He laughed. “Shut up.”
“So do the work,” I said. “When you’ve got the degree, you’ll be able to use it to run your sports bar.”
Connor’s normally mega-watt smile was bitter. “On top of that little ultimatum, they gave me an earful about how Jefferson’s going to graduate Harvard with honors. As if I’d forgotten that since the last time they told me. And he’s dating some socialite from Connecticut. Looks like they’ll probably get engaged.”
“Poor bastard.”
My gut told me Connor would be better off without his parents’ money. I was grateful for all the times they bailed my mom out of trouble, and Connor and I lived like goddamn kings in the off-campus apartment the Drakes paid for. But it all felt like unpaid debt.
I moved to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to stay at Amherst?”
“Of course I do,” he said, his grin returning. “You’d be lost without me.”
I smirked. “Do your best. I’ll help you out if you need it.”
“Just like old times?” he asked. “Except not as many papers to write.”
“True. But I’m pretty good at math.”
“You’re pretty good at everything.”
“No argument there.” I went to the door.
“Hey, Wes?”
I turned. “Yep.”
“Thanks.”
A smartass remark was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. My best friend slouched on the couch, pressed down by the weight of his parents’ expectations.
“No problem, man,” I said.
“Enjoy your torture.” Connor stretched out on the couch, slung his arm over his eyes. “Which reminds me, I hope Autumn shows up at your meet tomorrow.”
My hand gripped the doorknob. “Oh. Right.”
Connor’s worry melted away into a sleepy smile. “Can’t stop thinking about that girl.”
Take a number.
Without another word, I stepped out into a chilly September morning. The dawn was just beginning to glow in the east. I shivered a little in my black long-sleeve shirt and fitted running shorts that came down to my knees. The coppery sunlight spread as I started my run along the outskirts of the campus.
Running was like meditation. It cleared my mind and burned through some of the anger and pain that still haunted me. If I wasn’t in the mood for music, I paced myself with a mantra:
Fuck him.
Forget him.
He’s gone.
But since meeting Autumn, my feet hit the pavement to a new chant while the streets slipped underneath me.
Get over it.
Forget her.
Move on.