Avery (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries #3) - Addison Jane Page 0,2
it was impossible to fall asleep. Though, I had seen plenty of people take that as a challenge.
“I really need to borrow your notes,” a perky voice announced as a hip bumped up against mine, almost throwing me off balance.
I caught myself, snorting out a laugh, refusing to acknowledge my best friend as she fell into step beside me. “Maybe you should come to class,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “Then you’d have the notes, and you might actually learn something, too.”
She let out a long, dramatic groan. “Technically, I’m still a little drunk,” she admitted without a drop of remorse or embarrassment. “I wouldn’t have understood or had the energy to write down a single damn thing that was said, and still would have had to borrow your notes anyway. I just decided to skip that middle part.”
“The part where you actually attend a class?”
“Exactly.”
We fell into step with the flow of students moving toward one of the college’s many parking lots. It was almost like a heavy running river, people veered off at some places, others merged in, but you definitely didn’t want to get caught in it if you weren’t a good swimmer.
These kids were in a hurry to get the hell out of here.
They wanted to go home, shower, fill their stomachs, and then pregame.
I, on the other hand, had to work at Empire and wouldn’t be going to bed until the place closed, so I was itching to get to the clubhouse in time to have a damn nap.
Holly talked my ear off the entire way, waving her hands around dramatically, almost hitting several people in the face as she tried to explain the fiasco that went on at the rush party last night. Something about freshmen. Something about boobs. And there may have been a can of beans too. Whether those things were connected, I couldn’t tell you, but a tiny part of me was disappointed I hadn’t paid more attention.
We stopped at the parking lot’s curb, and I leaned against a pole as I waited for my ride. I wasn’t sure whether Holly had actually driven here in the state she was in or if she was seriously not going to leave until I handed her that morning’s notes.
“Did you not drive?” she asked, her brow knotting between her eyes.
“No, Crush is putting new tires on my car, so Ty dropped me off,” I explained, instantly regretting it as her eyes lit up, and she stood a little taller. “You leave Ty alone. He already has enough crap to deal with at the clubhouse. He doesn’t need to be distracted every five minutes by you.”
The two had messed around a few times. Though, I worried about him more than I worried about her.
She gasped, pressing her hand to her chest in shock. “Are you calling me high maintenance?”
“The highest.”
“I resent that.”
“Resenting it doesn’t make it any less true,” I sang, as the roar of a motorcycle tickled at my ears. I hated leaving her there, but honestly, it was coming to a point where I had to keep reminding myself I wasn’t Holly’s mother. There was only so much leading to the water I could do, but if she wasn’t going to drink, I was simply wasting my time. “Can you get a ride?”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
Holly instantly pushed her shoulders back and her breasts out, making it look like they had suddenly inflated. I choked out a laugh, and she swung her hand back and smacked me in my stomach. When I saw the group of guys walking toward us, I knew it was a warning.
Play nice in front of her frat boyfriends.
Cooper Davids and company.
The campus playboy and head douchebag of the frat that Holly’s sorority spent most of their time studying, partying, and fucking with. My nose crinkled, but I managed to catch myself before I rolled my eyes, and it really made my disdain evident.
“Cooper, hey!” Holly greeted them with a skip in her step, her voice all high-pitched and perky.
You could tell they liked it better that way. By the way their eyes were drawn to her, sweeping up and down her body. That squeaky tone these girls put on to try and make themselves seem more fun or feminine or whatever only made them seem less intelligent, like some kind of bimbo who was incapable of forming complete sentences.