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)
Before I can answer, I notice the waiter trying to catch my attention to see if we need anything else. It’s a reminder of where we are and what I should not be thinking about doing, so I blurt out, “No.”
The guys instantly straighten up. Will releases my hand. Beckett shifts away from me. It’s gratifying to see how quick they are to respect my boundaries, but they mistake my response.
“I, ah, meant not here,” I stammer. “Not in this booth.”
They’re both trying not to grin.
“This is a date, right?” I ask, shifting my gaze between them.
They nod.
“Well, I’m not one of those I-don’t-kiss-on-the-first-date girls. I’m fine with kissing. But…um…maybe when you’re walking me to my car or something.”
My heart careens at the idea.
What is wrong with me?
I really, really, really want them. God, even Beckett, who’s been annoying the hell out of me all semester. I want nothing more than to know what his lips taste like. What Will’s tongue feels like in my mouth.
They’re not wrong—I am two people. But, and it’s hard to put into words, it’s not like either part of me is fake. The straitlaced sorority girl is just a part of my personality that naturally comes out when I’m in that house, being judged and criticized by the likes of Agatha. And my overachiever side comes out around my family, because I want to…
Fit in.
I suppose that’s my biggest flaw. My Achilles’ heel. This deep-rooted desire to fit in among my peers, my family.
This part of my personality—Charlie, the girl sitting in a bar wearing a tank top with no bra—doesn’t fit in at Delta Pi. Doesn’t entirely fit in with her family. But here, in the presence of Will Larsen and Beckett Dunne, she’s never felt more comfortable.
The next time the waiter returns, the guys order another round of beers. I’ve maxed out my alcohol intake, so I ask for a soda.
“You’re thinking again,” Will accuses.
I meet his amused eyes and sigh. “I’m always thinking. My inner monologue never stops.”
“And what’s it saying right now?”
Warmth suffuses my cheeks. “That I like both of you, and I don’t think I want to choose.”
Beckett shrugs. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to choose.”
“What if I decide I want just one of you?” I challenge.
“Hmm.” Will tilts his head in thought. “So you’re saying you want us to compete for your favor?”
A grin touches my lips. “If I did, how exactly would you compete?”
Beckett takes my hand, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over my palm. “We could see who can make you come faster?”
I choke on a laugh. “That scenario still allows both of you to have me.”
“Oh, does it?” He blinks innocently.
Laughing too, Will brushes his fingers along my jawline while Beckett continues to stroke my palm.
My pulse quickens. The dual sensations of their hands on my skin trigger a flurry of sparks through my body. The thrill of being the center of their attention is intoxicating.
I don’t think I could choose, even if they asked me to. They’re both so different. Beckett with his buckets of charm. Will with the laid-back smile that covers the intensity simmering beneath the surface.
“You know what I think?” Will’s eyes lock onto mine. “I think you don’t want us to fight for you. I think you want to see what happens when we work together.”
I imagine myself, my naked body, being caught between them, and an honest-to-God moan slips out.
They both smile.
Beckett’s smile is all lazy confidence as he watches me with a look that promises very bad things. Will’s is subtler, more reserved, but no less charged.
A bout of activity across the room breaks the tension, drawing my attention away. A slender Black girl in a flowy skirt and white top is stepping onto the small stage, holding an acoustic guitar. She’s joined by a guy who settles behind a set of electric drums. She doesn’t introduce herself, just adjusts the height of the microphone and begins playing a slow-tempo folk song I’ve been hearing everywhere lately.
“I love this song,” I tell the guys. A smile stretches across my face as I start to relax again. “As my dates, one of you bears the responsibility of dancing with me. So which one shall it be?”
“That would be him,” Beckett says immediately, nodding toward Will.
I snicker.
“I mean, I could take you out there,” he relents, “but it’ll just be me grinding against you the entire time—” He cuts himself off. “On second thought, I would love to dance with you.”
“Sit your ass down.” A laughing Will is already getting out of the booth and extending his hand. “I got you, babe.”
After a moment of hesitation, I take his hand.
It’s literally the tiniest of dance floors, nothing more than a little square in front of the stage. At least we’re not alone out there. Another couple is also dancing, which makes me feel less self-conscious.