Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Scottie, what are you doing?” Dane asks as his grip on my wrist stops my forward progress to the front of the room. “Let’s sit back here.”
“But I want to sit a little closer…” Truth be told, I forgot to put in my contacts this morning, and Dane hates when I wear my glasses. He says it reminds him of our sixty-year-old high school librarian, Donna Lanser.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Let’s sit right here.”
“Dane.” I lean toward him to whisper in his ear. “I don’t have my contacts in. I need to sit closer so I can actually see.”
“Don’t be a nerd, babe.” He laughs and drags me toward two seats in the last row.
I want to tell him he’s being an asshole, but I clamp my lips shut instead. Lord knows my calling him out will only make him more annoyed with me, and since I’m now going to have to use my glasses for this class, I decide to pick my battles.
As I sit down beside him, setting my backpack on the floor between my feet, I unzip the front pocket to grab my glasses, but when I don’t feel the familiar texture of their leather case, anxiety starts to fill my chest. Shit.
“I don’t have my glasses,” I whisper toward Dane, but he just shrugs.
“Can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that. You look way hotter without them.”
Looking hot is the absolute last thing I’m worried about right now.
I rummage through the other pockets of my bag and still come up empty-handed. On a sigh, I lean back in my seat and try to figure out my next move, but in my periphery, a head of familiar dark hair catches my eye—the mystery guy who witnessed my clumsy butt tumble to the sidewalk in the most unladylike fashion.
I don’t know his name, but he was incredibly kind, despite my having run directly into him in my haste to get out of the rain. He also, as it happens, has the most soul-piercing brown eyes I’ve ever stared into, the kind of chiseled jawline that Paris Fashion Week would eat with a spoon, and muscles that stand out effortlessly in his rain-soaked T-shirt.
I’m not the only female in the room to notice, though I probably shouldn’t. Several pairs of eyes look in his direction as he walks near the professor’s desk. He’s a little blurry, but from what I can tell, he has a gray backpack swung haphazardly over his shoulder and his dark jeans are just the right amount of tight—fitting like a glove over his firm butt but avoiding the horrible skinny-jean look on his long, toned legs.
He runs his hand through his dark hair as he chooses a seat near the front—lucky duck—and sits down in an empty row. Besides me, he appears to be the only person who wants to sit so close to our currently empty professor’s desk.
I blow out a breath of air, its contents beleaguered, and glance over at Dane. He’s busy staring down at his phone, Instagram front and center on the screen. He must not be aware that I can see what he’s doing, because the first thing he does is like a girl from our high school’s bikini pic. And then, I see him do the same thing three more times, but for three different girls I’ve never seen before.
My older sister Wren would say that’s a huge red flag, and it instantly makes me miss home. I was close with a lot of girls in high school, but now that we’ve gone our separate ways to college, it’s almost comical how quickly we’ve lost touch. Besides some of the cheerleaders I’ve met through tryouts and practice, Dane is the only person I know at Dickson.
And he’s too busy staring at IG tits and ass to even notice you.
I open my mouth to say something about it making me uncomfortable, but another voice fills the void first.
“Hey, girl.” I look up to find Nadine, a fellow cheerleader, taking a seat beside me.
I smile. “Hey.”
“So…” She pauses as she eyes me up and down with one raised eyebrow and a mouth that’s curled into a combination of a snarl and a smile. “Why are you wearing your uniform?”
Unlike me, she’s wearing jean shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair is voluminous, seemingly untouched by the rain, and her lips are painted red.
“Uh…” I pause and shrug, a little embarrassed. “I don’t have any time to head back to my dorm before pictures.”
“So, you went full-on cheerleader glam for your classes?” She narrows her eyes and snorts as she grabs a notebook out of her backpack. “You’re a better woman than I am. I’d feel like such a dumbass if I had to do that.”
I don’t say anything in return because what can you even say to that? Thanks for the insult?