Whoa : A Westbrook Elite Standalone, page 1
WHOA
CAMBRIA HEBERT
WHOA Copyright © 2023 CAMBRIA HEBERT
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Cambria Hebert
http://www.cambriahebert.com
Interior design and typesetting by Classic Interior Design
Cover design by Cover Me Darling
Edited by Cassie McCown
Copyright 2023 by Cambria Hebert
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Welcome to Westbrook University…
WHOA
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT CAMBRIA HEBERT
WELCOME TO WESTBROOK UNIVERSITY…
Where the only thing more elite than the Ivy League academics
and exclusive enrollment for the monied is the swimmers.
Some colleges might revere football, baseball,
or even hockey, but not Westbrook.
At Westbrook, it’s all about the water.
Or rather, who’s in it.
More than one Elite swimmer has gone on to become a
decorated Olympian and nationwide sensation,
so it’s all eyes on the hot men who spend more time in Speedos than jeans.
Eventually, though, these guys have to get out of the pool.
And when they do…
Love, drama, and jealousy await.
Westbrook Elite is a college sports romance series of stand-alone novels
with sexy swimmers, suspense, and page-turning plots.
The only promise the author makes is that each book will have a happy ending…
But who knows what it will take to get there?
WHOA
A WESTBROOK ELITE NOVEL
Most people think I’m a moron. In actuality, I’m a man with a plan.
It’s one of those three-year plans that takes longer than three years.
Still, I’ve been making it happen. Checking off those to-dos and turning them into to-dones.
Everything is almost lined up.
And then my phone rings.
By the time I get to Jess, she’s unconscious and bleeding.
My carefully crafted plan blows up in my face.
I tell the hospital we’re engaged. We aren’t, but apparently, in that place, you need a permission slip to see your most important, so I do what has to be done.
I toss together an epic apology salad for when she opens her eyes, and when she does…
She asks me who I am.
I’m willing to overlook the insult since, you know, head injury, but then Nurszilla spills the beans on our pending nuptials.
And just like that, my friend turns into my fiancé, and I’m not even mad at it.
How could I be? Her curves fit in my arms perfectly. Kissing her is like whoa and makes me forget I’m living a lie.
I know I have to come clean, but someone dirtier than me is stalking my final girl, and until she remembers who, it’s on me to keep her safe.
The closer we get, the guiltier I feel.
When all this is over, will she forgive me? Or will everything I’ve done cost me everything I’ve always wanted?
1
Kruger
I was so focused on the bright glow of my laptop screen and the numbers filling it that the sound of my ringing phone didn’t register.
“Kruger!” Prism hollered, a bit of bite to my name.
Attention caught, I snatched the ringing cell off the mattress beside me and accepted the call to silence the noise. “Sorry, P. Thought it was on silent.”
As he was reaching for his AirPods, I lifted the phone to my ear.
“Ben?” My whole body went rigid at the urgent, strained way in which she called my name.
Yeah, that’s right. Did you think the only name I had was that of an iconic serial killer who looked like an overcooked yet somehow still raw tenderized steak who invades your dreams to gut you?
Well, it’s not. And by the way, I dress way better than that guy.
And also, it’s spelled different.
“What’s wrong?” I demanded as a swift sense of urgency punched my gut and made my heart hammer. The laptop resting on my thighs fell onto the mattress as I moved, everything I’d been doing completely forgotten.
“I think I’m in trouble.” She was whispering but also breathless.
My mind raced as I paced alongside my bed, mentally shuffling through the calendar to remember what damn day it was. Wednesday. Piano night. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”
“They’re chasing me.” Her breath wheezed, and the unstable sound sent me running to the desk for my keys.
“Who? Where are you?” I questioned, stalking to the door and gesturing to Prism on the way. Already on alert, he was hot on my heels.
“There she is!” A voice that was not Jessica’s yelled in the background.
Her light whimper turned my blood to ice. The sound of pounding feet and her increased wheezing sent my body into full-on fight-or-flight mode.
“Jess,” I said, rushing out into the hall without looking back.
“I don’t think I can outrun them,” she whispered.
“Hide,” I gritted out, banging on Ryan and Jamie’s door on my way down the hall.
“I tried.”
The fear in her voice was so palpable I could taste it through the phone. Let me tell you I would rather eat shit before I ever tasted this again. My protective instincts were on fire, my body nearly vibrating with the urge to fight. But I couldn’t fight until I found her.
