All Rémy Miller has ever known are lies until someone is able to give him the life changing truth. When studying at Harvard University, his path unexpectedly collides with feisty freshman Céline Martin. Their meeting is not the ideal way to meet som...
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Lies:
I'm just a straight A Asshole
You're not even that good looking
How high do you think I'd score on the asshole rank for this stunt? Let's do some math, maybe one of the only things I'm good at. Counting my mistakes, and actual math. As a Harvard math and statistics student, I'm allowed to say that.
Here we go.
Try to keep up.
Five points for kicking a girl out of my car two seconds after mingling in the backseat. At least ten points for not knowing her name. Twenty more for not bothering to ask for her number. And how many exactly for taking off while she's crying in the middle of the parking lot? Oh, and probably a five-minute penalty, maybe a suspension and sixty points for, I'm not entirely sure, but I'm guessing here, unknowingly taking her virginity too.
Ding ding ding we have a winner.
I'm going straight to hell after this life.
I'm just a straight A Asshole, living with two other Class A asswipes.
I have one passion and one passion only.
Ice Hockey.
But, I have quit the shoes to fill. Ezra Miller? Star goalie for the New York Rangers with a four million-dollar contract, and a fucking hot girlfriend, cheering for him at every single game even though she hates the cold... Yeah, that's my older brother. Meanwhile I'm still waiting for my big break ever since starting at Harvard...
So far, nothing at all, and I'm already in my junior year.
Two and a half down, one and a half to go.
Time is running out!
"Damn Mills, you look rough." Brooks coaxes from the kitchen as I walk by, and I throw a hand through my hair. It's getting long too; I might go and get a haircut before the flow makes me too irresistible.
That's Brooks by the way. My left hand in crime at almost every party, my wingman, who can score any girl at any given moment, because he's just that good looking. He's also Harvard's star football player, which is a panty dropping fact. He's as sleazy as his dirty blonde hair.
"You don't want to know." I shake my head and excessively exhale.
Think that's called sighing.
Or just desperate breathing.
Definitely the latter.
"Uhm, yes we do." Rhett turns around the corner of the living room to make sure Brooks insists.
Fucking great, guess we're gossiping now.
Rhett Lewis, plays like he was born to be a fucking lacrosse god. Gets the girls where he wants them ninety-nine percent of the time. Which do I need to point out is on top of him. The other one percent he's just too drunk to bother where they're at.
