Oh, Henry (Ohellno #2) by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Read Online

  "Well," Georgie continues, "then it makes perfect sense. She's disrupted your game mojo, Henry."

"Why? It's not like I got attached to her."

"Possibly not, but you liked her and she dumped y'all. That'southward never happened."

"I feel fine. I promise, no broken hearts here." Though mayhap I do miss hearing Elle'southward snorty laugh.

"If y'all say so, only she'south planted a seed of doubt in that thick skull of yours. And so yous're going to accept to discover a style to fix it."

But how? Elle hates me. And we fight every time nosotros run across each other. "Easier said than done."

"Not really. Whatsoever you did to piss her off, just apologize."

"I didn't do anything. She says we're just not correct for each other and accuses me—me of all people—of not being a man."

My sister frowns and rubs her pointed picayune mentum. "Hmmm…then man up. Bear witness her you're not afraid to grovel a little. If that doesn't work, so hitting her with the old Henry amuse. I've still to run across a girl resist you lot when yous act like an actual homo beingness."

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Book

Other Works past Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Title Page

Copyright Folio

Prologue

Affiliate One

Affiliate 2

Chapter Three

Chapter Iv

Affiliate Five

Chapter Vi

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Affiliate 9

Affiliate Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Affiliate Thirteen

Chapter Xiv

Chapter Xv

Chapter 16

Author's Note

About Digging a Hole

Playlist

Acknowledgements

Excerpt of Smart Tass

Extract of Mr. Rook

About the Writer

OTHER WORKS By MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF

COMING Presently!

Pawn (Function 2, Mr. Rook's Island Serial)

The Goddess of Forgetfulness (Book 4, Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Series)

Skinny Pants (Book 3, The Happy Pants Café Serial)

Bank check (Part three, Mr. Rook's Isle Series)

Digging A Hole (Book 3, The Ohellno Serial)

THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

(Paranormal Romance/Humor)

Accidentally in Dear with…a God? (Book 1)

Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book ii)

Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book iii)

Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)

Vampires Demand Not…Apply? (Book iv)

Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Volume 4.5)

Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)

THE FATE Book SERIES

(Standalones/New Adult Suspense/Humor)

Fate Book

Fate Book Two

THE FUGLY Serial

(Standalone/Contemporary Romance)

fugly

it's a fugly life

THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES

(Standalones/Romantic Comedy)

The Happy Pants Café (Prequel)

Tailored for Problem (Book ane)

Leather Pants (Book two)

Skinny Pants (Book iii) – Jump 2018

IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC., Series

(Standalones/Paranormal/Humor)

The Immortal Matchmakers (Book one)

Tommaso (Volume 2)

God of Wine (Volume three)

The Goddess of Forgetfulness (Book 4) Winter 2017

THE Male monarch Series

(Night Fantasy)

Rex'due south (Book 1)

Rex for a Twenty-four hour period (Book 2)

Rex of Me (Book three)

Mack (Volume 4)

Ten Club (Series Finale, Book v)

THE MERMEN TRILOGY

(Dark Fantasy)

Mermen (Book one)

MerMadmen (Book ii)

MerCiless (Volume iii)

MR. ROOK'S Island Serial

(Romantic Suspense)

Mr. Rook (Office 1)

Pawn (Part 2) Autumn 2017

Bank check (Part three) Leap 2018

THE OHELLNO SERIES

(Standalone/New Developed/Romantic Comedy)

Smart Tass (Volume 1)

OH, HENRY

The Ohellno Serial

Book Two

Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

A Mimi Boutique Novel

Copyright © 2022 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by whatsoever means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted past copyright police.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the production of the author'south imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of diverse products referenced in this work of fiction, which accept been used without permission. The publication/apply of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Creative Editing by Latoya C. Smith (lcsliterary.com)

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OH, HENRY

PROLOGUE

HENRY

Austin, Texas. Alpha Phi Frat House.

"Pitiful, Henry, but I don't owe you lot an explanation. It's over, and that's all there is to it." Elle's large brown eyes prove cipher emotion, and so I put on my game face up. I've never been chucked similar this. Never. Because I'm fucking Henry Walton, 1 of iv heirs to the Walton oil fortune, famously handsome, and the well-nigh anticipated NFL college typhoon pick since that asshole who got signed with the Steelers.

Elle's behemothic brain must be broken.

Standing in the doorway of our two-story, Southern-charmer of a frat firm, I step outside in my Pirates PJs bottoms onto the porch. I advisedly shut the door so the guys inside, who are fellow Pirates, don't overhear. They'd never permit this go. Football players live to fuck with each other.

"You—you're rejecting me?" I bespeak to my bare breast, snarling downward at her little round confront. Sure, she'south got a genius IQ and is the likeliest person to build a tele-transporter or some geeky Star Trek shit similar that, but I'm what the ladies call a bona fide catch. Vi-five, two hundred and lxxx pounds of pure musculus pleasance, orgasm philanthropist, future football game Hall of Famer, and—fucking bonus signal—I'm an all-around fun guy. Elle can't deny it. My ability to turn her frowns into smiles is irrefutable. Information technology'southward the reason she bought that raffle ticket, the prize being a date with me, during our fraternity fundraiser. It's the reason she said she wanted me to prove her a good time afterwards she won. Which I did. Several "skillful times" in one dark and about 50 more "Oh, Henrys!" since then.

