The College Bad Boy's Target
Beer sloshed over the edge, dripping onto my shirt.
The group roared with laughter.
“Oops,” Ryder said, not sounding sorry at all. “Guess you’ll need to wash that later. Or maybe you like the drowned-rat look. Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
My chest tightened. He remembered our freshman year. The spilled beer. The humiliation that haunted me. He hadn’t forgotten, he’d been waiting to use it again.
“Ryder, cut it out,” Allison snapped, stepping forward.
He smirked at her, unbothered. “Relax, sweetheart. We’re just having fun.”
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