Page 10 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

But dumbass or not, the reality is, Mason is one of the only people at this school who gets me.

When you come from an affluent family, it’s hard to know who your friends are and who’s just getting close to you for your money, which can make life really lonely.

Mason might be a grade-A ass, but with him, I know my family’s net worth has zero bearing on why he talks to me.

He sticks around because we entertain one another, and for now, that’s good enough for me.

“So, who was it?” he asks.

I shake my head. “That’s the thing. I can’t remember her name. I only remember who she was on the list.”

I conjure a mental picture of the bucket list Mason created last fall and silently tick the box next to each line.

Theater girl. Check. Another guy’s girlfriend.

Check. Two sorority girls at the same time.

Check. Check. Professor —oh, that one was fun.

Check. Bonus points for twins. Check. Check.

Check. Check. The list goes on and on in my head until we get to Blondie.

“By all means, keep me in suspense,” Mason deadpans.

I hesitate for a moment, then push out a breath through my nose before muttering, “Poor Girl.”

His brow furrows, and I can practically see the cogs turning in his tiny brain as he funnels back through whatever memories he retains from last year, assuming he still has any brain cells at all. God, that first semester was such a shitshow.

He blinks a few times as if the mere process of thinking is painful. “The scholarship freshman?” he finally works out.

“Well, she’s a sophomore now, but?—”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember you talking to some random blonde last night. I didn’t recognize her. Not that I would,” he adds with a derisive chuckle.

Hunching over the table, I lean my weight on my elbows and roughly comb my hands through my hair. “Yeah, I didn’t either.”

Come to think of it, I can’t recall ever seeing her in passing on campus or at Phi Sigma’s parties aside from last night’s.

Other than the handful of times we met in the university library my junior year, there was only one other instance I saw her, and that particular interaction was as memorable and painful as this morning’s.

Maybe she doesn’t live in the dorms? If she’s a townie, that would explain why we haven’t crossed paths on a social level since we hooked up.

As for school, I don’t think we share any classes, and it’s unlikely we’d spend our spare time the same way or even in the same places.

Scholarship students like her are usually working in the administrative office or library during their free periods and evenings, or doing whatever else it is that poor people do for fun.

We might as well occupy different hemispheres for how much separates the two worlds we live in.

Huh, I guess it really is true what they say: out of sight equals out of mind. The last time I saw Blondie was shortly after Mason’s video went viral. After that, I didn’t see her again, so I never spared her a second thought.

Except…I’m thinking about her now. She isn’t out of my mind anymore. And I have no fucking clue why.

Getting kicked in the junk has clearly rattled my senses, I tell myself. Yeah. That must be it.

“You don’t remember her name by any chance, do you?” I ask, failing to achieve the air of nonchalance I was trying for.

Mason shoots me a stupefied look. “No. Why would I? And why the hell do you care?”

I don’t. Not really. It’s not like I plan on asking her out or ever seeing her again if I can help it. If anything, I want to avoid her at all costs. And after this morning, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want to see me.

Besides, I don’t think my dick would survive another beating. Not the variation she dishes out, anyway.

“I don’t really,” I protest. “I just?—”

“Are you icing your junk because Poor Girl broke your dick or something?” Mason interrupts. “How kinky is the sex you have? Damn.”

He reaches for the bag of ice to assess the damage underneath, but I swat his hand away.

“Damian Jr. is not broken,” I grumble. “He’s just sore. And it wasn’t from the sex…” An embarrassed flush creeps up my neck. “Poor Girl kneed me in the boys.”

Just like she did last spring when she confronted me about the list.

Mason blanches, his hand dropping to cup his own testicles in solidarity with my pain. “What a psycho bitch. Wait, is this the same chick who kicked you in the dick that first week back at school after spring break?”

I nod as a dull ache throbs along my hairline, letting my eyes flutter closed. “Yep.” But even as I say it, there’s no heat behind the word.

“Oof.” Mason shakes his head. “Maybe you should start IDing your hook-ups.”

I snort. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

Beside me, my phone buzzes, trembling with enough force to send it skipping across the table. Only mildly curious, I turn it over and glance down at the screen.

Mein Führer

Your mother and I need to speak with you.

We’ll meet you at Fernando’s for lunch at midday.

Of course, my dad chooses now of all times, when I’m hungover and stinking of sex, to demand my presence. Dread spreads through my insides like a rush of cold water. Shivering, I push the phone away from me. “Shit. I gotta go. My parents want to meet me for lunch.”

Mason’s dad is also a tightass, so he doesn’t need me to tell him twice to fuck off.

Rising, he holds out a hand to fist-bump me.

“All right, man. I’ll catch you later.” As he struts out of the kitchen, he throws over his shoulder, “Thoughts and prayers for your disfigured dick. Maybe you’ll get lucky and it won’t be permanent. ”

When I flip him off, Mason flashes me a wounded look, holding a hand to his heart. With a demented cackle, he finally leaves, and I exhale a breath of relief once I’m alone again. Unfortunately, that relief is short-lived, blasted into oblivion when my phone buzzes once more.

Swallowing, I pull it toward me, scowling down at the message.

Mein Führer

Don’t be late.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, Hitler.”