Inhaling deep, I tried to keep my voice as calm as I could, knowing my freak would only amp hers up more. “Jessica, baby.” I cajoled, hitting the unlock button on my car. “Listen to me. I’m coming. I’m coming right now. But you have to tell me where you are.”
“I-I’m not sure.”
My jaw ached from the pressure of me grinding it. “Drop me a location pin, sweetheart. Okay? Can you do that?”
“Yeah,”
“Do it now,” I said.
There was some fumbling, and my heart lurched. Keep it cool, bro. Keep it together.
“Jess?” I managed to sound rational as I wrenched open the door to my Audi so hard I felt it in my shoulder. The phone buzzed against my unsteady hand, and I yanked it down to see the notification flash onscreen before disappearing.
Jess shared her location with you…
Groaning in relief, I mashed the phone back to my ear. “I got it. Good girl. You did so good.”
Thump. Clatter. “Oomph.”
I sucked in a breath, the sounds conjuring up images of her being tackled.
“I didn’t see anything!” Jess pleaded, her voice no longer right in my ear but a mere taunting echo in a place I wasn’t at.
I let out a strangled sound and squeezed my eyes shut as though I could avoid the horrific mental image of her being attacked. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t fucking there.
My eyes shot open at the sound of her voice.
“Please! No—”
The phone went dead.
“Jess!” I shouted, yanking the cell down to see remnants of the call. A call that lasted less than two minutes, but the panic it inspired would live in me forever.
Immediately, I dialed her back.
Hey, this is Jess! Why are you calling? Hang up and send me a text.
“Fuck!” I bellowed into the dark.
“What’s going on?” Prism asked. He was standing on the sidewalk with Jamie and Ryan right behind him.
“Someone is fucking with Jess,” I snarled. “Let’s go.”
“We’ll follow you,” Ryan called as I slammed the driver’s side door.
Prism opened the passenger side to get in. “Call everyone!” I yelled and then started up the Audi.
P wasn’t even buckled when I threw it into reverse, tires screeching as I peeled out of the lot. As I drove, I pulled up her location.
“She’s at the theater arts building,” I said, the engine revving as I pressed on the gas and to
He caught it midair and glanced at the screen. “What’s she doing out there?” he asked.
“It’s rehearsal night,” I answered, impatient. “Someone was chasing her.” I took a turn so fast I felt the car lift on two wheels.
Prism grabbed the oh-shit handle above the window and hung on. “We won’t be any help to her if we’re dead.”
Resolve settled in my gut like heavy lead. It was the only thing at this point keeping me sane. “We ain’t dying tonight, P,” I vowed, the car dropping back to all four tires. “If anyone is dying tonight, it’s whoever the fuck dared to mess with what’s mine.”
ELITE GROUP CHAT
Ryan: Elite 9-1-1
Jamie: Kruger is coming unglued. Something going on with Jess. All bros on deck.
Rush: Where?
*Prism shared a location with the group.*
Max: What the fuck is she doing out there?
Jamie: That fucking building.
Wes: We’re on our way.
Prism: Hurry.
2
Jess
No rest for the wicked.
Frankly, I find that saying ridiculous. The wicked probably take breaks whenever they feel like it. After all, they’re wicked. They do what they want.
It should be no rest for the weary. Because people who don’t get any rest are exactly that: weary.
And do you know why the weary get no rest? Because they work their asses off day in and day out with the hope they might not be so weary in the future. Kinda seemed counterproductive, but I tried to ignore that little tidbit of a thought in favor of telling myself that all my hustling now would pay off later.
It was hard not to be bitter, though. Especially at a place like Westbrook where money practically grew on trees. Except I didn’t have a yard. Therefore, none of those aforementioned money trees belonged to me.
I was the scholarship kid in a world of elitists, the girl who had to work harder than everyone else around her. And while I knew it probably wasn’t like this everywhere in the world, the world I lived in made me feel like I was severely lacking.
Instead of accepting it, I doubled down. I hustled harder. I got a scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in this country. I worked two jobs and gave piano lessons on the side. My schedule was jam-packed, and some nights, like tonight, after a full day of classes, a shift at the music store where I worked off campus, and a two-hour orchestra practice, I asked myself why I did all this.
