Her Spite: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (The Forgotten Elites Book 2) by Eden Beck (beginner reading books for adults .txt) 📕

dorm—and for whatever reason, I think he’d rather actually freeze to death than do that—he’s going to have to stay in my room.

I’m less worried about him getting in trouble than I’m worried about me getting in trouble. The whole ordeal with Mr. Peters might have been swept under the rug, but I know better. I’m sure even the faintest whisper of trouble from me in regards to unsuitable people in my dorm will get me kicked out, and this time, I’d have nowhere left to go.

But, neither it seems, does Chase.

And he’s the one whose teeth are still chattering long after the door has clicked shut behind us.

I’ve barely had time to take off my coat when I look over and see that Chase’s fingers and toes are blue—like actually blue.

“Oh my god,” I say, my voice catching in my throat for a second. “How long were you standing out there before I came by?”

“Since about nine this morning,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

I look at the clock and see that it’s almost seven at night. I can’t believe that he had been standing out there all day. He must have tried to get back in his dorm just after I made my way back to the bookstore, at least that explains why I hadn’t noticed him on my walk over.

Boys and their pride.

I take one more look at his toes. If the snow wasn’t falling so thick outside, I’d carry him to the nurse myself, but as it is, there’s only one thing left to do.

“Come sit under the blankets,” I say as I grab the extra blankets from Bridget’s bed and add them to mine.

I also grab a pair of thick fuzzy socks from my dresser and hand them to him. He opens his mouth to protest, but then immediately clamps it shut when I give him the look.

“Strip,” I order him, motioning to the rest of his damp clothes.

“But I—”

“Fine, then, I’ll do it myself.”

His hands fumble uselessly as I peel layer after layer off of him. I make no comment about just how many sweaters he was wearing.

Too many sweaters for someone who only just figured out they weren’t going home for break, but that is a conversation for another time.

Right now, Chase stands before me still shivering and now wearing nothing but his boxer briefs and still holding my pink fuzzy socks in his hands.

One more look from me and he dutifully pulls them on, wincing slightly before falling back onto my bed with a groan. I crawl onto the bed next to him pulling the covers over us both and put my feet against his to help him get warm. My bed rests up against the wall, so we both sit side-by-side with our backs leaning against the wall and our feet pressed together. I’m seriously worried about the fact that he got chilled to the bone and try to focus my efforts on getting him warm and cozy once again.

“So, what happened?” I ask after sitting quietly together for a while. “Did your parents forget about you?”

I didn’t mean for that question to come out quite so bluntly, but I am curious. It doesn’t seem like something that these wealthy, reputation-obsessed parents would do. With the exception of maybe my own parents—they’d probably love it if I froze to death so that they’d never have to deal with me again.

His family could have at least had the decency to send a car—and if they didn’t, then I have no doubt in my mind that Warren or Sterling would have taken him home over break. If he’d bothered to tell them, of course.

“Nah, they didn’t forget about me,” he answers. There’s still something sad in his voice though. “They’re just going through some hard times at the moment.”

“Like a divorce or something?” I ask, still pressing for information.

It’s strange though, because I don’t really feel like I’m pressing for information to use against him anymore. It’s hard to be looking for revenge when the boy cozied up to you might be suffering from actual frostbite.

And also … those abs.

All that working out he’s been doing hasn’t been for nothing. It’s all I can do to keep from peeking down between the blankets to stare.

“No, my parents aren’t getting divorced, but they might end up that way after this,” he says with a dismal expression. He takes one glance at the door, as if he thinks someone might be listening—but then his shoulders deflate. As does the rest of him. “They recently lost everything—like I mean everything,” he admits. “My father’s companies went bankrupt, my mother’s assets were seized due to debt collection, and even the banks froze their accounts. They’re selling the house and moving into an apartment just to be able to afford to keep me here. That’s why I’ve been exercising like crazy and working so hard to keep my athletic scholarship. If I lose my scholarship, then I’ll have to drop out.”

Wow. I don’t even know what to say.

“They didn’t forget about coming to get me, they just couldn’t afford to. They couldn’t afford to get me a plane ticket or even to gas up the car to drive all the way here and back. Besides, my dad just got a new job and he’s pulling extra shifts so he couldn’t take the time off to come get me, and my mom is too nervous about driving in the snow by herself.”

“Oh gosh, Chase, I am so sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I really am sorry for him. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and give him a hug.

In this moment, I don’t care what he’s done in the past. It was never really him anyway. Of all the boys, he’s always been the one most puppeteered by Warren.

And I wonder, suddenly, how much of that is the reason.

How much of that was done out of necessity, out of worry of what else he might lose if he disobeyed.

I