Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
"And you seem happier tonight than I’ve seen you in days." Her eyes turned soft, concerned, and she reached across the bar to gently squeeze my elbow, a silent show of support. She'd known what happened. What Trevor had done.
The bartender slid my vodka soda toward me, and I happily took a few long sips. The icy cool drink with just a hint of lime slid down my throat but did nothing to bury the fire burning within me. Not just the fire from the dance with Hendrix, who had no idea who he was dancing with, but the fire of that hurt I couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I had tried. I’d tried to drink Trevor away, Krav Maga him away, and hell, I'd even tried to eat Trevor away.
Not so much the memory of Trevor himself, because he certainly wasn't that memorable, but of what he'd done. Of what he'd had the audacity to do, to participate in.
The adrenaline surged in my blood, and a new idea took shape in the forefront of my mind. Crazy, sure. But if it went according to plan, I’d be the one in full control.
"Oh no," London said, delicately setting her drink on the bar. The music filtered behind us, as did the chatter of every celebrity and athlete in the room. But London made sure she drew my attention, her fingers on my chin forcing my gaze down to hers. "I’ve seen that look before," she said. "And it usually comes with consequences.”
"Since when have I ever steered you wrong?" I asked, tilting my head at her as she released my chin.
She popped that hand on her hip, staring up at me incredulously. From the look of us, we couldn’t be more different. I was tall and long where she was short and petite. I was fire-red hair and dark eyes, and she was dark hair and bright eyes. I was reckless, and she was cautious, but we never let those differences come between our friendship. In fact, she was as much of an influence on me as I was on her. She helped subdue my wild side when most needed—like right before finals, and I helped bring her out of her shell when she seemed content to stay in there forever.
"Oh I don't know," she said with an air of attitude. "How about that time you decided it would be a brilliant idea to break into the campus swimming pool and go skinny-dipping in the middle of the night."
I resisted the urge to snort-laugh. "That was a great night," I argued.
London gaped up at me, shaking her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "We were halfway through a bottle of vodka, and the entire collegiate swim team ended up catching us there completely nude."
"Oh, please," I said, waving her off. "None of them got a good look at you. Or me for that matter."
"Yeah because one look at your red hair, and they knew who you were. None of them were brave enough to jump in the water or even turn his head."
None of the men had the balls, is what she meant. Not many did. Not many men would take their chance with Savannah Goodman. Not when the entire lineup of the Raleigh Raptors would see to their untimely demise if they stepped a toe out a lie.
I blew out a breath, the idea taking shape in my mind only solidifying with her recount of the tale. "Still was a good night," I said, shrugging. We’d had a blast up until that point, laughing and talking, half-drunk on the drinks we’d had after completing our finals.
"We could’ve been expelled," London said. "If any of them had decided to turn us in—"
"None of them would have," I interrupted her. "And besides, I highly doubt the dean of the school would expel us so close to graduation. Plus, it wasn't that big of an infraction. Not like cheating on a test or stealing another student's property.”
"Oh no," London mocked me. "Public nudity and breaking and entering are so blasé."
I laughed at that, shaking my head as my eyes scanned the dance floor. As if Hendrix would still be out there, a new woman on his arm. Not an unlikely prediction, not with Hendrix Malone. The best wide receiver the NFL had ever seen. Not with his Hollywood good looks, his bedroom smile, and his reputation for being a tomcat in the sack.
A blush crept along my skin, heating up every inch of my body as if I could feel his hand on my hip. A hand that would never have found my hip in the first place, if he’d had an inkling of who I was moments ago.