17. Sophia
Chapter 17
Sophia
“ T o winter break!” I raise my cafeteria-made Fanta-knockoff in a toast and look around.
Abigail pouts. “I still have another final to take.”
“Sucks to be you.” I playfully stick my tongue out at her while still keeping an eye on my surroundings. You never know when a rogue hockey player might show up. “This is my last chance to salute you before I depart for Port Canaveral. Richard is waiting for me outside to take me to the airport, and then once I’m on the ship, I will be incommunicado.”
She sighs. “You know you can afford to get Wi-Fi onboard, right?”
I scoff. “I don’t care how rich I am, I’m not paying those prices for Wi-Fi, especially when it’s so much slower than what I have at home. In any case, no internet is part of the charm. A digital detox. I’m even leaving my phone in airplane mode for the duration.”
“Airplane mode?” She looks aghast.
I shrug and then sneak a look around once more. “Vikings sailed without social media, and they loved it.”
“Are you planning on a lot of killing and pillaging?” she asks.
“Just shopping and sunbathing when we’re on land, and looking meditatively at the horizon while we’re at sea.”
“Sunbathing in the winter?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Beats trudging in snow.” This time, I look behind me, just in case.
When I turn back around, Abigail is looking smug. “Are you hoping that he’ll show up?”
“No.” Maybe. It’s stupid, I know, but I want to get a glimpse of him before I depart. Unfortunately—I mean, fortunately—he stopped stalking me physically a couple of weeks ago. Even his texts and calls have ceased in recent days.
“You could just call him back,” she suggests.
“And encourage him to resume the stalking?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not stalking if he genuinely goes to this school. I know the girl in the bursar office who got him registered.”
Questions like, “What girl?” and “Is she pretty?” are on my lips, but I don’t want to give Abigail any ammunition.
Abigail’s face turns serious. “Why are you so against giving him a chance? Everyone thinks you’re together, anyway.”
She’s talking about a disreputable tabloid that took pictures of me and Mason as we left the bar on F-Day. If they are to be believed, Mason and I are minutes away from tattooing each other’s names on our genitals.
“He doesn’t want a chance with me, if that’s what you mean,” I say. “He wants his precious team, and I’m just a means to that end.”
And hey, at least he’s open about needing something from me—unlike Rupert, who fucked me literally on the way to fucking me figuratively.
“It didn’t look like he wanted the team the other day,” she says. “It looked like he wanted you .”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong, but it doesn’t matter. Even if I decided to start dating someone, it wouldn’t be a guy like Mason.” A guy I could see myself falling for all too easily—a surefire way to get my heart shredded yet again.
“Who said anything about dating?” She waggles her eyebrows. “A lot of fun can be had without such drastic measures.”
“Yeah, no.” The more orgasms I have, the closer I shift to the point of no return, and Mason has already given me as many as Rupert did in our first month of dating.
Abigail sighs. “Maybe you’ll meet someone on the cruise?”
“Maybe.” But I highly doubt it.
From here, we chat about nothing of substance until the food is gone, at which point I text Richard to let him know I’m ready to hit the road.
As I walk through campus to the car, I catch myself still looking around for Mason—with no luck. But just as my ride comes into view, I feel a hand land on my shoulder. A masculine hand.
Feeling oddly elated, I turn, expecting to see Mason’s chiseled, Viking-like face… only to lay my eyes on its complete opposite.
“Hi, baby,” Rupert says, his smile as fake as the Rolex knockoff on his bony wrist. “Long time, no see.”