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“As of right now, yes. I’m not quite sure what I want to do after I graduate. The future is wide open and filled with endless possibilities.” He sounds like he’s repeating something someone else told him.

“I don’t know what I want to do either,” I admit, resting my head on his hot chest. I bet his skin could dry my hair. “I’m just winging it.”

“I thought you were focused on getting good grades and didn’t want any distractions.”

I frown. Did I tell him that? Sounds like something I’d say. “I mean, I am focused on getting good grades and not wanting any distractions. I want to make something of myself once I graduate and not depend on my family’s money.”

“Aren’t you depending on it right now by going to college? I assume Daddy Jock Rot is paying for it.”

God, I really hate that he brought up Jock Rot. “Well, yes. I’m not going to turn down my parents when they offer to pay for my education.”

I got into Thornhill because my father made a huge contribution to the alumni fund, despite him not being a graduate. My grades were solid at Lancaster Prep. I was one of the valedictorians because I threw myself into my studies my freshman year, thanks to being harassed by the very man that I’m in bed with. And after getting straight A’s my first year there, I kept it up. I liked being a top student and the attention I got from it. It’s the only positive reinforcement I received when I was at Lancaster and my parents were thrilled.

Dad said he greased a few palms—direct quote—at Thornhill and I didn’t stop him. Whatever it took to get me in, I wasthere for it. I’d like to think my grades alone made it happen, and I’m sure they contributed somewhat, but even I know…

When they say money talks, it’s not a lie. My father’s contribution helped pave the way for my entry into Thornhill. August got in because he’s a Lancaster. Ivy League schools care about who their star students are, and while I’m sure they don’t want the Jock Rot name attached to the school, they’ll definitely take that Jock Rot money.

Ugh. I hate even thinking the term jock rot. It’s so gross.

“I appreciate your honesty.”

I glance up at his face when I note the admiration filling his voice, though his words also sound faintly sarcastic. Knowing August, they are, but no. The look on his face is also filled with admiration. He means what he says. “Thank you.”

“Most women would tell me they don’t care about money.” His expression turns hard. “They’re full of shit.”

“They’ll tell you that because you have infinite loads of money and they want to look like they’re not after it,” I point out.

His gaze locks with mine and he reaches out, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from my face. “You don’t seem to care about my wealth.”

“I can’t even begin to fathom how much it affects your life.”

He doesn’t speak for a while and neither do I. We just watch each other, our bodies molded together, the beat of our hearts in tandem. I feel completely attuned to him and while it’s a tad overwhelming, this…feelinggrowing between us also feels natural.

Right.

“You surprise me,” he finally murmurs.

“In a bad way or a good way?” I ask warily.

He smiles and my heart pangs at how genuine it looks. “My feelings are positive. I was referring to how you seem completely unaffected by my wealth and power.”

“When you talk like that, all I want to do is roll my eyes.” I do so just for his benefit, which makes his smile grow.

“See? That right there. I don’t intimidate you at all.” He runs a hand over my hair, resting it on the side of my head. “I find that—appealing.”

“You made it your goal to intimidate me for a solid year,” I remind him, my voice a raspy whisper. “All these years later, I finally grew into myself and stood up to you.”

That’s not exactly true. I did stand up to him back then—more than a few times.

“And look where it got you.” He chuckles, his fingers sifting through my hair. “In my bed.”

“Fourteen-year-old me would have a hard time believing it.”

“I barely remember bullying you.” His smile fades, his gaze turning deathly serious. “But I do remember enough to know that I was a dick.”

“You were.”

“I made your life miserable and I don’t know why. Probably because you reacted so strongly.”