Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"I didn't do this," I whisper to Cam.
He watches me from the door, the disappointment in his gray eyes searing me to my soul. He doesn't believe me.
Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving me completely alone.
"Cam!" I shout, struggling to break free to run after him. "Cam! I didn't do this."
I jerk away with a jolt, Cam's name still echoing around the room. The sheet is twisted around my legs, holding me captive in the uncomfortable bed. I kick my way free before rolling to my feet. My heart hammers loudly and I'm drenched in sweat. It's early morning, barely even sunrise. There's no way I'm going back to sleep now. Not after that.
What in the hell kind of dream was that?
"Ugh," I groan, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes as if doing so will clear away the image of Cam walking away from me while I'm handcuffed in front of a room full of kindergartners. "You walked away from him, Ivy Kendall." I've been telling myself the same thing since I ran yesterday, but I still can't get him out of my head.
How mad is he right now?
I'm guessing he's furious, especially if he knows I left San Francisco. I didn't do it to hide from the inevitable though. I'm not trying to flee, as much as it probably looks like it to him. I ran because this is my last chance to clear my name before they slap cuffs on me and charge me with manslaughter. I'm in Los Angeles. If anyone can help me, it's bound to be someone at UCLA, someone who knew Rory.
Surely Cam will understand that if I explain it to him?
My gaze drifts to my cell phone. I take a step in that direction before forcing myself to stop. "He doesn't need you complicating his life," I mutter to myself. "You did the right thing."
With that dream still rattling around in my brain, the fact that I ran doesn't seem like the right thing. It hasn't felt like the right thing since I ended things with him and ran. It's too late to do anything about that now, though, isn't it? He's a cop. The last thing he needs is to be linked to me.
Sighing, I grab the duffle of clothes and toiletries I bought on the way into L.A. and hurry toward the bathroom. If I'm not going to sleep, I might as well get to work on clearing my name.
The UCLA campus is old and elegant. Gorgeous sculptures and fountains adorn the grounds, scattered between acres of trees and grassy walkways. The original four buildings draw the eye, the breathtaking architecture transporting visitors to another time and place. Growing up in L.A., I spent a lot of time on campus, even before I was accepted here during my senior year of high school. I know my way around, and no one stops me as I wander the campus, trying to work up the nerve to approach clustered group of students to ask my questions about Rory.
Two female students pass me in hoodies and jeans, cups of coffee in one hand and their cellphones in the other. The blonde glances up at me and then back down at her phone before doing a double take. She opens her mouth and then closes it before opening it again, but she doesn't say anything to me. Instead, she grabs her friend's arm and pulls her away.
"Did you see her?" she hisses when she thinks I'm out of earshot.
"See who?" her oblivious friend asks loudly.
"Her! I think she's the girl who…"
Her voice fades as I quicken my steps, but the damage is already done. Hearing her whisper about me is like a punch to my gut, twisting my stomach into painful knots. Tears threaten, but I fight them back, refusing to cry when the two are undoubtedly casting glances over their shoulders at me.
Hunching my shoulders, I hurry toward Boelter Hall, more determined than ever to find some way to clear my name. I'm halfway there when someone grabs my arm, spinning me around.
"Hey! What―?" The question dies on my lips when I see Cam standing over me, a scowl on his face. He's breathtaking, with his gray eyes on fire and his jaw clenched so tight it pulses with anger. His entire body is rigid as he glares at me, his chest heaving.
"Hi," I squeak, my stomach quivering. A tangled knot of emotion rips through me. Relief, guilt, happiness, worry. Guilt. God, I feel so damn guilty. It's a painful knot in the center of my stomach.
"Hi?" He blinks, his long lashes momentarily obscuring his stormy gray eyes before they pop open and fixate on me again.
"What are you doing here?"
Clearly, that's the wrong question to ask him. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then gently yanks me forward by my arm. I topple into his chest with a little cry of alarm, quickly silenced as his mouth crashes down on mine, stealing my breath. I don't mean to kiss him back, really, I don't, but I can't stop myself. A guttural groan rips from deep within his chest, and then my hands are in his hair, holding him to me as he devours my mouth.