Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Wow he’s bossy.
And yet, before I know it, I’m inside the lavish vehicle, buckling the seat belt over my soaking wet dress, eyes fixed straight ahead out the window, carefully avoiding the naked upper torso he’s strapped in on the driver’s side.
The engine roars to life, purring. “Where are we going?” I ask quickly.
A long stretch of silence follows as he hits his turn signal and eases into the street. “My place.”
What? No!
“To do what exactly?”
“Sleep?”
“No! No, it’s fine, really. Just take me to the dorms—I’m in the upperclassman apartments on McClintock.”
“I have a really nice place. You can crash with me. I really don’t give a shit.”
“I-I can’t do that. I thought maybe we were going for cheeseburgers or something.” God I’m an idiot.
“Why?” His face is contorted. “All we’re going to do is sleep.”
In the dark, I raise my brows. Yeah right, they say.
I’m almost insulted by his belted-out laughter. His cackle.
I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “What’s so funny?”
“You thinking I want to sleep with you.”
“I do not think that!” We both know I’m lying.
Another laugh. “Yes you do.” Pause. “Look, it’s fine—I’m not going to assault you or take advantage of you, trust me. I have zero interest in women, so your virtue is safe with me.”
“Oh,” I mutter. Then, “Ooohhhhhh!!!”
He gives me a sidelong glance and rolls his brown eyes, which are brightened by the street lights. “I’m not gay.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Well then don’t announce it like that. Being gay isn’t a big deal—I wouldn’t care, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you were.”
“I know it’s not a big deal—but I’m not,” he grinds out through perfect teeth. “But I knew that was what you were thinking.”
“Fine. That’s totally what I was thinking.”
His grunt comes out of the dark, blinker for a right-hand turn ticking against the sudden quietness of the cab.
“How could you tell?”
“By the way you went Oohhh!!!” He mimics a high-pitched female voice so well my mouth curves into an amused grin. “All relieved and shit, like you just solved the freaking Pythagorean theorem.”
I shoot him an agitated look.
“It’s a math theory…”
“I know what the Pythagorean theorem is, thanks.”
You don’t earn a scholarship for engineering without adding numbers and knowing some basic geometry.
I might hate math, but I’m good at it, even though I still occasionally use fingers to do addition. Who doesn’t? I have zero shame, unless I’m sitting in front of my geometry professor. “Just so you know what you’re dealing with here. Don’t ever expect me to add my way out of a dangerous situation without a scientific calculator. We will both lose in a big way.”
“Seriously? Math is so easy, I can do that shit in my head. And all the Pythagorean theorem does is state that the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides and—”
“I know all this, jockstrap.” I hold a hand up. “Please just stop.”
I’ve had a few beers and don’t want to talk about classes right now, especially mathematics.
Quick, what’s fourteen plus thirty-seven? Answer: I have no damn idea, leave me alone.
“Do you want to stop by your place real quick and grab a change of clothes?”
I do a quick calculation of the odds I’ll run into Mariah and whoever it is she’s bringing home, figure it’ll be safe to dash in if I make it quick, and nod my head.
“Yes, please. I live in Dautry.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks.”
It takes me less than five minutes to race down the hall to our place (we live on the first floor), grab a tank top, shorts, and underwear out of my dresser, and run back out to the waiting SUV.
It idles in the still of night, a lone figure looming inside the cab patiently, his profile hairy and bearded, the outline of his topknot silhouetted in the dark.
I hide a smile.
“Thanks,” I repeat once I climb back in, and I get a chin tilt in return.
Respecting that he’s not in the mood for chatter, we don’t speak again until we’re finally on the outskirts of campus and out of town, turning into a residential area, the kind with families and professors, not students and party houses.
At the end of a driveway, he pulls into the garage of a red brick Tudor that looks like it came out of the pages of storybook.
“Uhhhh…” I drag the word out because I just cannot help myself. “This is your house? Do you live with your parents?”
I tug at my hemline, dragging it down over my knees. Shit, am I about to meet his mom? What is she going to think when she sees me? I look like a waterlogged Labrador, and I can’t imagine what my makeup looks like.
Perfect. Just perfect.
“No.” He pulls the keys from the ignition and hits the button to shut garage door, closing us in. “I live here alone.”