Page 55 of Fueled Hate

“Nope,” Bryce responds to Dylan before focusing back on me. “So, what is your type, Sadie? I’m single, ya know.” Bryce winks.

“Cut the shit. Now,” Dylan interrupts before I can respond.

“He’s not usually the jealous type. It’s refreshing,” Bryce whisper-yells, making it clear that he wants Dylan to hear him.

“I’m glad I stopped by.” I genuinely laugh as Dylan shakes his head, knowing he’s defeated. I doubt anyone stands much of a chance against Bryce. He’s definitely the fun one of the best friend duo.

Dylan, on the other hand, looks more irritated than normal. “Need a new moneybag to get that tuition paid, right?”

“Dude, that’s a low blow even for you,” Bryce scolds.

Leave it to Dylan to suck out the small bit of amusement that made this situation tolerable. But that also tells me that Bryce is clued into everything that’s going on in my life. That makes one of us.

“It’s fine. I don’t expect anything different from him.” And I shouldn’t. He’s hot and cold at every turn. I’d have better luck getting consistency from him if a coin flip decided the outcome.

“I do,” Bryce states, standing from the couch as he walks to Dylan. “Everything checked out. Oliver Boone used his company account to pay the balance of the tuition directly to Haine.”

“Kyle’s dad paid it?” It made sense. It’s not like Kyle has his own fortune, he just lives off of his father’s luxury lifestyle provided by the many auto dealerships he owns in the state. But that means Oliver thinks I’m okay with him paying for my school. We haven’t exactly spent a lot of time together, but that might explain why he’d been so standoffish when we were in the same room together. He most likely assumes I’m milking his son for every dime I can get, the same insinuation Dylan just flung at me.

“Yep. Papa Boone paid the tab and used it as a tax write-off,” Bryce replies before turning to Dylan.

Charity. My dad let Oliver pay it, turning me into a charity case who’s dating the donor’s son instead of just telling me so we could figure something out. And we could’ve—anything would’ve been better than letting my boyfriend’s dad pay my way. And if Oliver wants to donate scholarship funds, there’s plenty of other students in need who are more deserving of the money. They would have actually earned the assistance for something other than screwing his son.

“How much?” My voice is low so they don’t hear me. I ask louder, “How much?”

They stop talking, both looking to me.

“It wasn’t much,” Bryce lies, or maybe he isn’t, it might not seem like much to him. But in my eyes, whether it’s one dollar or a thousand, it’s too much to be indebted to Kyle or Oliver for.

“Give me the amount, the total amount he paid to the school.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dylan mumbles, looking back to Bryce as he attempts to resume their discussion.

A snicker escapes my mouth as I shake my head. Typical Dylan. It mattered a few minutes ago when he’d used it to deflate me. “Yes it does, or you wouldn’t have made your offhand comment two minutes ago.”

“She has a valid point.” Bryce shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something but Dylan cuts him off.

“You’d agree with anything she says.”

“Yep. Probably so,” Bryce says.

“Great.” Dylan exhales then motions for me to stand. “We’re done here.”

Bryce full-on laughs as Dylan’s face turns into a deeper scowl as he walks to the door.

Taking my time, I stand from the couch and make my way across the room, watching the two best friends who couldn’t be any more different. I’d find it comical if my life hadn’t been part of the topic.

Waving across the room, Bryce hollers, “He’s only salty because you’ve cracked that indestructible shell, and he’s scared shitless. Keep chipping away, Sadie.”

Stopping in front of where Dylan stands as he remains fixated on me, ignoring his cackling friend, I mutter, “I doubt there’s anything decent beneath it.”

When we step onto the elevator, we descend the floors in utter silence. It’s better that way. The more we talk, the more accusations and insults we exchange.

Once we’re in his car and out of the parking garage, he steers across town. I realize we’re making our way to a side of town that’s known for not being the best part of Sunland to get caught in. He pulls into an apartment complex, the building worn down by years of decay and very little maintenance. The STI comes to a jerky stop, and he steps out of the car. I do the same, following behind him as we walk down an uneven pathway between the buildings before stopping in front of a door just to the right.

Dylan unlocks the door, steps inside, and shoves his keys back in his pocket. “Wait here.”

Glancing around the bare apartment, I look at the sofa—the only piece of furniture in the living room. It’s nothing fancy, just a simple black leather couch but it looks out of place in the otherwise empty apartment. Walking a few steps forward, I peek through the doorway where Dylan had gone. It’s a bedroom and it looks as sad as the living room with only a mattress on the floor. Somehow the bedding looks more out of place with the hunter-green comforter neatly tucked and situated on the mattress.