Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
As I step out the door, the hallway buzzes with the usual post-class chaos, voices overlapping, and lockers clanging shut. I have my earphones halfway in, my backpack slung lazily over my shoulder, when I hear it.
“Jordyn, wait up!”
The voice cuts through the noise, and I pause mid-step, spinning on my heel and adjusting the strap digging into my shoulder. Jordan was right again. My back and shoulder hurt every day with all the things I carry around. This bag is more about sentimentality than convenience. The first bag I bought with my own money from a summer job, and it’s far from ergonomic.
My eyes scan the crowd until I spot him. To be fair, I could just see his hair, and I’d know it was him. Not to mention, he towers above everyone else.
As he walks toward me, he keeps on stopping to wave at someone or smile and say hello. Like I said, a popular guy. I could never.
He sprints and suddenly twists his body, planting one foot hard against the floor and the other dragging behind him. His sneakers screech against the tiled floor, a sharp, rubbery sound as he leans back, his arms out for balance. He rocks forward slightly before coming to a cocky stop, grinning like he’s just pulled off the smoothest stunt of his life.
His hair is slightly mussed, and my heart flutters as I take him in his usual attire—a black Henley shirt, dark jeans, and black skater shoes. And, of course, the backward shades. The arms of his aviator sunglasses are hooked over his ears.
Those passing us by throw us furtive looks. I don’t even miss a girl elbowing her friend and pointing her chin at me.
God, I’ve always hated attention.
“Here.” Jordan hands me a paper bag. “I got you coffee.”
I almost reach to take it on instinct, but I pull my hand back at the last minute. “I don’t—”
“It’s hot caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso.”
The fluttery feeling in my belly intensifies. “How did you—”
Jordan straightens and smiles. “I pay attention, love. I pay attention.”
I ignore the endearment, convincing myself he tells everyone this, but whatever words I have for him die on my tongue as I blink slowly and squint. Something’s different with him today. “Your hair changed.”
His smile gets wider as he runs his fingers through his hair. “You noticed?”
I notice a lot of things, but I don’t tell him that. “I mean, it’s not as white-white anymore.”
He snaps a finger and nods enthusiastically, as though I just answered something no one else did. “Yes! I asked my hair stylist to add some gray undertones to give it a more frosted look.”
“I don’t understand any of that.”
“But you think it’s cool.”
“I said it’s different.”
“Same thing.” He steps beside me, and we start walking together. I don’t even know where we’re going, but I’m distracted by the little bounce in his steps, his arms swinging loosely on his sides. “I got held up at the salon, so I decided to grab you coffee.”
I scan his face, and I gape in disbelief. “You skipped class for a salon appointment?”
He juts out his chin. “Duh.” He clasps his hands behind him and leans his body toward me. “Did you miss me?”
“I didn’t.”
“But it bothered you that I wasn't sitting behind you in class?”
It hits way too close to home that I jab a finger at his shirt. “Listen, you don’t—”
My thoughts crumble into silence as he wraps a hand around the finger and presses it to his hard chest. I can feel his heartbeat, likely as fast as mine.
The whole world ceases to exist, and all I can see is his soft eyes, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and lips slightly upturned at the edges. Dammit. It would have helped if he didn’t look this good! Resisting him would have been easier.
Meanwhile, there’s me. The very definition of unremarkable and ordinary.
“Let go.” My voice sounds foreign to my ears. It’s getting increasingly difficult to speak with a lump in my throat.
The side of his mouth lifts higher. “You touched me first.”
Despite myself, my gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not even a second, but he realizes it at once. His face darkens, the hint of amusement disappearing.
I have never been kissed before. I wonder what it would feel like. Jordan seems like an expert. He’d know. I bet he has kissed more than a dozen girls already. If only I could be one of the lucky ones.
His grip on my finger loosens, and he grazes his thumb along the back of my hand. It’s nothing more than that, but the way my body reacts, it’s as if we’re in foreplay and about to engage in wild, mind-blowing sex.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. I should not have thought that because now, warmth settles in my core, threading through my legs. My breath hitches, and when Jordan sees, his mouth parts.