Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
In truth, I’m terrified to visit Easton. That feels more like the “real world” than Paris ever will. Will he realize then, when we’re in the middle of all the flash and glitz of his life, that I don’t fit?
“I can already tell you’re overthinking it.” He runs a thumb across my bottom lip. “I can see it on your face.”
“I can’t believe we’re going to try to make this real.”
“Believe it, Shay.”
“I’m scared.”
“I want this, and you do too. It might be hard, but it’s just a couple of years, and then we’ll figure out what’s next.” He kisses me hard one more time before whispering, “Next month. You and me.”
I want it to be true, but it almost feels like I want it too much. My stomach flips. How can this work when I don’t fit in his world?
Easton
A week after my tour with Shay, I’m back on the Starling campus for another meeting. We all know I’m going to take the job, but we need to do this dance just to make sure they appreciate what they’re getting.
Even though it’s cold as fuck outside and my body is no longer accustomed to this ice-and-snow shit, I parked on the liberal arts side of campus on the off chance I might run into Shay—because I’m just that pathetic. I swing into the library for a coffee and am relieved to see the grumpy barista is busy with another customer.
I hand the girl at the register my travel thermos. “A large black coffee, please.”
“You got it.” She winks at me and turns to fill my cup.
My gaze snags on the man talking on his cell at the end of the bar. George motherfucking Alby. Shayleigh’s secret boyfriend. Jesus. What a pompous ass. I hate him, and even though I know my feelings are completely biased and entangled with irrational jealousy, they’re there. I’m not interested in investing the energy to change them.
“I miss you too,” he says softly. Hell. Is he talking to Shay? His grin turns lascivious. “Save that for tonight. It’ll be worth the wait. I promise, Buttercup.”
God, he is talking to Shay. The barista puts down my mug to help her coworker find something beneath the counter, and I will her to hurry. I don’t think I can handle listening to Professor Douche sweet-talk Shay.
“Nah, don’t be like that,” he croons. “We’re both so busy through midterms.” He hums and closes his eyes. I half expect him to reach down and adjust himself in front of the whole library. “Anything for you.” He chuckles. “I won’t even make you beg this time.”
Bile surges up my throat. Fuck it. Coffee isn’t worth this. They can keep the mug.
I turn on my heel, leave the kiosk, and push out of the library. And practically run into Shayleigh Jackson.
She steps back at the last second, saving us both from a head-on collision. “Easton, what are you doing on this side of campus?” She frowns. “Hey, are you okay?”
Jealousy is a giant drill twisting in my gut. “Fine. I was just getting some coffee.”
Her gaze drops to my empty hands just as the bubbly barista rushes out of the library with a steaming cup. “Mr. Connor, you forgot your coffee.”
I grimace as I accept it. “Right. Thanks so much.”
Shay snorts. “Rough night?”
“Not exactly.” I watch the girl head back in and see George pull the phone from his ear. I look back and forth between him and Shay. Is he already ending another call, or was he sweet-talking someone other than Shay?
I throw another glance over my shoulder. Professor Douche is still in the coffee shop, now chatting with another man who looks like he’s probably faculty. “Did you just get off the phone with . . . your man?” Since I know she’s afraid the word will get out about their relationship before she’s defended her dissertation, I don’t use his name.
“No.” Her brows pull down together and her lips pucker in the cutest fucking pout. Fierce possession claws at me. He doesn’t deserve her. “Why do you ask?”
I wave toward the windows to the view of the man in question. “I just saw him in there. He was having an interesting phone conversation with someone he called Buttercup.”
“Okay . . .”
“Is that what he calls you? Buttercup?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re being weird, Easton.”
“If you’re not Buttercup, I wonder who is.” I fold my arms. “I wonder who he was just talking to on the phone.”
She sighs and grabs me by the arm to pull me away from the library entrance and around the side of the building. She tilts her head to the side. “Listen. I know you don’t like him, but I’m not asking you to. I don’t need your approval or your friendship. If you recall, I’ve lived just fine without it for over a decade.”