Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
I tuck a hand in the pocket of my hoodie, wishing I was dressed differently and hadn’t called her professor. I glance at Clover, who’s still holding the sides of her cardigan.
This guy is older, probably in his mid-to-late thirties. He’s wearing name-brand everything, and not in a trying-too-hard kind of way, but in an I-make-a-lot-of-money way. There’s an air about him, too, like he’s used to getting what he wants. He’s charming and established. Not a twenty-one-year-old with most of a degree and a part-time job at a gym.
“Yeah. Until the end of the semester anyway. Then I’m just her neighbor.” I rock back on my heels.
His expression reflects amusement. “And which course is my wife teaching you?”
“Creative writing.”
“Ah, yes, my wife is an excellent storyteller, aren’t you, darling?”
That sounds like a shot if I ever heard one.
“Ex-wife, Gabriel,” Clover reminds him, lips pursed, arms crossed.
“Not until the papers are signed, my love. And we need to schedule a dinner to talk about that.” He gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Wish me luck getting her to agree to give me another chance.”
“Professor Sweet seems pretty adamant about the ex part, so I guess you’re gonna need all the luck you can get, huh?” He has to be the one sending her the baskets.
“Seems that way. It was nice to meet you—Maverick, was it?”
“That’s right.”
“Is that a nickname or your given name?”
“Given.”
“Interesting. Well, Maverick, I appreciate you helping out Clover, but now that I’m in town, that probably won’t be necessary.”
“Right. Okay.” I’ve got no less than a million burning questions, none of which I can ask. Like, since when did he move to town? “It was nice to meet you, Gabe. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I turn to Clover. “See you on campus, Professor.”
“Of course. Thank you for popping by.”
“No problem. Anytime.”
I walk backwards a few steps before I turn and head down the street, but at the end of the block, I go right instead of heading for the park and circle back toward my house. I don’t mind a little friendly competition, but a husband who’s trying to win her back is a whole different level.
And it makes me realize exactly where I am when it comes to Clover.
This isn’t a game I’m playing.
I walk back through the front door of my house to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. This could be a good or a bad thing. Good, because it means I’m not responsible for making it; bad, because I have no idea who’s in the kitchen.
If it’s Kody and Lavender doing their morning dance—Lavender wearing a smirk and Kody blushing like a twelve-year-old with his first boner—I’m probably going to punch someone. And that someone would be Kody.
Which wouldn’t be fair, because it’s not his fault I’m in a mood and can’t deal with happy couples.
Not to mention that I’m over here pining away like an asshole for my professor who’s still married—to a guy who has a career and a life and isn’t still in college. In a handful of months, I’ll be in a better position, but there’s a good chance I’ll also be in a different state. Or possibly out of the country, depending on how ready they think I am.
Needless to say, my headspace isn’t good.
There’s no way to get back up to my bedroom without going through the kitchen, which seems to be a design flaw in this house. So I’m relieved when I find my cousin BJ sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. He has one of Lavender’s mugs, and it reads You’re Awesome, Keep that Shit Up. Except it’s a pretty, floral design, so you don’t register what it actually says until you’re close.
BJ glances up from the newspaper sitting in front of him and makes a circle motion around his face.
I stare at him a moment, waiting for him to say something in follow up. “Morning?” I offer when he doesn’t.
“That it is.” His eyes flick to the clock and back to me. “That was an exceptionally short run, and you’re not really sweating.”
“How do you know how long I’ve been gone?”
“I heard you when you left, less than half an hour ago.” He leans back in his chair, crossing one impossibly long leg over the other. He’s a year younger than me, but his full-sleeve tattoo, man bun, and beard make him look a lot older. “And now you’re back and looking all . . . angry. What’s the deal?”
“There is no deal.”
“If you say so.” He makes a hmm sound and sips his coffee.
I give him my back and go in search of my favorite coffee mug. It’s not in the cupboard, though, which means it’s in the dishwasher. I check that, too, but it hasn’t been run yet, so I go back to the cupboard and pick my second-favorite mug. It used to be my mom’s, but I stole it. It reads Mrs. Waters, but the letters are made of penises. She doesn’t know I have it, and I always keep it in the back of the cupboard, so they don’t find it when they come visit.