And then why is she dumping me? Not that we were official. But, dammit all to hell, I like her. I actually fucking similar her. Normally, I don't become nerd, but Elle suckered me with her cute little gap-toothed smile and spunky personality. Okay, and she's a blonde, which I like, and she has nice jugs.

I eat down a tangled mess in my throat. "Fine. Enough of fish in the ocean. I'g cool with that."

"Errr…you don't look cool. Do yous need to sit down?"

"Only a hangover," I prevarication. "Big political party last night." Actually, I can't remember what I did. I ca

due north't think straight.

Elle touches my arm, compassion written all over her face. "Henry, we were never really going to work out. Fifty-fifty you had to know that."

I slowly remove her hand. "Never gave it much thought." As well decorated living the dream and all that.

She shoves her petite easily into her pinkish overalls. "Well, I need more than a hot guy with big muscles. I need…" She blows out a long breath. "I need a man. I who volition exist there when things get hard. One who's had to bargain with the real earth. You only know screwing and football, and I respect that. I might even be jealous. Only there is no universe in which your interests and mine could coagulate into a symbiotic relationship exterior the bedroom."

"Who says yous even symbiotified me there?" No. That's not a existent discussion. And nosotros both know I could fuck Elle all day long and never get tired of her. There's this footling squeaking thing that she does right before she's about to come up. Adorable.

Wait. No. Fuck that. Information technology'due south abrasive. But similar her shrill laugh, obsession with spy novels, and stupid nerd jokes about black holes—"Two protons walk into a black pigsty, apathetic, blah, stupid science dial line, apathetic, apathetic."

Skillful riddance.

Just every bit I think those words, something deep inside sets off like a grenade. Smash. I'm pissed. I just can't fuckin' believe that she's kicking my awesome ass to the curb and won't even tell me why. Not the existent truth anyway. Considering even a guy like me with just above average intelligence can come across that Elle's piddling line about needing "a human being" is bullshit. Men merely don't come any manlier than me.

Elle laughs, followed by a little squeak. My eyes zero in on that gap between her teeth. How had I thought that was hot? She looks nothing similar a young Madonna.

Yeah, she looks more than similar Urkel. Only pale as shit with blonde pigtails and tape in the middle of her spectacles. I'm the 1 who actually broke them, though. I saturday on them later on we screwed. She kind of got mad, and I offered to replace them x times, but she just shrugged it off. "No biggie. What'south a nerd without a little record? I'll ready 'em later," she said.

Elle finishes honking out a final laugh. I can't believe I'm into her.

Was into her.

"Symbiotified. Oh, Henry. I'1000 going to miss your humor." She grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. "Information technology was nice knowing you lot."

I jerk my head. "Been squeamish knowing yous, too. Good luck with your…math 'n shit."

Fuck. That sounded lame.

Elle crinkles her nose. "Yeah. I'll cross my fingers and hope those big scary numbers finally brand sense." She turns away and heads toward campus, shaking her tight niggling ass in her overalls.

Jesus, what was I even doing with her? I can go tens—ten cheerleaders, ten models, or ten of the hottest women at any party.

I snarl at the dorsum of her head and clench my fists. "Stupid geek!"

Without slowing her pace or turning around, she throws upwardly a center finger. "Dumb jock!"

I can't help but express joy. She may look similar a helpless, lost little nerd begging for social ridicule, just I've notwithstanding to meet anyone with bigger assurance. Male or female.

Stop it, Henry. Information technology's over. I gush out a breath of frustration. Fuck her. I don't need anything but football game.

CHAPTER ONE

4 weeks later.

"Walton! Get your sorry ass over here!" the omnibus yells, cutting our play short and eliciting a mixture of groans and "eat me, Waltons!" from my fellow Pirates.

I don't know why I'1000 in my worst slump ever. I really don't. Play says go right, I become left. When I'm supposed to cake left, I put my head up my ass. It's like my brain is scrambled or something.

"Fulking herl," I mumble, spitting out my mouthpiece and releasing my mentum strap. This is the seventh play I've fucked up this practice, and information technology wanes in comparison to the chunky-style cluster I created during our last game versus San Diego. And the game before that with LA. And the game before that with Notre Dame—nosotros lost that one. The other games were close calls. Too shut.

"Hey, man, it's okay. Everyone has a bad streak," says Hunter. He's the new starting quarterback, and then non as big of a dude as me, but a damned good player especially for a freshman. The topper? He'southward a damned good friend likewise—something I never expected to gain out of this shit tempest more unaffectionately referred to equally the sinking SS Henry.

Simply I'm not a quitter.

Never take been.

Never volition be.

I'll do anything to turn my ship around, even leaving the coveted Blastoff Phi frat house a few weeks ago. With my head in such a bad identify, I decided I might be due for a change. That and the parties every night were getting on my last iron-pumping, protein-shake-fueled nerve.

