Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
The one and only time we hung out was in a clandestine parking lot. Like some sort of hostage exchange, if the hostages are bodily fluids. He knows better than to talk to me in public.
Only…he’s not looking at me.
“You left me on read,” he says in accusation.
I try very hard to keep my jaw shut. Huh? How do these two even know each other?
For a second, I feel prickle of jealousy and maybe a tiny bit insulted that he’s pretending not to know me. But when his gaze flicks toward me and he gives the most imperceptible of smiles, I realize he’s simply doing what I asked. We don’t speak in public after this was one of the rules I gave before I stuck my tongue in his mouth.
“Who’s this?” I ask Blake, playing dumb.
Now his smile fully takes hold. “I’m Isaac.”
“He plays football or something,” Blake tells me.
I clamp my teeth down on my lip. Plays football or something. This is literally the star of the team. Last season, he was voted MVP over the team’s quarterback.
Isaac narrows his eyes on her. “You wanna dance?”
“I don’t like to dance.”
“Cool. Then we can just stand there.”
“I don’t like to stand. Also”—she gestures toward me—“we’re in the middle of a conversation.”
“Come find me after your conversation?”
“Sure, I’ll text you.” With a pointed look, she waits for him to leave.
I can practically see a vein throbbing in his forehead as he stalks off.
I lean out of the booth to peek at where he’s headed. The game area, where two very large linesmen are circling one of the pool tables. They’re out of place here. Probably because this isn’t their place. Just because I don’t watch hockey doesn’t mean I’m not aware that Malone’s is the hockey bar. The bar down the street is where the football players gather, at least when they leave their houses. Those guys tend to keep their partying more discreet, while the hockey guys don’t care about being rowdy in public.
“What was that about?” I ask in amusement.
“My friend Diana introduced us at a frat party, and now he has a crush on me.”
I’ve never heard anyone sound more unenthused.
“You realize ninety-five percent of the women at this college—and probably general society—would be thrilled that Isaac Grant has a thing for them?”
“Ha! So you do know who he is?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I do. There aren’t a lot of campus celebrities at Briar.”
Part of me is tempted to reveal I hooked up with him in his car last week, but I have a reputation to uphold. Charlotte Kingston is a respectable sorority girl whose mother is a former president. She is going to be a biomedical engineer. She has a 4.0 GPA.
She doesn’t indulge in dirty conversations before bed with two faceless hotties on an app. And she’s not going to admit to an almost one-night stand with a football player in a parking lot. Nope.
My phone chimes with a message from yet another person I’m not going to be telling Blake Logan about.
DANTE:
Are we still on for tonight?
“Sorry, I need to respond to this. Study group,” I lie as I unlock my phone.
ME:
Yeah. See you at midnight.
DANTE:
Can’t wait.
Blake’s watching me as I put the phone away.
“What?” I ask.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye?”
I lift a brow. “Doesn’t that apply to everybody?”
“I guess.” She twirls her straw around in her glass. “But I’m usually a good judge of character.”
You’re eighteen, I almost counter. But I realize how patronizing that sounds. Eighteen-year-olds can be good judges of character. Being three years older doesn’t make me wiser.
“I don’t know what to tell ya,” I say lightly. “I am exactly who I seem to be. Now let’s pick up where we left off before Isaac so rudely interrupted.”
“What were we talking about again?”
“Um… you lost your virginity to a hockey player. You have a crush on a tortured musician. Super Magnums. Oh, right, the reason we’re actually here—whether you want to declare a communications major.”
I steer us back to safety, because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing with this girl. Mentoring.
We stay at Malone’s for another hour, then grab the bill. Blake has to use the ladies’ room before we go, so I make my way to the door to wait for her outside. Halfway to the exit, I spot a familiar figure. Will, my new lab partner.
He’s the kind of guy who commands attention because of his height and build. The powerful shoulders tapering down to a lean waist. The muscles rippling beneath his blue long-sleeved shirt.
“Hey,” he says, looking pleased to see me.
“Hey.”
He leans closer so I can hear him over the music. “How did the samples look today?”
Will had hockey practice this morning, so I was tasked with going to the lab to check on our cells. We placed them in the bioreactor earlier in the week, a device that mimics the conditions that allow tissues to naturally develop, and now we’re required to periodically remove samples and examine them under the microscope to assess our cells’ overall viability on the scaffold.