Part 44 (2/2)

A Ruby Riot Novel.

Shuffle.

(Ruby Riot #1).

Will Campbell, Ruby Riot ba.s.sist, is back at university and failing badly at everything apart from partying.

With Ruby Riot on a break, Will returns to university to finish his degree. He needs major help if he wants to pa.s.s his final year and attempts to join a not-very-rock star study group. Unfortunately for Will, the person organising the group is Fleur Roberts, the girl he's secretly crushed on for two years and who recently threatened him with a restraining order.

Fleur's rock stars are history academics. She has no interest in any variety of pierced, tattooed slacker, especially not the jacka.s.s rock star who humiliated her at a party. There's no way in h.e.l.l that Will Campbell is joining her group.

Faced with losing the easiest way to fix his academic problems, Will has the perfect solution: pretend he's his twin, Nate. Will and Nate have swapped ident.i.ties before so nothing can go wrong. Surely.

Fleur is successful academically, but her love life is a failure. Following a number of disastrous dates, she finds herself falling in love with a guy who is lying to her. But Will's deceit isn't the only thing about to shatter her world. When another man Fleur trusted betrays her, and she attempts to retaliate, Fleur discovers how dangerous he is. And when Will becomes involved, the repercussions threaten both of their futures.

Shuffle is the second standalone book in the Ruby Riot series and can be read separately to the first book.

Dedication.

To the January girls.

We will all get there.

Shuffle.

f()l.

* move (people or things) around so as to occupy different positions or to be in a different order.

* play or arrange (tracks on a music player) in a random order.

1.

FLEUR.

Freshers' Week at an English university is a rite of pa.s.sage for first year students, an introduction to the hedonism they've worked their b.u.t.ts off to achieve. The week often lands them in a messy evening, or seven, and leads to some of the most entertaining and unwanted pictures ever unleashed on the world.

It should be mandatory for their social media accounts to be locked for the duration of the week because the pictures will live in the annals of the internet for years to come, ready for a potential employer to dig up and decide they don't want someone who does that in their employ.

I avoided the heavier part of the Fresher's scene in my first year. Now, three years in, my finals loom at the end of this academic year. At this point, the future sharpens into focus for those who've partied harder than they studied. No problem for me, I've worked hard on my history major degree all through and I'm going for honours. Then Masters and a PhD.

Watching the Freshers' drama unfold around campus at night amuses me. I attend one or two parties in the week, but avoid the ones where the alcohol flows as freely as the first years do into Accident & Emergency when things get out of control.

Tonight is our unofficial, history department welcome-back-party, held at one of the big period houses on the edge of Greenwich. These properties are a goldmine for landlords who pack the students to the rafters. Attic s.p.a.ce? Utilise and create three bedrooms. Who cares if there's no insulation against the winter. Cellar? Two bedrooms. Who needs windows? Eight bedrooms equal eight students, and big money for the landlords they rarely spend on upkeep of the place.

This three-storey house's occupants are third years too so. hopefully, the number of first years will be limited.

”You know who's going to be here don't you?” asks Anne as we hop off the bus.

My housemate, Anne, studies economics but is along for the ride with her boyfriend, Jake. She also knows my secret crushes all too well.

”Half the third year history department?”

She smiles knowingly. ”And one in particular.”

”Oh, yes?” I ask, although I know who she's talking about.

Anne hooks her arm through mine. ”Ethan Daniels.”

Ethan, the out of my league guy who all the girls clambered for in the first year. He had a serious girlfriend for a year and a half, but for the past few months hasn't dated any girl. This guy ticks those all-important boxes. Intelligent. Cultured. Respectful of women. When I first saw him, once I stopped staring at his sculptured face and the cute way his dark fringe flopped into his green eyes, I presumed he was one of those guys who chose an arts degree because they think it's an easy ride. Wrong. Ethan argued complex theories with the lecturers from day one, and silenced one or two.

”Will you talk to him this semester?” Anne asks.

”He can talk to me, if he's interested.”

Anne shakes her head. ”You know that you come across as unapproachable, right?”

”Why?”

”Apart from the fact you're super smart and shoot down in flames guys who hit on you?”

”I do not!”

”Come on, you could have your pick if you weren't so p.r.i.c.kly. Look at you. I wish I had your figure.”

I pull a face. I'm tall taller than I'd like because I prefer any guy I date to be above average height. Blessed with long-legs, a metabolism that keeps me slim, and long blonde hair and blue eyes, I'm quietly aware I'm attractive.

”Anne! You're gorgeous. Isn't she, Jake?” I say.

”Huh?” The tall guy is busy looking at his phone and not paying attention.

”Anne. She's gorgeous.”

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