Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
After devouring the bar, I take out my books and get to work. Every twenty minutes or so, I find myself glancing at my phone and checking the time. I’m antsy to text with Brooke. It’s all I can do to force myself to concentrate and finish up the reading and homework that’s due tomorrow. It’s crazy how much I’ve come to look forward to our convos in a short period of time.
Just as I wrap up my studies, my phone dings with a message. I can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. If that’s not perfect timing, I don’t know what is. I practically pounce on the slim device in my haste to read the text.
Hey…I have a few questions for you.
Hmmm. That’s not the greeting I was expecting. Concern flares to life inside me as air gets wedged in my throat.
Has she somehow figured me out?
I can’t imagine she would be this calm if that were the case. Or even bother to contact me again. It takes effort to get my fingers to move.
Ok…shoot.
Three little bubbles appear before the questions pop up.
We’ve spent a lot of time texting, but how do I know you’re really who you say you are? Or that we even attend the same school?
My muscles loosen as I force the pent-up breath from my lungs. All right…she hasn’t figured me out, but it looks like her Spidey senses are tingling.
For all intents and purposes, this charade has run its course. I should do the right thing and ghost her. Maybe block her number so she can’t contact me again. Walking away before this blows up in my face would be the best thing for both of us. Whether Brooke understands it or not. If she discovers I’m the one behind the messages, she’ll probably freak out before stringing me up by my balls. She’d hate me even more than she already does.
That’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed about our conversations. She might not realize it, but we were able to hit the reset button. With her, I’m not Crosby, the guy she hates with the passion of a thousand burning suns. I’m Chris. She’s gotten to know me on a deeper, more intimate level. And she obviously likes what she’s found, because she keeps coming back for more.
Fuck.
It feels like I’ve reached a fork in the road. Unsure what to do, I plow my hand through my hair. Needing a few moments to clear my head, I gravitate to the window, crank open the blinds, and stare. All I know is that I’m not ready to end this. Before I realize what I’m doing, I snap a photo of the university bell tower that can be seen in the distance before hitting send.
There’s the view from my bedroom.
Okay. So you live near the university. But do you really attend Western? Or are you some seventy-year-old dude?
A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of my lips before I yank up my sweatshirt and take a pic of my abs. The joggers I threw on after practice graze my hipbones. If they were any lower, I’d be in danger of sending her an entirely different kind of photo.
And just to be clear—I don’t send pics of the goods.
Like I need that shit surfacing later in life.
Or for my grandma to catch sight of it.
She’d probably keel over from a heart attack.
My parents would fucking kill me. I’ve already made enough dubious choices during high school. I don’t need to do anything more to solidify the black sheep title.
There’s a long stretch of silence that jacks up my nerves before she finally texts back.
For an engineering guy, you’ve got a nice six pack.
A chuckle escapes from me as I walk back to the bed and settle in for our conversation. Now that I’ve offered up proof, it feels like we’re back on track.
Exactly what are you implying about engineers?
She replies with a laughing emoji.
All right…I showed off some skin. Any chance you’ll return the favor?
As much as I’d love for Brooke to send me a titty shot, I know that’s not going to happen. But a guy can hope, right?
Hands down, Brooke McAdams has the best breasts I’ve ever seen. They’re spectacular. Way more than a handful. Which is precisely why I dragged her ass upstairs at the party as soon as I noticed how sheer her sweater had turned. She’d looked like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. No fucking way was I going to have every asshole in the place ogling her.
I’ve never been a jealous guy. I get all the pussy I could possibly want. But there were times when she was with Andrew and I’d run into her in the hallway at night. She’d be wearing nothing more than a tank top and panties. The thin material would be stretched across the rounded curves of her breasts, and it would take every ounce of self-control not to yank her to me. It was times like that, when I was eaten up with jealousy, that I actually hated my friend.