Page 23 of Run For Me (Until You’re Mine Duet #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Him

I knock on the white fiberglass front door, which opens seconds later. I plaster a smile on my face the minute his dorky face comes into view.

“Hiya, Greenberg!” I step in, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a big, bright grin, not allowing any room for him to kick me out.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he asks, staring at me, hand on the knob like he’s afraid of closing the door with me in here.

“Just need a little favor.” I shrug and shove my hands into my front pockets. He doesn’t actually have any reason to be afraid of me. Not because of me, anyway. Dear old daddy won’t be happy, but that’s not my problem.

“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “My father sa—”

“Who cares what your father said? Come on, Green Bean. We’re pals. Have been since we were little kids.”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a leg from the top of my head that is wiggling its toes at him in a hello.

He’s thinking about it though. I see the gears working behind those muddy brown eyes.

“No,” he says, but it sounds like a question.

“It’s one little favor,” I add, keeping my tone as nice as possible. I can’t lose my patience just yet. I have to plead a little. “Just one. I’ll owe you.”

“Owe me what, exactly?” He tilts his head to the side, his grip on the knob shifting.

“Whatever you want,” I respond simply.

“Anything?” he questions, sliding his Jeffrey Dahmer glasses up his nose.

“Anything,” I assure him, already knowing what he’s going to ask.

There’s a reason Baron Greenberg doesn’t want his innocent little son hanging out with me.

It’s true we’ve been friends since we were kids.

At least, we used to be friends. Our fathers went to college together and stayed in the same circles.

Went to the same parties, same friends, that sort of thing.

His father became a lawyer, while mine gave that up and chose to teach.

No clue why, but only a few short years later, he was already Dean of the shit ass college I attend.

My father is the only reason this little shit is able to attend college.

Most others wouldn’t take him with the record he has—indecent exposure, harassment, and all that good shit.

Of course, it was all on the condition that little Orville here had to live in his own house and take day classes.

He’s not allowed on campus after dark. This, of course, isn’t public information, though it probably should be, but it’s all about the people you know.

And since Baron is in with my mother… well, he gets his way too.

Baron had a distaste for me the moment I hit puberty. It’s almost like he knew his kid wouldn’t amount to what a Greenberg should be, while I surpassed the expectations of my family, both in smarts and looks.

Orville is a scrawny little thing, pale with red hair, freckles, and glasses that went out of style fifty years ago. My father has shared that the Greenbergs have had multiple paternity tests done, just to be sure, because he’s the only redhead ever… so they say.

Still, the little twat is one of the best hackers I’ve ever met—and he is 100% a Greenberg, for the record. According to all the tests, anyway.

“There’s a girl in my calculus class...”

He’s also hands down the biggest horndog I’ve ever met.

It’s true the charges on him weren’t exactly his fault.

It’s not like he waved his dick around in front of a child or grabbed some random chick’s tit.

He was drunk, lost his pants, and fell on top of an old lady.

Still, boundaries for him are a little grey.

Problem is that my boundaries are non-existent.

“Done.”

“You don’t even know who she is,” he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. I try not to cringe as he wipes snot on his shirt.

“Don’t need to. I’m good for it and you know it. Just give me her info on the way out.” I shrug again. “But if I find out—”

“You won’t!” he shouts. “You know that was all a misunderstanding.”

I raise a brow and point a finger at him. “Don’t disappoint me, Orville.”

He nods and closes the front door, shutting out the cold air that was breezing in. It’s cold as hell today. He locks the bottom lock, deadbolt, and chain like he’s preparing for the damn zombie apocalypse. And I wouldn’t be surprised if that were his excuse for why he does it.

He moves by me and opens a door that leads down a set of stairs.

I follow him and end up in a finished basement that looks like something the FBI would have, not a nerd who’s in his second year of college—especially a lame college like ours.

If he weren’t so hard on luck, the guy could have made it into Brown or Harvard, but since his record is so fucked thanks to one night of giving into peer pressure—one that had nothing to do with me, thank you very much—his whole life is ruined.

Fuck peer pressure, kids. Fuck it hard, right in the ass. No lube.

Orville goes directly to his gaming chair and sits down in front of his computer that has three large screens and a shit ton of wires and little boxes with blinking lights.

The dude could call Jupiter if he wanted to.

I stand back and wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing, tapping away on the keyboard so the screens filled with codes I couldn’t understand if my life depended on it disappear.

When he turns to me, he asks, “What do you need?”

“Should be simple for you. I need a name.”

“A name?” He pushes those glasses up his nose again, sniffling.

I nod. “A student. I have initials and the color of her hair.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you messing with me?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“This sounds weird, even for you.” He shakes his head. “Okay, give me the initials and the hair color,” he mocks. I ignore his tone and give him the information.

He does a few things on the computer. Clicking and typing. Seconds later, she is on the screen.

Those enticing lips pull me in so hard I can barely breathe. And what’s better? All her information is listed right there, on the left side of the screen.

Literally, all of it.

Name : Sailor Bell Whitman.

Birthdate: May 16

GPA: 3.4

It has information about the previous schools she’s attended. And it has her phone number. Well, that will come in handy. I look over the numbers, memorizing them immediately.

“Do you want her class schedule?”

The words ring in my ear, and this guy is kind of an idiot. He’s just going to hand over some poor girl’s entire class schedule to me, not knowing what I’m going to do with it?

“Damn right,” I tell him, taking a step closer as my gaze goes back to the photo of her, hating how blurry it is on the screen, even with the high-tech shit this nerd has.

As I’m leaving, he hands me her class schedule, along with a paper that has a name on it. This must be the girl he’s interested in.

“You better not be doing creepy shit down here, Orville. I’ll tell Daddy if I need to.”

“I’m not, I swear. I only got this because I was already in the system. Besides, you asked for the same thing.”

“I asked for a name, not a schedule. Don’t hand this shit out to anyone who asks. Guys are fucked up.”

“I know, I know.”

I glare at him for a moment before leaving, hoping to instill fear, and once I’m in my car, I memorize my little dove’s schedule.