Free Foolproof by Jennifer Blackwood Page A

head against the back of the seat. The farther we got out of the city, toward the ocean, the more I could think clearly. Next week, I’d have to drag Blake out and catch some waves. Maybe take Grandma’s boat out on the bay.
    “Did you hear about Dr. Kirsh? I heard he’s super hard. Been studying the course textbook all week just to get ahead.” Payton smoothed her hands over her hair and let out a sigh. She was already studying for classes that hadn’t even started? Typical.
    Blake squeezed her thigh. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I have study notes from the fraternity test file. Plus, you have Jules and me to study with.” Blake and Jules were signed up for the same classes as her. The fucking Three Musketeers. Fuck me. Their names even spelled PB and J. No room for R in that equation.
    All of them were going to be doctors, and I couldn’t even pass business calc. I stared out the window at the trees and an occasional car rushing by .
    I still didn’t get it. How did everyone but me have a set future?
    Twenty minutes later, Blake pulled into a parking lot overlooking the beach, the truck tires crunching over gravel and sand.
    Blake cut the engine and turned to face the backseat. “Ry, can you grab the chairs?”
    I nodded. “Yeah, sure.” I hopped out of the truck and grabbed the plastic lawn chairs from the back. We walked the few yards to the beach, Payton and Peach scoping out the “perfect” spot for a bonfire.
    I grabbed a few pieces of wood and worked on starting a fire. Ten years of Boy Scouts came in handy once in a while. That, and a lighter.
    Peach sat in a lawn chair while I blew on the flames, spreading the fire. Out of the corner of my eye I had a clear shot of her checking me out. I decided to ignore it this time. After that exchange in the truck, I needed to assess my strategy. It was time to fan the flames with Peach.

Chapter Eleven
    Jules
    I could tell a lot about a guy based on his underwear. Boxers? Laid back, go with the flow. Tighty whiteys? Ew, not even going there. Commando? Hello, chafing. Boxer briefs were the perfect in-between. Collected, in control. Ryan bending over the pile of wood gave me the perfect vantage point. I shook my head, totally unnerved by the fact I was so invested in his underwear choice.
    He drove me up the wall with his vulgar mouth, and yet, here I was putting my bet that he was a boxer brief guy. He freakin’ thought I was some princess. I was used to guys underestimating me and then, when they learned I was a dean’s list, pre-med student, that somehow burst their bubble and they suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. My therapist told me I should focus on the things I could control. Too bad I couldn’t have some cool mind control powers and slip Ryan’s jeans a little lower.
    The black band of his underwear peeked over his jeans as his shirt rode up his back when he tried to start the fire.
    C’mon, bend over just a little more.
    Holy crap. I was no worse than guys at a party looking for a piece of ass.
    I tugged my phone out of my front pocket and started posting a comment about hot guys being bent over wood, but thought better of it.
    Maybe he had a few half naked pics posted, and I could solve the underwear conundrum. Girl, do not go there. I pushed my phone back into my pocket before I gave myself the opportunity to stalk him online.
    “There. We’re set.” Ryan stood up, brushing his sandy hands on his jeans.
    “Nice job.” Blake clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled.
    Blake grabbed the skewers from the ground, along with a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a pack of chocolate.
    After majorly gorging on S’mores, I sat back in the lawn chair, watching Ryan over the crackling flames. He stared off, totally zoning out. I bet all the school talk bored him to death. Really, only pre-med students liked talking about pre-med classes. Heck, I was pre-med and I didn’t enjoy it. A niggling part in the back of my brain knew