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)
It’s too easy to feel at home between them. Too easy for my heart to unfurl in their hands. I snuggle my butt against Shawn, who tightens his grip on me in his sleep. I reach for Jacob’s hand, linking our fingers together, and he sighs as his eyes flutter with a dream. Hayes shifts closer like he’s seeking my warmth, and I press a soft kiss to his lips, lingering as his breathing falters and then restarts. I shift against his thigh, my arousal building.
It’s too easy to find myself falling.
Whatever happens, I have to remember that one day, I’ll watch them leave, and I’ll have to be okay with that because it’s the only option. Our time together is as borrowed as it was when we were kids. Maybe we’re always destined to come together only fleetingly. The fallout last time was rough. After this, I know my heart will be broken. As Hayes stirs, easing his thigh through my legs and kissing me deeply, Shawn’s dick presses against my ass, hard and ready, and Jacob reaches out to cup my breast. I force myself to push aside thoughts of what life will be like after the Draytons and relish the here and now, while I still have them all to myself.
***
The first day of anything new is always a little terrifying: equal parts excitement, nerves, and the nagging thought that I might fail spectacularly.
The November air is crisp, biting at my cheeks, and I take a deep breath, steadying myself to enter the media studies building. I clutch my bag like it holds the secrets to surviving the next few hours. It’s not like this is such a big deal. I mean, it’s just a student internship. It’s not like I’m walking into the NHL draft or anything. Still, the nerves twist in my stomach like a cake whisk on full power.
“You’ve got this,” I mutter, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “You’re a professional... unpaid student worker! They’re lucky to have your ass willing to work for nothing.”
With one last deep breath, I push the door open and step inside, greeted by the warm stuffiness of the heating system mixed with eau du student, and the faint hum of voices coming from somewhere down the hall. My black suede boots squeak slightly on the polished floor as I make my way toward the faculty lounge, where I was told to report.
The room is a buzz of activity as a handful of people hover around a table piled high with papers, tablets, and what looks like leftover Halloween candy. A tall guy with a clipboard is waving his arms like a traffic cop in the center of Mumbai.
“Hey! You must be Riley.”
The voice comes from my right, and I turn to find a petite girl with bright red lipstick framing a smile just as vivid. She clutches a coffee cup and her phone in one hand, balancing both like a seasoned pro.
“Hi.” I offer a tentative smile. “That’s me.”
“I’m Rachel.” She extends her free hand. “Welcome to the madness. Are you ready for your crash course in the wild world of Eastern U social media?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, and she laughs politely even though it’s probably the same unimaginative thing everyone says.
Rachel leads me to the table, where a guy in a red shirt is juggling three different devices, his brow furrowed and jaw tight.
“That’s Calvin,” Rachel says. “He’s our analytics guru. If you want to get to grips with the results from any campaign, he’s your man. The dude speaks fluent algorithm.”
Calvin looks up long enough to give me a distracted nod and a fleeting smile before diving back into his work. I can practically see the numbers spinning through his eyes like fruits and bars on a Vegas slot machine
“And over there,” Rachel continues, pointing to a tall girl with curly black hair scribbling furiously on a notepad, “is Nadia. She’s our content queen. If it can be posted, she’s probably already written five drafts.”
“Don’t oversell me,” Nadia calls without looking up. “I’d hate to be a disappointment.”
Rachel grins and nudges me toward an open seat. “You’ll be shadowing me today. We’re working on a promo campaign for the media studies program. Think upbeat, engaging, and just cheesy enough to catch people’s attention without making them cringe too hard.”
“Got it,” I say, pulling out my laptop.
The next hour is a whirlwind. Rachel walks me through the basics of scheduling posts and tracking engagements. I know most of it, but I leave her to school me, so I’ll be confident I’m doing things the way they want. “Most importantly, avoid the cardinal sin of misspelling anything at all costs,” she says. Then leaning closer, she whispers, “There was an incident last semester involving the word ‘clock’ and a missing ‘l’ that still haunts the team.”