MERRITT
CHAPTER TWO
How much caffeine is too much caffeine?
Honestly, I’m barely able to keep track of which day it is, let alone how much coffee I’ve actually had in the last twenty-four hours.
Oh shit.
600mg of caffeine is generally considered too much for an adult, which can result in heart palpitations, insomnia…
My search result now has me wondering if I’m actually going to die from caffeine overconsumption.
Kind of fitting if that’s the way that I go.
Here lies Merritt Amelia St. Pierre, the overworked, exhausted pre-law student who somehow survived on an average of three hours of sleep per night for the majority of her college career.
Bless her heart, literally, since it’s the reason she’s dead.
It couldn’t handle the obscene amount of espresso in combination with her tragically high dose of ADHD meds.
A laugh slips past my lips, drawing the attention of the people around me, and I promptly snap them shut when I feel their stares and hurriedly click out of my search.
“Sorry,” I whisper with a wince.
Glancing back at my laptop, I pull open the notes app and try to focus on Professor Hart.
My attention tends to wander quickly, and sometimes in moments like these, I have to redirect and force myself to focus.
My neurospicy brain makes everything in my life ten times harder, especially when it comes to school.
God, I’m just so fucking tired.
I feel like I can’t focus on anything except how badly I want to crawl into my bed and disappear for the next seventy-two hours.
A literal dream.
What would I give to have a single day off from everything. Class, studying, working, keeping both Elliott and Dad alive on top of myself.
I think I’d do unholy, dirty things that I would likely be ashamed of when it was all over, to be honest.
The sound of the lecture hall door clicking shut tears my attention from the doodle I was scribbling at the top corner of my notebook, and my eyes roll when I see Bennett Legros slipping into a seat at the end of my row.
My preferred spot is always at the very back of the auditorium because that means less distraction.
Usually.
But not when everyone’s favorite hockey heartthrob golden retriever shows up to class twenty minutes late and flashes Professor Hart a sheepish grin and lifts his hand in a wave.
Of course, she simply shakes her head in response and continues on with her lecture.
I glare at him.
Not that he’s paying attention. He probably has no idea I even exist outside of his perfect, carefree little bubble that he lives in.
God, I can’t stand guys like him.
The ones who skate through life without a care in the world. Who have the privilege to show up late to class with zero repercussions. He probably stayed out all night partying and drinking and rolled out of bed too hungover to actually show up on time.
But he’s a hockey player, and at OU? He’s royalty.
A king among his loyal subjects, ready to kiss the ground beneath his feet.
I’m fairly sure he could get away with murder, and no one would even bat an eye.
If I sound bitter, it’s because I absolutely am.
We’re halfway through the semester, and I’ve never even seen him take a single note. Most of the time, he shows up after class has already started and then spends the rest of the class flirting with the girls sitting beside him and scrolling on his phone, not participating in the lecture.
Then there are people like me. The ones who have actually had to earn their grade. The ones who show up to class on time and actually make an effort.
I can guarantee he’s never pulled an all-nighter to finish an essay or raced against the clock to turn in an assignment by 11:59 p.m.
Even right now, after interrupting the entire class with his late arrival, he’s not taken out his laptop or even a damn notebook.
No, he’s currently wearing his signature playful, boyish grin, whispering with the busty redhead sitting beside him.
I watch as he reaches out and grabs a piece of her hair, twirling it around his finger, and I genuinely might gag.
It’s hard enough for me to pay attention to what’s happening when I’m not being distracted by blatant favoritism from our professor and unbearable incompetence from the golden boy.
I force my gaze away, dragging it to Professor Hart, and try to ignore Bennett.
I wish the only thing I had to be annoyed about when it comes to Bennett Legros is that he’s privileged to have zero responsibility or accountability in literally anything.
But it’s also because, like every girl in this class that he effortlessly charms into using their notes, or into their pants… I was also one of those girls who stupidly fell at his feet.
To be fair, I was much younger and much, much more naive back then.
Two years makes a lot of difference.
Obviously, past Merritt was blinded by his ridiculously attractive face and charm, but current Merritt would never fall for that shit.
