Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 179189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 896(@200wpm)___ 717(@250wpm)___ 597(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 896(@200wpm)___ 717(@250wpm)___ 597(@300wpm)
“Assuming you know my body so well … maybe I will,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “All right, you start.”
He sits back in his chair, mulling it over a bit. “Would you have come to class and done better if I wasn’t teaching?”
I make a face. “What kind of question is that?”
He shakes his finger. “Ah-ah. Answer first. Question later.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I don’t know. Maybe I would have. But I’m not skipping any of your classes now, am I?”
“But you did,” he taunts, tracing an invisible line on the table.
“My turn. Would you ever have remotely thought of fucking me if you’d never met me before our first class?”
“Absolutely.” He smirks. “Attraction would’ve happened, whether I met you before or later. Would I have acted on it? Probably not. But that’s not the way it went with us, now did it? We can take so many paths in life, but there’s no use thinking about them because we chose only one. That’s the one we should believe in. It’s all we can do. Believe we made the right choice.”
I nod. There’s actually a lot of wisdom behind that statement. “True. As long as you stand behind the choice.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t even want to know what would’ve happened if we didn’t meet.”
Everything he says makes me feel like I should be trying my best more. He seems so much more interested and actually okay with the choice he made when he fucked me. It’s almost like he’s finally coming to terms with our ‘relationship.’ Or whatever the fuck this is we’re doing.
“So … second question … Where did you get those earrings?”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“Where’d you get those?” He points at them, and my instinct is to immediately grab them and hold on tight.
“What does it matter?”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t if they wouldn’t matter to you, but they do.”
My words stick in my throat. “H-how do you know?”
He smiles. “C’mon now, Hailey … this isn’t the first time we met, and I’m starting to recognize your little quirks. It’s not a shame that they mean a lot to you. I’m just curious.”
I sigh and turn my head toward the table so I can think about it for a second. It’s none of his business. Or is it? Does he mean something to me? Enough to tell him more about me? Do I mean enough to him that he’d want to know? Apparently.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I got them from my father for my seventh birthday. I know they’re stupid, and I’m too old to wear them, but I love them.”
He lowers his head and nods, then looks up with a cocked head and a smile. “I get it. Your dad means a lot to you, and that’s truly admirable. I hope he loves you just as much.”
I rub my lips together, biting the bottom one in the process. “I hope so.” My throat suddenly feels tight, and I can’t swallow well, so I quickly take a sip of my drink and say, “Next question. Will we ever be more than fuck buddies?”
His lips part, but then he slams them shut again, a difficult look on his face. “You know I can’t answer that question, Hailey.”
“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”
He just looks at me without saying a word.
I shrug it off. “It was worth a shot.” Honestly, I am a little bit disappointed and hurt. I mean, he could’ve just said no, right? No hard feelings. Or something.
I sigh in my head. Who am I kidding? Of course, there are hard feelings. I don’t just fuck any guy. In fact, I never fucked a guy before him, and that means something to me. It may not mean something to him, but at least, he could acknowledge the fact that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
“I want to know about your dreams, Hailey,” he says. “What do you want to do after college?”
“My dreams?” I frown, confused. “I hadn’t thought about that yet.”
“What would you see yourself doing in ten years from now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe start up a business somewhere.” I clear my throat. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t we talk more about your parents? Or your hobbies? I’d like to know more about you,” he says.
“I don’t wanna talk about my parents. Anything but my parents.” I put the glass down a little too hard, making the wine splash over and onto my shirt. “Fuck.”
He picks up a napkin and leans over the table. “Damn, let me help you.”
He pats my shirt, but I snatch it away from him and dab my clothes myself. “I have hands. I can clean myself. Thanks.”
“No problem. Also, we don’t have to talk about your parents. Just tell me something else.”