3. Penelope

3

PENELOPE

I raise my arms over my head, turning to look out the large window of my bedroom. The lake looks pretty this morning.

I climb out of the bed, stretching again and not bothering to look in the mirror as I walk out into the hallway to the kitchen.

Linc is there, eating from a bowl of cereal while standing in front of the sink. He’s in only the same black sweats he wore last night, his muscles flexed tight the way he’s standing.

I know exactly where the tension is coming from, and I doubt he’s too happy with me this morning.

His dark, brown hair is tousled on his head in thick unruly waves as he turns, and his cold, hazel eyes meet mine. His beard is trimmed, but it doesn’t hide his square jaw and high cheekbones. Such a beautiful fucking prick.

He doesn’t say a word. That’s Linc for you. The strong, silent type unless he’s spitting fire and making girls cry for the hell of it.

“Mornin’, Linc.” I walk to the cabinet, standing on my tiptoes to grab a glass bowl and look over my shoulder at him. “You and your hand have a nice time last night?”

He ignores my question and shoots me his own as I pour cereal into my bowl. “Are you even going to bother to go to class today?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. What’s the point?” I hate college, the boring classes, the large lecture halls full of pretentious professors all believing they know the meaning of life.

“Grades? A degree? Not failing out of college and wasting my parent’s money?”

Asshole . He loves to twist the knife and punish me every chance he gets. He finishes his cereal and rinses the bowl out in the sink. “I’m not failing. We only have two weeks of school left, and I’m sitting at a solid C average.”

“Whoa, go for the gold, P.” Linc’s words, as always, drip with sarcasm.

“And you’re doing much better?”

He shrugs and walks to the fridge, grabbing the milk and holding it out for me. “You’re smarter. You should be an A student.”

It’s not really a compliment, more like a fact. Linc doesn’t humor anyone for any reason, not even the poor, dumb girls he uses to get laid. He goes the abusive, self-deprecating route, and my god, do they fall for it. “What’s the point?”

I ask it again, knowing he has no answer. Neither of us do because life is pointless, and we both know I’m only here for his mother, who I adore and have since Linc and Colt brought me home for dinner when I was only nine.

I had nothing to lose back then, living in foster care, surrounded by tons of other kids and no real parents. I probably shouldn’t have gone with them, but Colt’s kind eyes pulled me in and held me in a trance I couldn’t break.

Colt was so pure and good. He was everything I wanted to be, even at nine years old, but knew I wasn’t.

I take the milk from him, and he shakes his head, clearly done with me this morning. “I’m going to go take a shower. Be ready when I get out if you want a ride to campus.”

I need to get a car so I don’t have to rely on him for rides. His parents would happily buy me a car and have, in fact, offered many times. But they’ve done enough.

“Fine.”

He leaves, and I watch the muscles of his back flex as he walks away, the simple tattoo on his right shoulder blade taunting me.

I squeeze my eyes tightly, trying to forget and make the pain swelling inside my chest go away.

I take a deep breath and go back to my breakfast.

We all would have been so much better off if I’d have said no that day and hadn’t ever fallen heart-first for Colt Sterling.