Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Campus Hottie - Campus |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Jennifer Sucevic |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
Carson Roberts is Western University’s most sought after tight end. He’s the total package. A pretty face to go along with all those sculpted muscles—check. An All-American—double check. A guaranteed one-way ticket to the NFL after graduation—triple check. Did I happen to mention that he’s also my brother’s best friend, which means I grew up with the guy and have crushed on him for nearly just as long? We’re talking a decade of unrequited yearning here, folks. Don’t worry, I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’ll never see me as anything more than the little sis he never had. Sort of. And even if he did just so happen to notice that I’ve filled out and no longer wear braces, Brayden would have a major conniption. When it comes to the male species, he’s ridiculously overprotective. Any guy who has so much as given me a bit of side-eye has been treated to a swift and memorable beat down. Which is precisely why I’m still in possession of my V-card. Want to know how to make being a nineteen-year-old virgin with a major crush on her brother’s best friend even more pathetic? Blurt out at a frat party that you’ve spent all these years saving yourself for him. Sadly, I can’t even blame it on the alcohol because I don’t drink. If you’re thinking it can’t possibly get more humiliating than that, you’d be wrong. Oh. So. Wrong. *This is a mature New Adult novel with strong language and sexual situations intended for readers over the age of 18* | |
| Books by Author: | Jennifer Sucevic |
Chapter One
Elle
The TA avoids all eye contact as he sets my paper facedown on the desk before moving on to the next row.
Crap.
The knot in my belly tightens as I realize that’s probably not a good sign. What I can’t afford is to barely scrape by on yet another test or quiz. I’d rather drop out of college than retake this class. And just to be clear, my mother would kill me if I actually did that.
Someone needs to explain what statistics has to do with being a theater major anyway. How is this supposed to assist me in pursuing my dream career as a stage actress?
The short answer is that it won’t, which is exactly why I made a last-ditch effort to persuade my advisor on the third day of class that I should be given an exemption from Western’s graduation requirement. His response was to sigh heavily as he removed his horn-rimmed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before effectively telling me to suck it up, buttercup.
So I’m stuck for the duration. A puff of air escapes from me as my shoulders slump. Failing this class is not an option.
“Aren’t you going to look?” Mike asks from the desk parked next to mine.
I scrunch my nose and give my head a few violent shakes. “If it’s bad, it’ll ruin my entire day.” And that’s the last thing I need.
He rolls his hazel eyes before pushing his sandy-colored hair away from his face. “God, you are so dramatic.”
A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “That’s what you love about me.”
He tilts his head as if seriously considering the statement. “Hmmm...is it?”
I give him my most winsome smile before batting my eyelashes. “Yup, pretty sure it is.”
“Maybe,” he admits before pointing to the paper. “If you won’t do the honors then I will.”
The thick ball of tension that has taken up residence in the pit of my belly turns painful. “Stop trying to peer pressure me into doing something I’m not ready to.”
His eyes ignite with humor as he elbows me. “Come on,” he cajoles, “do it or I won’t be your friend.”
With a frown, I smack his shoulder and shift on the chair. “You’re such a jerk.”
He shrugs, looking unaffected by the insult. “Never said I wasn’t.”
When a few seconds trickle by, he raises his brows expectantly.
Ugh. I can already tell he won’t drop the topic until I show him.
“Fine,” I grumble. Air gets wedged in my throat as my heartbeat picks up tempo. I do a silent countdown before quickly flipping over the paper and staring at the number circled in red ink in the top right corner.
Sixty-five.
Shit. That’s worse than I’d assumed it would be. My lips sink at the edges as my eyes widen. It’s official, my Friday has just gone down the tubes.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking equally surprised by the dismal score. “I really thought it would be better. We spent a ton of hours studying last week.”
My hand drifts to my right temple where a headache is beginning to brew. This class will be the death of me, I just know it. All of my other courses are going great. Since day one, statistics has been a gigantic pain in my ass. No matter how much time I spend preparing for the tests or slogging through the daily assignments, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the concepts. I have some kind of mental block when it comes to math. It’s always been a struggle, but I’ve usually been able to pull off a C. I would be thrilled with that at this point. We’re talking happy dance and everything.
All of the red check marks decorating the page blur before my eyes until it looks like the paper is bleeding and should be promptly put out of its misery.
“Good morning, everyone,” Dr. Holloway greets with a cheerful smile from behind the podium at the front of the room. “It’s Friday, so I’ll attempt to make this as painless as possible. Sound good?”
Ha! It’s much too late for that.
His comment is met with a lone grunt or two that echo off the walls. By the blurry-eyed expressions filling the packed lecture hall, my guess is that most of my fellow students decided to jumpstart their weekend early. If they’re expecting this material to do the trick and bring them back to life again, that won’t be happening. Even though our professor does his best to breathe life into statistics, it’s still dry and tedious.
Not one to be put off by the unenthusiastic response, he claps his hands together. “Excellent. Let’s dive right in, shall we?”
Precisely forty-eight minutes later, my brain is on the verge of exploding from information overload. Statistical confidence intervals and the difference between populations swim around in my brain. If I’m not careful, the material will leak right out of my ears and onto the floor in a gooey mess.