The answer was never far away.
You might think this was all about money. After all, I just said I was the poor kid living among the bank account blessed. But my motivation was not about money. If money were the goal, I’d have quit a long time ago.
I did all of this for another reason. A reason honestly even more unattainable than riches but something that meant far more.
Sometimes that reason tasted bitter too.
Have you ever wanted something you knew you couldn’t have but stubbornly refused to let go, so you accepted the parts you could have and tried to use those half pieces to fill up the gaping hole years of pining ripped open within you?
Most days, those half pieces did a decent job.
But some nights… Some nights when the sky seemed its darkest and I was depleted of optimism, those half pieces felt woefully small, and the parts of me left empty ached with the intensity of a harsh Siberian winter.
Those nights were growing more frequent, and I was afraid. I wondered how much longer I could live with half. I also wondered why, suddenly, half just wasn’t enough.
I stayed late after orchestra rehearsal ended to give a piano lesson to a Westbrook University hopeful. After moving out of the large auditorium and into one of the practice rooms nearby, I spent an hour trying to conceal my grimace of horror. Seriously, I’d heard murderous screams in cheesy slasher flicks that were more pleasant than this. AKA the student wasn’t particularly good. But the upside to giving piano lessons to upper-crust students with loaded parents was that I could charge a hundred dollars an hour and they wouldn’t even bat an eye.
Yes, please.
Look, I said I wasn’t money motivated, but hey, these hips didn’t feed themselves.
Although, you know, maybe they did. Sometimes it sure seemed like it.
My stomach growled insatiably when I finally locked up the practice room and slung my bag over my shoulder. At least as a piano player, I didn’t have to carry around an instrument everywhere I went. Look at me being all optimistic. Just a regular ray of sunshine.
My stomach rumbled again, reminding me the lunch I ate eight hours ago was long gone. My stash of snacks in my room was growing sparse because I hadn’t had time to shop, so I decided to just swing by a drive-thru before heading back to the dorm.
The parking lot was nearly empty, and even though we were edging close to spring, the night air was crisp and made me regret not grabbing a jacket earlier in the day. Instead, I tugged the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, curling my fingers into my palms.
The echo of my footsteps on the pavement was slightly eerie as it was really the only sound I could hear out here in the dark. I parked farther from the entrance than I wanted because when I’d arrived, the lot had been full, and I chose the last remaining spot under one of the streetlights.
Seemed like a good idea at the time, but as I trudged through the lot, I debated my intelligence because what was the point of parking under a light if I had to traipse three miles through the dark to get to it?
Fine, it wasn’t three miles. But my growling stomach would beg to differ.
“This is not final-girl energy,” I muttered to myself, plunging my hand down into my bag for my car keys. “Walking through the dark alone with that looming gothic building in the background and trees everywhere is exactly the kind of thing those twits that get murdered first do.”
Did I mention I love slasher films? Total guilty pleasure.
So was pouring a bag of M&M’s into a bowl of hot, buttered popcorn and letting it melt all over each other.
So good.
Maybe I’d just eat that for dinner while watching some unhinged psycho walk slowly around with a knife, miraculously catching up and slaughtering everyone.
Comfort food + comfort show = best night ever.
No. Not best night. You would need something else for it to be the best night ever.
I ignored whoever said that. She was not a ray of sunshine.
Finally, I stepped into the glowing circle of light the lamp overhead cast, and I walked around to the driver’s side of my ancient Mazda. Pretty soon, a museum was going to offer me money for this relic. Until then, it would get me from A to B, and I wouldn’t complain.
Still rummaging around in my bottomless tote, I let out a frustrated sound and ripped the bag off my shoulder so I could stare down into the open top. “Stupid keys,” I uttered, shoving around everything inside, trying to find them.
The telltale jingle I hoped to hear remained mutinously silent, and I gave the bag a shake. “Where are you?”
Realization made me gasp. I’d knocked the bag over earlier in the practice room, and they must have fallen out. I probably hadn’t heard the keys fall over the sound of my ears being murdered.
“I am so eating popcorn and melty M&M’s for dinner,” I vowed as I trudged back toward the massive theater arts building.
In the daytime, it looked like a castle, something you might see in a movie or even in a storybook. And I supposed that was still true right now, but the movie would likely be Dracula, and the book would be something by Stephen King.
