More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Whit Lancaster. The boy who kissed me. Who wanted to fuck me and called me a whore when we were barely teenagers. He’s taller than I remember. Well over six feet, and his shoulders look so broad, clad in the requisite navy uniform jacket. His arrogance is palpable. He saunters into the classroom as if he owns the place, and technically, he does.
the Lancasters were left relatively unscathed. Money protects you. Insulates you. Those who
win in the game of life, always win when they have the most money.
I hate him. I do. But I’m drawn to him, too. The pull is there, tugging me closer to him, and I wonder if he feels it too.
