Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“So, that’s your dad, huh?” Holland says, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
“Yeah.”
“Seems like a real warm and fuzzy sort. Kind of like a big, squishy teddy bear.”
The image tugs at my lips despite everything. “You nailed it.”
“I figured as much.” She adjusts her bag strap before glancing away. “I should probably get to class.”
Before she can take two steps, phones buzz all around us. Dread pools in my gut as I pull mine out.
Anonymous Message
Bridger Sanderson and Holland Tate—now there’s an odd pairing. Betting pools are now open as to how long that situationship will last.
My face heats as I glance around. People have stopped in their tracks and are staring, their gazes darting between me and Holland as whispers spread like wildfire.
Holland stiffens beside me, her face paling as she stares at her phone. “Bridger…”
Her voice is oddly soft as her hand rises to touch my arm.
Instead of allowing her to comfort me, I take a hasty step in retreat. “I need to go,” I say roughly, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “I’ll see you in class.”
“Bridger—” she tries again, but I’m already walking away.
My mind churns as I put distance between us.
That message wasn’t as vicious as some of the others, but the implications are enough to make my skin crawl. Someone out there is watching us, stirring the pot.
Or is it her attempt to throw me off and turn my suspicions elsewhere?
I have no fucking idea.
And that’s the problem.
The way she looked at me just now—like she was worried, like she actually cared—makes something inside me ache in a way I’m not used to.
Holland Tate isn’t just tangled up in this mess, she’s twisted up deep inside me.
And that might be the hardest knot to untangle.
What I do know is that I need to get my head on straight before I see her next.
15
Holland
The moment I step out of the sciences building, the weight of curious stares and muffled whispers hits me like a tidal wave. Normally, I can blend into the flow of students on campus, but today is different.
Today everyone is staring.
At least that’s the way it feels.
Maybe I’m capable of commanding this kind of attention on stage, but I’m not Holland Tate in those moments.
I’m Lavender Smoke.
“Holland! Wait up!” Ava’s voice cuts through the noise on campus.
For a second, I consider ducking my head and running, but she’s faster than me, weaving through the crowd until she falls into step beside me. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and amusement.
I know exactly what’s coming.
“Did you see the message?” she asks, wide-eyed. “It’s crazy. Everyone’s talking about it.”
I blow out a steady breath and keep my gaze focused straight ahead. “Yeah, I saw.”
Ava tilts her head as she studies me. “I mean, it’s obviously not true, right? Everyone knows you can’t stand Bridger Sanderson.”
I keep walking, my stride purposeful, as if it’s possible to outrun this conversation.
When I remain silent, her voice dips, filling with confusion. “Holland?”
I glance at her, then at the path ahead. “It’s not… untrue.”
She stops dead in her tracks, forcing me to do the same. “What?” Her eyes go so wide I half-expect them to pop out of her head. “Are you saying—wait, no—you and Bridger? Dating?”
“Ava,” I mutter, already regretting my choice of words.
“You’re kidding. You have to be kidding,” she says, crossing her arms. “Start talking, because I have so many questions.”
I press my fingers to my temples, trying to come up with a response that will satisfy her without revealing too much. I fall back on the lame answer I gave Garret. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated?” she repeats, incredulous. “What does that even mean? When did this happen? Just last night you said there was nothing between you two.”
Before I can reply, or more accurately, evade, her rapid-fire inquiries, the business building comes into view.
Thank God.
Even though I’ll have to face Bridger for the second time this morning, I’ve never been so glad to see it.
“Look,” I say, picking up my pace, “I’d love to explain, but we’re going to be late for class.”
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Sure,” I say, relieved to duck into the building and put some distance between us. Even after she walks away, her questions echo in my mind, stirring up things I’d rather not think about.
Inside the lecture hall, I head straight for a seat near the middle, hoping to disappear into the rows of students. I’m pulling out my notebook when the architect of my problems strides in and scans the room. That’s when I do something I never would have before, and shrink back in my chair when his attention zeroes in on me.
I force my gaze away, hoping he’ll do us both a favor and pick another spot, but no such luck. He drops into the seat next to me, his presence as overwhelming as ever.