James: A College Girl Romance Read Online Free PDF

people.
    Keeping my dealings with people at a skin-deep level could be seen as a symptom of sociopathy. Or survival. Or maybe I just didn’t give a shit about all the assholes I’d had to deal with all my life. From an early age, I had realized it was far more fun to fuck with my father than it was to be the cardboard cutout he had wanted for a son. My father, James McDevitt III, was all about appearances, because there was no substance beneath his façade—or at least no substance that was suitable for public consumption.
    I owed my father in one respect. His void of humanity had shaped who I was. I was a reflection of him. But the past was the fucking past. No changing it, if I wanted to or not.
    I owed Bennett, too, for sucker punching me at his place a few years back. It had been a useful lesson. A reminder. Being a dick required being prepared for people to take shots at you. Sure, Bennett getting riled up over his little freshman had been entertaining. Getting socked in the jaw? Not so much.
    After an hour hitting the bags, then the free weights, I headed back to the house and showered. The only real problem with taking up residence in a college town in the middle of fucking nowhere was the food. I refused to eat shit food, which required the ability to cook.
    I was on the phone, returning texts or calls, for most of the day, but in the back of my mind was that little redheaded cocktail waitress. Fortunately, I was almost certain she would be working tonight. It was mathematics. If her parents had cut her off, she would be working as many hours as she could. I had become accustomed to particular types of women. The ones like Bennett’s ex—entitled cunts who used sex as a means of social climbing. That and strippers who saw the benefits of fucking someone who had cash and no desire for drama.
    After having Irving expedite the delivery of a few items to the house, I drove out and had dinner at a decent steakhouse on the interstate before arriving at the club earlier than I normally would. I sat at the same table. In contrast to the night before, the club was busier and its male clientele drunker and louder. The same server from the previous night, dressed again as an angel, arrived at my booth.
    “Good evening, Jenna.” Her eyes widened when she realized I had remembered her name. “Tell Jerry I’ll have the same as last night. Is Cass working tonight?”
    Her features fell flat. With a sigh, I took out a crisp bill, held it between my fingers, and smiled.
    “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
    She reached out and snatched the bill.
    “She comes in at ten.”
    “Would you have her bring my next drink?”
    “Whatever.”
    At five to ten, I saw a small figure in a hoodie walk by the bouncer at the front door and disappear behind the door marked Staff Only . A few minutes later, with her red hair in two long braids, Cassia Flynn came teetering out into the club in her short plaid skirt, fishnets, Mary Janes, and white button-up shirt with several buttons missing from the top.
    The main act had just started. It was the same girl from the night before. Orange tan, huge tits, boyfriend with the asshole truck. Jenna returned with my whisky, and I sat back, trying to tune out the music. Stripper rock got old fast. There was only so much Mötley Crüe, Nickelback, Def Leppard, and Warrant a grown man without a mullet and a pick-up truck could take.
    But I hadn’t come here for the music.
    Like the night before, I watched the redhead teeter around the club. She had definitely never been a server before, and I could tell she hated it. Most of the women I picked up didn’t mind it. To them, the money was good, and that was the only consideration. If your options were between this and being a fast-food wage slave, I could see this being the better option.
    I sipped my whisky as Cass stopped at a table with a group of college-age boys. To think, I used to be one of those dicks—drooling at the stage, thinking I had a