Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
My heart thuds so hard against my ribs that I bring my hand to cover it. Closing my eyes for a second, I inhale a long, deep breath through my nostrils. This is such a mortifying situation, but I’ve lived through worse. I just need to pull up my big-girl panties and get on with it. If Colby wants to be an ass, he can be. There isn’t a way of controlling other people’s responses, only my own.
Finally, I pluck up the courage to glance over my shoulder and find Colby still in his seat. Our eyes meet, and he raises his chin so defiantly that I want to laugh. Of course, he wouldn’t come to me. Colby might as well be made of cement for all the flexibility he has in his attitude and opinions. But if he’s cement, then today, I’m made of unbreakable diamond. Raising my eyebrows, I turn back to Professor Anderson, who is watching everyone trying to find their partners. I contemplate raising my hand to tell him I already know Colby far too well, and maybe we could swap partners, but that would probably get me points deducted before I’ve even started this task.
So, I wait.
And wait. And wait. I don’t turn to Mr. Granite again. He can suck it if he expects me to go to him just because he beckoned like a neanderthal.
Just as Professor Anderson flicks to the next slide, ready to explain the task further, Colby slumps into the empty seat next to me. “Did anyone ever tell you you have an attitude problem?” he growls under his breath.
“Nope.” Folding my arms, I stare straight ahead.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he says, opening his laptop.
“Because you have trust issues,” I mutter.
A snort is all I get in response.
For the next twenty minutes, Colby takes notes like he’s going to be asked to regurgitate the lecture word for word. I swear, I’ve never seen a man’s fingers move so fast. Especially thick, strong fingers attached to palms the size of dinner plates. My pussy squeezes, remembering how it felt to have identical fingers spreading me open. Colby and his brothers may have very different personalities, but they’re so identical in their physical features, it’s uncanny.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was Colby kneeling on the floor before me, serving me with hot, slick pleasure. Another glance at his fingers heats my cheeks like lava.
“Now, I want you to take the last ten minutes to discuss your ideas and potential approach with your partner. The task should take you around four hours to complete in total. Work out a schedule for when and how you’re going to meet the deadline.”
All around us, people chatter. It’s the kind of over-enthusiastic rumble that only comes about when lots of people who don’t really know each other are forced to partner up. Between Colby and I is deathly silence.
“I’m free on Thursday,” he mutters eventually.
“And what if I’m not?” I say, even though I am.
“Then we find another day.”
Ugh. I hate him for being so unemotional and logical. How can he be unemotional, for fucks sake? Isn’t he as pent up with indescribable feelings as me? Doesn’t he want to shout at me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Isn’t he mad as hell that we overstepped a line we can never cross back over again?
What if I can’t? The four small words he uttered through the crack in my door flare into my memory. He’s thinking about what happened, too. He admitted it with no shame.
“Thursdays fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Okay then. I don’t mind taking the second part of the question to research. Or would you rather do that part?”
“I’ll take the first,” I say, relieved.
“Good. Okay.” Colby types some more and then goes through his ideas for how we should approach the presentation of our results. His voice is low and even, and everything he says makes complete sense. So much so that I want to scream.
How can a man with such a handsome face and perfect biceps also be so intelligent? Like, shouldn’t God have shared the good stuff a little more evenly rather than giving Colby all of it? And why am I even noticing his ridiculously thick eyelashes or the way his t-shirt is straining across his chest? They’re not appropriate thoughts for an almost sibling.
If he could hear my thoughts, he’d be disgusted, wouldn’t he? I’m disgusted.
And overwhelmed.
I always thought my stepbrothers were airheads who only got into college on the back of their amazing sporting prowess. All they seem to be interested in is football and girls, and I’m not even sure which order to place those two things in.
When Colby’s finished talking, I want to say yes. That all sounds perfect.
But instead, what comes out is, “How can you focus on this stupid task after what happened?”