Lily
I’m proud to say that I never resorted to looking up Hector Cross until today, but I cave as I drink my coffee.
A quick search confirms that he’s the son of Vincent and Brittany Cross, nee Lawson.
Brittany had an elder sister who married a Devar.
Half an hour into my non-creepy internet stalking session, I’ve confirmed his claim.
I even find a picture from a couple of years ago where he was on a yacht, having drinks with a bunch of pretty people, including my idol.
Life’s so unfair.
Given how tired I am, I’m not attempting to get any work done this Saturday morning.
I started on my next costume last night but I’m too exhausted to give it a go today—bedsides, I’d rather not piss off my new roommate again.
God, I miss Claire. Henrietta’s the worst; a wannabe legacy without the right surname.
She turns up her nose at me, other than to make demands about our shared space—one of them being no chemicals.
Which is bullshit from someone who uses so much nail polish I get lightheaded on the stuff.
But rather than risk another confrontation, I scroll on my phone, letting myself fall further down the rabbit hole. Doomscrolling is as good an activity as any.
I find Cross’s socials, set to public, and start to scroll through pictures, mostly group selfies. I’m sad to report he didn’t go through an acne-plagued, awkward teen phase. He’s muscular and athletic in all of his pictures, including those dating back to high school.
I notice very few women in his pictures, and most of them show up only once, except for a beautiful blonde I’ve seen around campus, though we never interact.
I ask myself why I’m noticing the girls in his pictures, and shake my head. It’s a normal observation under the circumstances. I owe a kiss and blowjobs to the dick. Of course I’d wonder if he has a girlfriend.
His status says single.
I frown at myself for noticing.
It doesn’t matter if he’s single. What matters is, I will get my prize when he loses our ridiculous bet. The man has zero chance of winning.
Then I find an old site, without any update in the last year, recording Cross’s travels around the world. It makes no sense to me, but to all appearances, he went backpacking. With an actual large, overstuffed pack, not a Louis Vuitton suitcase.
He wrote little updates and posted tons of pictures—a far cry from photojournalism, but definitely fascinating.
I’m ashamed to admit I’m still on my phone when Olivia knocks hours later.
“Come in!”
Her entrance is accompanied by the delicious scent of Chinese food.
“I picked up takeout!” she announces unnecessarily. “Jack’s on his way.”
I completely forgot we’d planned on meeting in my room before heading to the Shark House.
Fuck. I can’t believe I let Dez talk me into this party.
My stomach grumbles at the mouth-watering aroma. “I’m so beat, I’d planned on surviving on cereal. How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it next time. Besides,” she adds, “I seriously owe you for standing up to Carmichael yesterday. I want to snap at him, tell him to leave me alone, but when he’s right in front of me, I lose the ability to speak.”
My best friend pouts, visibly frustrated with herself. I don’t miss the tear running down her cheek, and I yet again feel the need to punch someone.
“I got you,” I assure her. “Always.”
Secretly, I think she should learn to tell them to back off.
They’re infuriating, sure, but in my experience, none of the guys actually follow through on their bullshit.
They just have an idea of social interactions that stunted at age sixteen.
I am also fairly certain Carmichael’s invitation was genuine.
In his thick head, he thought that blowing him was a fun opportunity Olivia might enjoy.
If she could simply say “no,” he’ll go away.
But the one time I’d been tipsy enough to suggest she should stand up to the guys, Liv cried so hard, I swore to never bring it up again.
“I don’t deserve you,” she says, handing me disposable chopsticks and my favorite, mu shu pork.
Then Olivia gasps. I assume she burned herself, as she usually gets some wonton soup, but when I look up, I see that she’s staring at my phone, face up on my bed next to me.
The screen’s zoomed in on Hector Cross’s annoyingly perfect face.
“I knew it!” she says.
“What?” I raise my palms up. “I just wanted to see if he really knew Maria Devar, for when I win.”
My best friend smiles, her expression telling me she’ll believe me when the pigs learn to fly over a frozen-over hell.
“It’s true!” I protest. “And I wanted to work out how he even knew I was into Devar’s stuff. But I follow her and like all her posts, so I suppose that would have been easy to figure out. Which shows he stalked me first.”
I sound way too defensive and I know it.
“Told you. That’s definitely how he knows about your costumes, too.” She grins. “But let’s not pretend I didn’t see what I saw last year. You guys have a thing. No point denying it.”
“I don’t link anything to my cosplay account. Too many doxxing creeps.” I wrinkle my nose. “And we don’t have a thing. Last year was…a one-off.”
A three-off, but he only claimed one.
“Which brings us back to him asking the webs for the information.”
I don’t like that idea. Just looking someone up online is completely normal in this day and age, but getting IT guys to hack into my information seems like a step too far. I sincerely hope she’s wrong.
“So, does he know your designer?”
I bob my head. “She’s really his cousin. Lucky dick. An internship could change my life. If I show her I can be helpful—”
I don’t have the kind of life that allows for a lot of daydreams. I can’t bring myself to hope for a lucky break at the expense of a stupid bet with a trust fund brat.
In all likelihood, Maria’s going to be pissed her cousin forced her to take an intern she didn’t handpick, and won’t give me the time of the day.
But if—
“That’s if you win,” Liv points out. “I can’t believe you were willing to gamble with that.”
A blush takes over her entire face, though she looks impressed, rather than questioning my sanity.
“Not much of a gamble. They never win.” I dig into the delicious food, munching happily.
Several minutes later, after sipping all her soup, Liv replies. “Maybe they never had a reason to bother.”