Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Simon’s dark eyes slide from my iPad to meet mine, his face a blank canvas. I can’t get a read on him which, in and of itself, is a little strange.
“Uh, yeah. Let me check with my buddy, see when he’s got time available.” There’s a hollowness to his voice that engages my suspicion mode. Maybe he doesn’t know how to decline?
My attention swings to Morgan. “What do you think?”
“Semi-naked men isn’t a subject that interests me, but the camera work is phenomenal.”
I can’t help but smile at her honesty. “How’s yours coming along?” Morgan told me she’s submitting a short on the Manga culture in Tokyo. She lived there in high school while her dad was stationed there as a diplomat.
“Great. I’m done and submitting it tomorrow.”
“I know you’re supposed to be the enemy but I’m wishing you luck anyway. If I don’t get it, I hope one of you two will.”
“Same,” Morgan states and blows a bubble with her gum.
Simon remains oddly silent. I glance up to find him staring back with a peculiar look on his face. He leans across his desk, into Morgan’s personal space, and she sits back to avoid him. A chuckle rises up from my chest.
She’s disliked him from the get-go and I can’t figure out where it stems from.
“Are you busy this Saturday?” he says, expression guarded.
The amusement drops off my face. Even Morgan’s eyes widen. That’s why I couldn’t get a read on him. He was working up to ask me out again. He’s nervous and here I am conjuring nefarious motives.
We never did make it to the Scorsese retrospective all those weeks ago. Between midterms and putting together our submissions, we both got busy. I had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Simon hadn’t.
“Uh…no.” That should not have sounded like a question. It should’ve come out as a firm declaration, fired back without hesitation. I might have flubbed this.
After Dallas showed up on Thanksgiving night, all the heat smoldering between me and Reagan turned into a clammy chill. I haven’t spoken to him in the three days since. Only a few sporadic texts between practices. The team’s been busy preparing for the championship tournament starting next weekend so that’s understandable. What isn’t, however, is how we left things.
Somewhere between Barstow and Las Vegas, Dallas dislocated his shoulder by driving his Porsche into a ditch. And that was the least of it. He was charged with reckless driving, evading arrest, and his license has been suspended. All in all, he had a slightly more messed up Thanksgiving than me and Rea.
By the time he’d finished filling us in on the details of the arrest, a palpable awkwardness had settled between us. I don’t know what I expected but I didn’t expect it to get uncomfortable, for him to drive me back to the dorm in complete silence. So am I available? Yeah, I am.
“I mean, I am––available, that is.”
Simon smiles. “Do you like Thai? There’s a great Thai restaurant in Westwood…maybe we can catch a movie after?”
God, nervous men are so adorable. Looking into Simon’s open gaze, I say, “I’d love to.”
Because zebras have no business crushing on Thoroughbreds.
“Bailey, you coming over?” Dallas says, speaking into Reagan’s phone.
I can hear the rest of the guys on the team carrying on in the background, everyone celebrating the big win. A lucky goal by Rea in the last minute of the fourth quarter saved their season. Regardless, a win is a win. They beat Long Beach State fourteen to thirteen in the opening round and advance to the semifinals of the NCAA championship tournament next weekend.
Dallas watched from the sideline. Even if he didn’t have a dislocated shoulder, Coach would’ve benched him for the arrest. Jake Chasen, a freshman and an upcoming star on the team, replaced him. He played really well too. Three assists and one goal.
I didn’t go tonight. I wanted to––Zoe offered to drive me––but it was too important a game to risk Reagan being distracted. Which is why I watched it streaming live on my computer between the hands that covered my eyes and with my heart in my throat.
“Sorry about that. Dall stole my phone.”
“You two are so sweet. My parents do that all the time too.”
“You missed a great one, Bailey. I can’t believe you didn’t come.” He sounds happy. I know it’s because of the game but the perkiness bugs me. It’s the first time we’ve actually spoken all week and he wants to pretend like nothing’s happened? No. He doesn’t get to do that.
“Busy editing the video all day. I need to submit it in the next ten days.”
“You’re going to get it. I know you will.”
“I wish I had your level of confidence. The competition is stiff.”
Shit, bad choice of word. There’s a strange pause, which sends a surge of unease sliding down my back. Rea clears his throat.