Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“No we weren’t. I never said anything about dating guys here—you did.”
He snorts then takes a drag from the cup in his hand. “Please. Everyone wants to date the guys around here.”
“Rugby players?” I scoff, disguising my snort with a cough. “I don’t think so.”
“Rugby players isn’t what I meant—I meant athletes at this school in general.” He lifts a leg, propping his massive booted foot on top of the metal keg. “But what’s wrong with rugby players?”
“Nothing!” I don’t want to offend him, it’s just… “Nothing is wrong with them, but I don’t think they’re any girl’s first choice in the hierarchy.”
That sounded so rude, the candor surprising me, and I clamp a hand over my lips to shut myself up.
I shouldn’t have any more beer.
“Well even if that’s not the case, you are without a doubt the worst jersey chaser I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen shit tons of them come through these parties. You’re terrible.”
“Did you just call me a…a…” I can’t even get the words out.
“Jersey chaser? Yeah. You didn’t hear me stutter, did you?”
“What would make you say that?” I’m one second away from clutching a hand to my chest at the indignation of it all.
“Dude, you’ve been here two weekends in a row, chatting up everyone and standing next to the keg—that’s prime real estate. That’s where all the guys congregate.”
Is it? I guess I hadn’t noticed.
“I did not do that on p-purpose!” I’m sputtering. Actually sputtering.
The giant takes another long pull from his cup. Swallows, his Adam’s apple somewhere in his throat concealed by all the hair. He’s in desperate need of a shave but clearly does not give a shit.
“Whatever you say, jersey chaser.” His drawl is nonchalant, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me.
“I don’t!” Wait, that didn’t make sense. “I’m not!”
Those wide, lumberjack shoulders shrug. “Whatever you say.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Agreeing with me in a patronizing manner.” God do I sound like a prig.
One of his dark brows rises. “A patronizing manner? What the fuck is that? It sounds exactly like something my mom would say.”
Could this conversation get any worse?
“Look, man.” The word comes out of my mouth before I can stop it, further adding to my stuffy demeanor, but honestly, I have no idea what to say. “Thanks for the advice, but I don’t think I need it.” Especially not from someone who looks like he just emerged from the wilderness after being lost for a month.
“Just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help.”
His shoulders hunch as he laughs, and they shake a little with the action. “Sure you don’t.”
Pretty sure I’m gaping, mouth wide open. “I don’t! And I wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone so—whatever!”
“Then you were doing a great job.” His mustache twitches. “Until your friends showed up.”
Okay. Now he has my full attention, and I jut out a hip. “What about my friends?”
“They’re cock-blockers.”
Huh? “No they’re not.”
“So you weren’t flirting with Smith Jackson, and tonight you weren’t flirting with Ben Thompson, and your dark-haired friend didn’t come up and steal them both away?”
Wait…what? How does he know all this? “Smith Jackson who?”
I have no idea which guy he’s talking about, but they’ve all been nice. And so what if they’ve all walked off with Mariah? I wasn’t interested in them anyway.
“Were you watching me last week too?”
He shrugs. “Yes.”
His honestly confuses me. Most guys would lie or make up a lame excuse. “Why?”
“I had nothing better to do.”
Well then. “And you don’t think that’s strange?”
“Nope—not when you’re bored.” The guy snorts through the hair growing under his Grecian nose. “It’s not like I’m interested in you.”
Wow. “Gee, thanks.”
“No offense.” He looks like he couldn’t care less if he’s insulted me.
“None taken?”
He laughs again. “You sure about that? Now you look kind of pissed.”
Not pissed—but slightly offended. And embarrassed. And confused.
“Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, okay? But you can’t come into a house like this and act like a deer caught in headlights. That just makes you an easy target. And if you’re interested in someone, you can’t stand there when one of your idiot friends hits on him and do nothing about it.” His voice is a baritone and drones on, doling out more unsolicited advice. “You can’t let your friends walk all over you.”
What the hell is he talking about? “I don’t!”
A pair of chocolate brown eyes settle toward the ceiling. “You’re in total denial. Your dark-haired friend is a total asshole—the female equivalent of a douchebag.”
Is he talking about Mariah? “Okay, this conversation is over.”
“Whatever. Suit yourself.”
“I’m walking away now.” My feet stay rooted to the spot.
The guy smirks…I think—it’s hard to tell with all the hair covering his mouth, but a set of straight, pearly white teeth flash, causing me to blink upward.
And now I’m staring again.
“Go. Don’t let me stop you.” I swear, he keeps taking sips of his beer for dramatic flare, flawlessly timed pauses. “Have fun.”