The Scammer(62)

“Not Boo Boo the Fool!” I laugh so hard I snort, making Nick laugh just as hard.

“Okay, do you think Kordell and Serena are gonna win?” I ask, as we hop off the bus two blocks from the frat house.

“No! They are the worst!”

“But they’re the cutest couple,” I whine.

“I thought that title went to us,” he says with a wink.

I can’t stop the stupid silly grin from spreading across my face.

Is he flirting?

“You know, you’re really good at this whole fake boyfriend thing,” I say, trying to divert for my own sanity. “It’s like you’ve had experience. You should reconsider your stance.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

I shrug, feigning confidence. “Suit yourself. But you know, I won’t be around for much longer to hate-watch Love Island with. You’ll have to find yourself another accomplice.”

A shadow of disappointment crosses his face. “This is true.”

I measure his tone, unable to get a reading, and slow to a stop. “What is it?”

Nick sighs and faces me. “It’s just hitting me that once you’re gone . . . I won’t have to admit that this . . .” He swings our hands. “. . . is slowly becoming the best part of my day.”

I grin. “Well, I guess you’ll live.”

He smiles, pulling me closer. “Or maybe not.”

I stare up into his eyes, daring myself just to imagine what a real kiss would feel like from him. And just as I think of stealing one for myself, I hear my name.

“Jordyn?”

The sound of her voice stops me in my tracks. I spin around and gasp.

“Mom!”

Standing beside their parked black Mercedes is Mom and Dad. I immediately drop Nick’s hand. How much did they see?

Dad looks from Nick to me and then turns back to Mom.

“Oh so THIS,” Dad barks, waving at us. “This is where our money is going and not YALE?”

I’m almost too stunned to speak. “What—what are you doing here?”

“We came to visit our daughter,” Dad snaps. “Except she’s not where we thought she’d be. Where we’re paying for her to be.”

Nick clears his throat, stepping forward, offering his hand.

“Um, hello Mr. and Mrs. Monroe. My name is—”

“Son, not now,” my dad says, holding out his palm. “We’re talking to our daughter. Stay out of this!”

Nick’s eyebrows shoot up. He steps back, giving me an apologetic look. At least he tried.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask. How the hell did they find me?

“Your roommate Vanessa called,” Mom says, holding the strap of her Chanel handbag.

My heart stops beating. I could collapse right then and there.

“You . . . you talked to Vanessa?”

The shock renders me lifeless. How did she get their number?

Does she know? What does she know?

“What did she say?”

Puzzled by my reaction, Nick frowns.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mom snaps, outraged. “We’ve seen all we need to!”

“We’re paying for a dorm,” Dad says, “while you’re shacked up with some boy in a goddamn frat house!”

“No, it’s not like that,” I shout.

“Wait, sir, if I could help explain,” Nick starts but my dad flashes him a sinister look. A look I know too well.

“Didn’t I say we weren’t talking to you?” Dad barks, his voice becoming louder.

Emboldened, Nick steps up. “But sir, you’re not even listening. There’s a reason why your daughter—”

“Nick, forget it,” I say, stopping him. “He doesn’t care.”

“Oh I care,” Dad says with a haughty laugh. “If not I wouldn’t be here.”

Mom huffs, seemingly disgusted by the entire conversation.

“Jordyn, get your things,” she says. “We’re taking you home.”

“Home? It’s the middle of the semester!”

“No, not to Connecticut! Back to your dorm.”





Twenty-Three




“There you are!” Vanessa sings. “Welcome home! We’ve been so worried about you.”

Vanessa and Loren are standing in the living room, fresh-faced and wide-eyed. They even have their old clothes on, playing jazz music. The suite is tidied up. Doesn’t look like anyone but us have been living in it.

No Devonte in sight.

“Hi! You must be Vanessa,” Mom says, her tone cheery. “Thank you so much for contacting us.”

The sight of them hugging, sharing girly giggles, makes my hands roll into fists, itching to attack, hearing nothing but a pulse in my ear, steaming in anger.

How. Fucking. Dare. She!

“Don’t worry. We’ll take real good care of her,” Vanessa insists.

Dad drops my bags in the middle of the suite, breaking me from my trance.

“Which room is yours?” he says, his tone curt.

I point to the door and he busts in.

“Why is the lock broken?” he asks.

“Oh, my bad! We did that,” Vanessa says. “We thought she may have been in there. Decided to do our own wellness check.”