"Walton! You deaf or something?" the autobus yells, withal standing on the sidelines, waiting to chew me out.

I await over at Hunter, whose face is all soured upward, like he's cringing on my behalf. He knows, simply like I practise, that the passenger vehicle doesn't want me here anymore considering I've been playing similar a moron. Of class, he needs me also much, and luckily, my amanuensis says no ane else is worried. The offer to sign with the Texans after graduation is still on the table.

"Uh-oh, Pretty Male child Liam's in trouble," 1 of the guys sings teasingly.

I fucking detest it when they call me that. I practice not look like Liam Hemsworth. I am definitely Chris. Just bigger.

"Shut it, asshole," I tell the guy and remove my helmet. I jog over to Autobus Newton—a brusk bald dude with shit-brown eyes. "Hey, Charabanc, I know that wasn't great, merely I'm working on it—"

"Y'all're out, Walton."

My gut fills with cement. "Out? You can't make me sit out. I need to practice, not jerk off on the demote."

"No, jackass. You're out for the season. Take a seat." He points his finger in my face. "And don't start, Walton. I warned you lot, so you've only brought this on yourself."

I am literally speechless. This is my fourth flavor playing for the Pirates, and my stats have put this team on the map. The publicity alone has attracted new players with solid pro potential, like Hunter, and Passenger vehicle Newton is at present hailed every bit the best higher coach in the country. Everyone is living the dream, cheers to me. Okay, and information technology doesn't hurt that my family donates a few meg each year to the school. We accept the best equipment, best facilities, best everything.

I cross my arms over my chest and snarl down at Coach Newton. I may be a college pupil, but I'm no kid. I know the score. I know my value. "Y'all bench me and y'all're the one who's going to expect like a jackass. Everyone's going to put this on you—your inability to manage one of your star players. Then there's the fact that the university chairs won't be happy. The Waltons are primal donors."

Jitney Newton'south sunburnt nostrils flare, and his right eye twitches. "That a threat, Walton?"

"No, sir, only a fact. A fact like any other. Including how I could've switched schools and taken my money with me. A fact like I've been playing flawless defense force for almost four seasons and cipher volition get more guys signed and bring in more money for the school than me." I point to my chest. "Me getting drafted for x mil a year." It's a three-year contract, so that adds up to a nice sum, but I'm not in information technology for the money. I dear the game and take since I was sometime enough to walk.

"Look, Walton," Coach hisses quietly, "no one is going to deny what y'all've brought to the table, just I'yard not putting the championship at run a risk because y'all all of a sudden decided to act like a chimpanzee rolling around in his own shit."

Dick. My playing isn't that bad. I'1000 more similar an untamed stallion. Who's forgotten how to run. "I thought chimps wore diapers," I say.

"Shut up, Walton!" He points a chubby finger in my face up. "I don't know what's gotten in your head, and I don't intendance. I've given y'all a calendar month to turn information technology around, but yous go along playing like a lilliputian cunt, which ways we'll lose the season. All of u.s.."

Fuck. I run a manus over the acme of my sweaty hair.

I tin can't really debate with his logic. If I proceed screwing upwardly, our squad won't go to the play-offs, and that'll make us all look bad.

I kick at the dirty grass. "Yeah, well. That's non what I want."

"That'due south a good boy." Newton goes to his tiptoes and taps the top of my head. "Knew you'd see information technology my fashion. Now take a seat." Coach turns and walks away.

Good boy? And did he simply pat me on the head like a dog?

"Just I'thou withal playing!" I belt out.

The coach stops in his tracks and slowly turns to face me.

"Hey, don't look at me." I throw him a snide grin. "You're the one who says 'quitter' is simply another word for giant pussy." I smile and point to my crotch. "And I'g not seein' pussy down there, Coach."

Just one big dick. Which I've had to be in society to get where I am. Because despite growing up in a privileged family unit, I've had to fight tooth and smash every step of the way.

I put on my helmet and walk past him, giving him a slap on the ass. "Cheers for the pep talk, Dana. Only what I needed."

Dana is his first proper noun. Nosotros retrieve Bus hates it considering information technology'due south a chick's name, too.

My teammates eye me in silence equally I accept my place on the field, caput downwards, fingers pushed into the mud.

"You okay?" Hunter asks, coming upwardly to my side.

"Never better. Let's play."

Hunter stands there for a moment too long, like he wants to say something, simply then leaves.

Proficient choice.

The guys line up, some playing criminal offense and facing us.

I can do this. I can make this play. I accept to believe that. I have to button out the dissonance in my caput that keeps me from being here and nowhere else.

Focus, Henry. Focus. I tin't go on letting anybody downwardly. Non when their dreams are on the line, too. Nearly of us have worked since we were ten to get here—the last stop on the manner to pro. And there is no sweeter celebrity than doing what you honey for a living, even if information technology'southward only for a few short years. It's what we've all been killing ourselves for: The chance to say "I did it. I made it."

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