Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

Another Weaver Brother

I expect to be up for hours, but the steady rhythm of Sam's breathing lulls me to sleep too. Before I know it, the sun is shining and he's groaning at the sound of an alarm.

"Turn it off," I whine, not moving from the nest of my sheets. Sam sounds like he's either struggling to find the source of the noise or struggling to shut it down because there's a good couple crashes from behind me before silence reigns.

I sigh, content, and burrow deeper into my pillows.

Fifteen minutes later, it's happening again. This time, though, the source of all the noise gets louder for a split second before it hits me in the back of the head.

"What the hell!" I cry at the same time Sam sings, "Rise and shine, Grey!"

I grapple with the sheets until I find the iPhone and hit the snooze button.

"What's your deal?" I snap, sitting upright and glaring at Sam. He looks just as annoyed as I feel.

"Your phone is blowing up and it's 6:30 in the god damn morning. I should be asking you that question."

His angry words sink into my brain slowly. My alarm, 6:30 in the morning...

"Shit." My first day of cross-country practice is today. At 6:45. "Shit!" I throw sheets off me and leap to action. I don't have time to worry about Sam in the bed behind me. I'm late and I really, really can't be late for my first day. I need this scholarship.

A quick glance proves that Sam's in bed with his pillow firmly over his mussed-up hair. So I chance changing in the corner of the room. I'm fast, pulling a sports bra over my head and a pair of running shorts up my legs in a matter of seconds. I'm lacing up my socks when Sam speaks again.

"Could you be any louder?" He groans. I snap my head in his direction. He's propped up on an elbow, watching me dig through my bag for a pair of socks.

"I've got practice," I moan. "And I'm already late." I find a little knot of material I recognize by touch and pull it out. Sam continues to watch, amused, as I hop on first one foot and then the other, pulling each sock onto my feet.

"You're a mess, Grey," Sam muses as I slide my feet into sneakers, realize they're backwards, and make the switch.

"Who sets an alarm for a fifteen-minute snooze?" I shoot back, more exasperated by myself than by Sam. He chuckles, the sound deep and husky this early in the day. My body reacts to the sound of it involuntarily, a flash of heat low in my stomach.

"Go get 'em," he teases as I pull my hair into a high ponytail and open the door. I can't help it; I look back at him. He's grinning at me, a crooked thing that sets my heart rate soaring.

"Later," I grunt, closing the door on his way too handsome face and starting in a jog toward the track.

I should have known better.

While I was well aware that my performance last night didn't go unnoticed by the boys in MacMillan, I didn't expect it to be viral as of this morning. Note to self: boarding school is a fishbowl. When I arrive at the track, what appears to be the rest of the team is already there, stretching and chatting. It's obvious that most of these kids have run together for the past few years.

I hate situations like this, breaking into already-formed groups and hoping to make a friend or two. I don't bother with hellos, choosing instead to search out Coach Glosterman. We met in the summer, as Mr. Ross was vouching for my position on the team. Another reason my tardiness is embarrassing. I can't start my year at Ryder pissing all over the hard work Mr. Ross did to get me here.