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

THE BOARDERS: 10

[Surpriseeee! Posting twice today because it's...Sunday?..and because @bellevonte made a great point that these chapters are too damn short! Hope you love the extra!]

Lo

It takes a long time for me to settle back into another complicated dream, my nightmare flirting at its foggy edges. I feel half-awake, am aware that I'm still shifting and tossing in my bed, that there's a guy—a hot asshole of a guy—lying only a few feet away. It must be dawn by the time everything finally goes dark and silent in my brain, and I'm just dropping into real sleep when a phone alarm jerks me awake.

"Turn it off," I whine, not moving from the nest of my sheets. Sam sounds like he's struggling to either find the source of the noise or 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.

Ten 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, Somers."

I grapple with the sheets until I find my phone 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 goddamn 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 into 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. I need this scholarship.

A quick glance proves that Sam's planted his pillow firmly over his mussed-up hair, so I chance changing in the corner of the room. I move fast, pulling a running shirt over the sports bra I had the foresight to sleep in last night, getting a pair of shorts up my legs in a matter of seconds. I'm digging in my duffel for 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 my search.

"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, aggravated, as I hop on first one foot and then the other, pulling each sock onto my feet.

"You're a mess, dude," Sam muses as I slide my foot into a sneaker, realize it's the wrong one, and make the switch.

"I'm going to be kicked off the team if I'm not in the fieldhouse in four minutes," 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 involuntarily, a flash of heat low in my stomach. I think of him watching me last night, concerned, asking if I needed anything. What the hell was that about? But I don't have the time to figure it out now. I ignore him as I pull my hair into a high ponytail and open the door, starting in a jog toward the track.

I should have known better.

While I understood 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: if the adage "big fish in a small pond" has any relevance to prep school, it's that there is no pond. Remington is a freaking fishbowl.