Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Riley, are you with us?”
The sharp voice of my media professor cuts through my spiraling thoughts, yanking me back to the present. The weight of the room’s collective gaze settles on me, and I flush the color of a stop sign.
“Uh, yes,” I stammer, though it’s painfully obvious I haven’t been paying attention. My professor raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, but mercifully moves on.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself. Whatever this is—this hold the Draytons have on me—it’s becoming impossible to ignore.
Imani nudges my foot beneath the table, and after a minute, when Professor Shaw has moved to the other side of the lecture hall, she whispers. “What’s with you? You’re away with the fairies!”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, scribbling notes so I won’t get called out again.
“I don’t believe you.”
She’s right not to. I haven’t been myself for days, tangled up in threads from the past that are reaching into the future. Trying to stay focused on my goals when the pull to just lose myself in extracurriculars is gravitational times one hundred!
After class, Professor Shaw pauses in front of me. “Riley, can I see you for a minute?”
I pause with my laptop half in my bag, staring up at his bearded face and watery green eyes. He must have been a hottie thirty years ago, and even now, there’s a certain magnetism about Professor Shaw, or as the women in the class call him, the bear.
“Yes. Sure.” I glance at Imani, who raises her eyebrows, as uncertain about what this is about as I am.
When the lecture hall is empty, I approach the desk at the front of the class, and Professor Bear slides a sheet of paper over to me. “Each semester, we ask a student from this course to assist the faculty with social media. The student is selected at random for fairness, as the exposure and experience can be very beneficial. The student for this semester has had to drop out due to health concerns and you’ve been chosen to replace them. Is this something you’d be interested in?”
“Yes,” I blurt, without asking a single question. It could be unpaid, long hours, or grueling work, and I still jump at the chance.
“Great. You’ll be working with social media professionals and other students to come up with content that promotes the faculty, course, lectures, faculty projects, event management, alumni stories, career-related opportunities…” He trails off but then thinks of some more. “Behind-the-scenes, day-in-the-life… you know… relatable content. Your youth and student position will give a fresh and relevant perspective to the work. At least, that’s why they take the student interns, plus cheap labor, and of course, the experience you’ll benefit from.”
“Okay. Great.” Cheap labor comments aside, I’m excited!
“Fantastic. Here are the details. Can you give Vanessa a call? Her number is in the information pack. She’ll get you set up with a schedule that works around your current commitments.”
“Alrighty!” I take the pack, hardly believing what’s falling in my lap. It’s a dream come true. Something credible I’ll be able to put at the top of my resume. A stepping stone towards a future role. I practically skip out of the door.
Outside, Imani grabs my arm, taking me by surprise. “What did he say?”
“I’ve been chosen for a social media placement.”
“Yay. That’s so awesome, sweetie.” She pulls me into a jasmine-scented hug. “I thought he was going to rail you for zoning out in class, which wouldn’t have been fair because half of us are asleep in there at any time.”
“It’s my favorite class,” I say. “I’m usually really focused.”
“So, what’s got you unfocused?”
A passing dude with massive shoulders barges me enough that I stumble. I glance around the sterile hallway teaming with people and confirm this isn’t the place to confide anything.
“Let’s grab a coffee,” I say. “It might help me wake up, and I’ll tell you what’s been going on.”
***
“He did WHAT?” Imani’s almond eyes bug out as she grabs my arm in shock.
I cup my hand around my mouth. “Masturbated,” I whisper. “In front of me.”
“And you watched?” She fans herself with her free hand. “Damn, girl! Do you know how much people would pay to get a look at that memory reel?”
“I told him to come on himself. I talked to him while he was doing it.”
She slaps my arm lightly. “You, Riley Johnstone, are a dark horse. Dirty talking a hockey player while his brothers are upstairs!”
“It wasn’t dirty talk.” I rub the back of my neck, remembering how easily the words had slipped out of my mouth. “It was pity talk. He was hurting… he needed to…” I trail off, but Imani doesn’t leave it there.
“He needed to ejaculate over his fabulous abs while you were watching? Yeah, there’s something oozing from that situation, but it isn’t pity.”
“Firstly, gross! And you didn’t see him,” I say. “He was really bad.”