I know.

I’m sort of relieved this version of him showed up.

I glance around and find people holding their phones up, recording the incident. None of them offered to help, but they love to catch things on video. I imagine he’ll be heralded as a hero in the captions.

I turn to go, but he stays close on my ass. I can almost feel him breathing down my neck. “A thank you might be in order.”

If my only way to lose Eric is by thanking him, I’d definitely rather die.

I pick up the pace, meandering around trucks and people as I walk toward the street that leads to my house.

Pushing the theft attempt behind me, my mind races. I’m out of time. And what will I do, anyway, if I do somehow get the money? I’ll be in this situation again next month.

Okay. Here’s what has to happen. I have a few guys on my contacts list I’ve gone out with. Some are super nice. I tend to end my brief relationships amicably—except for Parker. Some I talk to on a regular basis since they aren’t Kappas. I’ll just text a few and see if any of them can loan me the money. It’s something I haven’t tried yet.

It’s a plan. I pick up the pace.

“Where are you going?” Eric snaps.

“My house. It’s two streets over.”

“And you’re walking? It’s late. Weirdos are trolling. Don’t be careless.”

A bitter laugh comes from me. Poor Eric. He’s built like he can level mountains, but he’s so bubble-wrap-protected that he’s afraid of my part of town.

He was the wealthiest kid at our private prep school about an hour from here in Bellemeade, where we both lived. He walked those hallowed halls like he owned them, and I guess he did since his family was a huge donor.

Girls swarmed him. Guys collected around him to be his friend.

And me? I was the scholarship kid that came along senior year. They had an amazing art department, and my public school counselor arranged for me to nab a scholarship to bulk up my portfolio for college. It felt like a dream come true. My mom dropped me off every day in an old Chevrolet, a few times with the muffler dragging the ground.

He and I may have been at the same school, but we lived in different worlds.

Until our poetry class when we sat next to each other.

Our worlds collided as he led me down a path of desire and passion and lust.

My body throbbed for him. I ached, wanted, needed.

I worshipped him. I followed him around like a puppy dog. Gah, it’s so embarrassing.

I march to the path in front of my house and wheel on him. His eyes try to hold mine, but I look away. I just can’t. Even now, after so much time has passed, each time I look at him I feel the rawness of betrayal.

“This is where I get off,” I tell him, pointing up at the crumbling Tudor-style home that might have been quaint and charming about a hundred years ago but now needs a lot of attention.

The fa?ade is a faded red brick accented with cracked timbers around the doors and windows. The roofline is pitched and complex with black tarps over the spots where it needs to be replaced. The crown jewel of the house is a beautiful stone chimney off to the side with orange and red roses scaling up to the sky. The weeds are out of control in the landscaping. The trees need to be trimmed back. It looks a little crazy.

I freaking love it. To me it looks like it belongs in the English countryside, a fairytale house.

In another world, if I were wealthy, I’d restore it to its former grandeur.

I cross my arms. “Thanks for getting my money.” He does deserve a thank you, but I can’t stop the sharpness of my voice.

He eyes the place like it’s a horror house. “You live here? I thought it was condemned.”

I glance up at it. “Well, it does give that impression with some of the boarded-up windows. To be honest, it probably helps keep the place from being robbed.”

Poppy’s parents bought it in April as an investment opportunity. It was supposed to be fixed up by the end of the summer, but they’re busy people, and they’ve been sluggish with renovations. The bottom floor is done, but not upstairs where the bedrooms are. I don’t mind. Having no working HVAC knocked a hundred bucks off the rent. Plus, this is Minnesota; not everyone has air conditioning.