Under Her(5)By: Samantha Towle
“Morgan told us that you went to Northwestern together,” my dad says.
Morgan. Northwestern. Went together.
This isn’t sounding good.
And knowing my fuck rate at Northwestern, my odds of not having screwed this chick are diminishing by the second.
I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “What’s her surname?”
“Stickford,” Mom says. “Morgan Stickford.”
Relief and dismay sweep through me in equal measure.
Relief because I definitely didn’t sleep with her in college.
Dismay because she hated me in college.
Which was a shame because she was a pretty thing. Well, her face was, which was always on show—as her hair was habitually tied back into a ponytail—unlike her body, which was always covered up with ugly-ass big sweaters.
And she was so damn serious all the time. Hence the nickname Stick-Up-Her-Ass-Ford.
She never went to parties. She spent all her time either in the library or with her nose stuck up the professors’ asses.
I never once heard of her socializing or saw her with any friends. She was a stuck-up bitch who thought that she was better than everyone else. Me included.
Morgan Stickford took an instant dislike to me from the word go without even bothering to get to know me.
She came to the conclusion that I was an overprivileged, womanizing man-whore.
Okay, so I did have certain privileges growing up because of my parents’ success, and, yes, I had a job to walk straight into out of college, but believe me, my parents made me work for it. Nothing has ever been handed to me. I’ve earned everything I have.
And, sure, I liked ass. I still do. But, back then, I was young and horny. Hot college girls were everywhere, and I made sure to screw almost all of them.
Except for her.
Because she took one look at me and thought she had me pegged. When, in actuality, she knew fuck all about me.
Did it annoy the shit out of me? Sure, it did. But I wasn’t going to lose sleep over a stuck-up bitch who went around and made snap judgments about people she barely knew.
But then that was nine years ago. A lot can change in nine years. Maybe Morgan Stickford has changed.
Well, I hope to fuck she has because, for the short-term—until I get rid of her—I’m stuck with sharing my company with her.
Even though I had a shitload of work to get through today, I couldn’t focus on anything after the nuclear bomb my parents had dropped on me.
So, I did what every other person in my position would do.
I stalked Morgan online.
I might have known her back in college—not that I really knew her that well—but I definitely don’t know Morgan now.
I don’t know what she’s been up to in the last nine years. Or if she’s still a massive bitch.
And do you know what I got for spending my day researching her?
She doesn’t have a Twitter or Instagram account. She does have a Facebook account—well, if it’s hers. I could only find one account for a Morgan Stickford in Chicago. But that was locked down tight—just like her legs had been in college—so I figured it had to be her.
After my unsuccessful Morgan stalking, I sent the boys an SOS text and asked them to meet me at Doyle’s. It’s an Irish pub that’s popular with the after-work crowd. I like it there. The feel is laid-back, and the food is great. Not that I feel like eating. But drinking? I definitely feel like drinking. That shows how stressed I am. I rarely drink during the week.
I push through the door into Doyle’s. I see Cooper’s already here, sitting at the bar, sipping on a beer.
Coop is my oldest friend. Even though I’m tight with Dom, Coop is my best friend. I’ve known him since high school. Went to Northwestern with me, which is where we met Dom. But Coop hadn’t needed to go to college. He’s richer than I am. I’m pretty sure he’s richer than God. He comes from old money.
I’m sure you’ve heard of Delaney’s. The big-ass supermarket chain.
Coop is the heir to Delaney’s. His great-grandpa started the business way back when, which he passed on to Coop’s grandpa. Coop’s mom was Grandpa Delaney’s only kid. And all she did was spend Grandpa Delaney’s money and get knocked up by Coop’s dad. Weird thing is, no one knows who Coop’s dad is. His mom has never said. To this day, Coop still doesn’t know. His mom’s a selfish bitch. She was hardly there while Coop was growing up; she was too busy traveling the world and finding the next man to marry. She’s been married eight times. I shit you not.
Grandpa Delaney raised Coop. Sadly, he died of lung cancer when Coop was sixteen. Coop didn’t take it well. He took it even worse when he found out that Grandpa Delaney had left him everything. He was sixteen and clueless. So, a CEO was brought in to run the company until Coop was ready to step into his rightful place.
He never has.
After he graduated college, he just bummed around for a bit. He still kind of does. He spends his days sleeping and his nights partying and screwing beautiful woman and getting his name in the gossip columns on a regular basis.
I think he’s capable of so much more. No, I know he’s capable of more. But I don’t push the issue. He’s my best friend, and it’s his decision how he chooses to run his life.