Some lessons have to be learned the hard way though.
The first one being to stop letting my best friends drag me to parties that I have zero desire to be at.
They dragged me to a frat party, and despite that, it was fun. We spent the night drinking and dancing, flirting with hot fuckboys.
Then there was Bennett, strolling through the party like he owned the place, oozing this confidence that can’t be faked.
And I fell right into his trap.
He said all the right things, tucked my hair behind my ears like some ’90s heartthrob as he grinned down at me, so assured and at ease despite being surrounded by frat bros and the smell of stale beer.
When he kissed me, it felt like I’d never been kissed before.
Of course, I actually had been kissed before. I wasn’t a virgin by any means, and I’d obviously had my share of fun since starting OU.
We ended up upstairs, and… I’ll save all of the painful details for… never.
I don’t actually want to relive that night ever again.
To make a painfully long story short, I thought I was about to have the best sex of my life if the way he kissed was any indication.
Except he couldn’t… you know, get it up.
I mean, it was a semi at best, but how embarrassing is it that you’re standing naked in front of a guy only for him to not even be affected?
It was the most mortifying moment of my life.
I wanted this guy, and he so clearly didn’t want me, even if for some reason he was pretending to.
I got dressed faster than I ever have in my life and left him there with what was left of my shattered pride and went back to the party like nothing had happened.
Later that night, I saw him making out with a different girl. He never even noticed when I walked by, too lost in the curvy brunette’s throat he had his tongue down.
So. Fucking. Gross.
To make it even worse—yes, that actually is possible—after that night…
he walked right past me on campus like it had never happened.
Not even a wave after nearly having his dick inside me that night.
I thought maybe he’d at least apologize for how things went down when we ended up in this class together, but not once in the two years since it happened has he so much as looked my way.
Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, and I would not be giving Bennett Legros the chance to fool me ever again.
I’m far too smart for that.
“Okay, everyone, that’s about it for today,” Professor Hart says from the podium, adjusting the thick brown glasses sitting along her nose.
She peers over the tops of the lenses. “As you know, we’ve been gearing up this semester to start your thesis project, and I’m pleased to announce that your project will be centered around classic literature. ”
Okay, that feels… safe.
“You’ll be assigned a classic to read and interpret, then create your own short story rendition that encapsulates what the core of the novel was.
A fiction story of your own. But to put a little twist on things…
you’ll do so with a partner of my choosing.
Each of you will write your novella from a different point of view.
Tonight, I’ll be emailing everyone their assigned novel as well as your assigned partners.
The point of this is that you and your partner work together to craft a story that feels cohesive, despite being written by two different voices. You get creative with a classic.”
A flurry of conversation flits around the room, a combination of excitement and apprehension.
Shit. Why did I choose Creative Writing as an elective?
I sigh.
Because my course load is heavy this year, and it looks good on my law application. And because it’s supposed to be helpful when working on briefs to strengthen my writing.
But I loathe partner projects, and I hate ones like this even more.
Too much of our grade hinges on the outcome. It makes my stomach twist with nerves.
I can’t afford for my GPA to take a dive. I’m so close to applying for OU Law, and I need every ounce of luck and the last four years to be enough to get accepted.
“Be sure to check your emails this evening,” Professor Hart calls as we all begin packing up.
I shut my laptop and hastily shove it into my backpack, along with my notebooks.
Just as I stand to leave the auditorium, she calls out, “Oh, and just so I can reduce the number of emails I have to field, your novels and partners will not be reassigned. I’m not changing them based on preferences, so please, save your pleas.
Part of this assignment is learning how to work with others, even when having different views.
You’re all adults, heading out into the real world.
Learning to work with others, whether by choice or not, is a valuable life skill. See you on Thursday!”
Perfect.
Thankfully, I don’t have time to worry myself sick about the thesis project because I’m too busy sprinting all the way across campus to get to work. I can’t be late… again, or Mrs. Jarvis might actually fire me, and then I’ll be supremely fucked.
I need this job too much to get fired.