Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“I’m thirty-fucking-five.”
For the first time, I mentally subtract our age gap, plugging in the real numbers.
“Exactly.” He looks into my eyes. “There’s more than a decade between us. Not to mention the fact that you’re still in high school.”
“So, if I were in college—”
“It would still be inappropriate,” he says. “Now, agree to leave me the fuck alone.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” I repeat myself, shaking my head. “No. I honestly don't care how old you are or how young I am. And as far as I’m concerned, I have my own three things. One, we have a connection. You can deny it all you want but we both know you felt it the first time we met.”
“Two, you're the only person on this goddamn campus that I actually enjoy talking to, and I know you enjoy talking to me. Three, we're attracted to each other, and all I can think about lately is how we didn’t get to finish what we started after I swallowed every drop from you.”
He suddenly presses his mouth against mine, holding me taut against him.
I can taste all the days and nights we’ve missed on his tongue, feel every bit of longing from the rough way he’s handling me.
He slides a hand under my tennis skirt and pushes my panties to the side. Teasing my soaking wet clit with his thumb, he stares into my eyes, silently telling me he’s not going to stop this time.
Still kissing me, he slides two fingers deep inside my pussy and I can’t hold back my moans.
“Ohhhh godddd….”
“Shhhh.” He uses his other hand to squeeze my ass, keeping his other fingers busy and in rhythm with punishing thrusts. “Shhhh.”
“I…” I’ve never been kissed like this, never been touched like this, and before I know it, I’m riding his hand and my hips are bucking against him.
He stifles my scream with a kiss as I come undone, he grips my hips until I stop shaking.
He finally lets go of me after I catch my breath, but he looks like he’s upset.
“That won’t happen again.” He steps back and pulls my gift—still unwrapped—from his jacket. “I came here to return this.”
I don’t move to take it. “It’s a gift.”
“A gift from someone who doesn’t need to develop feelings for me.”
“You haven’t developed any feelings for this 'someone,' too?”
“I’m not keeping it, Genevieve.”
“I don’t want it back.”
He slips it into my duffle bag anyway. “I’ll see you in class, Miss Edwards.”
“So, you’re really not going to help me with my admissions essay anymore?”
“I’ll think about it.” He walks away before I can say anything else.
7
LIAM
Subject: Appointment.
Miss Edwards,
I will meet with you for exactly one hour at the designated time below in the library.
Please do not respond to this email unless the time conflicts with your schedule and you need me to suggest another.
Otherwise, I will see you soon.
Thank you.
Liam Donovan
Creative English Chair
Phillips Exeter Academy
8
GENEVIEVE
Of course he’s late…
I tap my pen against my notepad, trying to ignore the giggles behind me. I’ve shown up to meet Mr. Donovan as he requested, in this bright-as-hell, everyone-will-see-our-every-move circulation room.
“Does anyone want to go to indie romance night this weekend?” A girl at the table next to me asks.
I pinch my wrist to prevent myself from answering.
Moving my things, I stake a claim at the only open circulation room table. It’s sandwiched between tables of students practicing for the annual Shakespeare competition.
After hearing too many versions of Hamlet’s “to be or not to be,” I shut my folder.
Me
Thanks for NOT showing up to help me like you promised.
“You’re welcome.” His deep voice makes me turn around.
Dressed in a black button down shirt and jeans, he has a slight stubble, and he looks like he hasn’t slept well in days.
Looking around the crowded room, he shakes his head.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to hear each other in here. Is there an open study studio?”
“Probably.” I head toward the main desk and he follows me.
I reserve a key for a private room and he makes it a point to leave the door wide open.
I roll my eyes and slide my work across the table.
The quicker we get this over with, the better.
He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his trail of tattoos, making me miss the nights he used to answer my calls and explain what each one of those marks meant.
“I rewrote the opening a few different ways because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to go in a persuasive or emotional direction.”
He flips a page, remaining silent.
The second hand ticks on the clock behind him, and ten minutes pass by.
“The reference to Proust seems a bit pretentious, so that’s why I highlighted it.” I try to engage with him.
He picks up a pen, scribbling notes in the margins.
“I don’t understand why you even bothered offering to help, if you’re not going to talk to me.”