Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Here, don’t you need this?” He waves it at me.
I give him a tight nod and shove it into my bag without looking at him.
“Are you okay? No bumps or bruises?” Alex asks, running his hands over my shoulders.
“No, I’m fine.” I straighten up and give my chin a little hitch to look at him. He’s not as tall as Maverick, about six-one.
A built-up sigh I hadn’t known I’d been holding in comes out, long and full of pent-up emotion. So what if Maverick is here, listening? It’s not like the entire campus doesn’t already know why we broke up. Gossip spreads like wildfire.
“What do you want, Alex? I have a class to get to.”
He stiffens as he glances briefly at Maverick, who is curiously still standing here. “I just wanted to see you, and…say hello. Now that football is over, I thought we could get together and talk about everything. I never had the chance to tell you I’m sorry in person for…everything.”
An image of him and Martha-Muffin in his bed flashes in my head. “You mean for cheating on me.” Get it right, asshole.
Alex closes his eyes briefly then takes my elbow and gently pulls me aside.
With a sigh, I let him. Maybe if he can say what he needs to, he’ll stop bothering me.
“Don’t be like this, Delaney,” he says in a lowered tone. “Muffin was a one-time thing. I swear I’ve never cheated on you before.”
My heart aches at the memory. I shake my head. “You…you are not the person I thought you were. We’re over, Alex.”
He bites his lip, a pleading look in his eyes. “I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
I take a deep breath, the urge to flee intense. “I have to get to class now.”
I turn back around, and Maverick is still standing over near the hedge, his face concerned as he watches us. He calls my name as I stomp past, but I keep going.
I just need away from both of them. Football guys can suck it.
I imagine both of their eyes on me and barely resist throwing up a one-finger salute, but those cocky athletes aren’t worth the energy it would take.
Delaney
Being an introvert comes with tells. Sometimes I giggle uncontrollably, but more often than not, I sneeze when I’m nervous. When I’m faced with a situation that tilts my world on its axis, a tingling starts up in my nose, itching and building pressure until finally I sneeze. Senior year of high school, I got caught skipping school, and when the principal called me into his office, I sneezed so many times tears poured down my face. He let me go after stuffing a box of Kleenex into my hands. Sometimes it works in my favor and I can use it as an excuse to make a quick exit, but sometimes it can just be downright annoying.
Like now.
“May I sit here?” a deep voice says from behind me.
My body knows who it is before my brain does, and right away, I suppress the pre-sneeze sensation by inhaling sharply and holding my breath for five seconds.
I slip my glasses down a few notches as I look over to see Maverick staring at me. It’s been a couple of days since the donut tragedy, and we’ve passed each other in the hallway a few times. Once I thought he said something, but I’m too awkward to stop and say, Hey, did you just say something to me? so I just ignored him.
We’re inside the auditorium for our psych class, and my hands flutter around the desk next to me. “Do whatever you want. Be prepared, though—the lights are rather dim back here. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep.”
Somehow he manages to settle his large frame into the cushioned seat and reclines it back, him and his long jean-clad legs taking up all the space next to me—and the air.
“Ah, I could never fall asleep here.” He shoots me a grin, and I mentally put up my shields. Don’t get sucked into the hotness.
I nod, making small talk. “Yeah, it’s an interesting class.”
“And you’re in it.”
My lashes flutter and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I just can’t. A normal person would ask what he meant by that, but this is me. I just clear my throat and scoot my leg over a little to give him more room.
Just be cool, Delaney.
“What are you drawing?” he asks, leaning over my shoulder.
I stop the doodling I’ve been doing in my notebook. The heat from his body is intoxicating, and I swallow. “Han Solo.”
His lips twitch. “Hate to break it to you, Buttercup, but Han Solo isn’t a cat. He’s the captain of the Millennium Falcon.”
“He’s also a scoundrel and a smuggler,” I add. “And who gave you permission to call me Buttercup?”