Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
But my mind was already somewhere else.
“Shhh,” I hissed, stopping suddenly and leaning over to turn the radio up. A male announcer was yelling in that overly-excited style reserved for car dealership commercials, gun sales, and sporting events of questionable merit.
“…the Phillips Arena tonight at eight!” the announcer crowed. “Brutality Sports MMA Extravaganza! Tickets on sale at the box office!”
The voice continued, but that’s all I heard. My mind was spinning with possibilities. I looked at the clock.
Four-fifty in the afternoon. Shit!
“I’m really sorry, babe, but I’ve gotta go,” I said, snatching unceremoniously out of Layla’s sweet body and discarding the empty condom into the wastebasket. I grabbed my shorts off the floor, pulled them on, and stepped into my sneakers.
“You’re leaving right in the middle of sex?” Layla leaned up onto her elbows and stared at me, bending her knees and laying them over to one side in a demure pose pulled straight from a lingerie catalog. Her perfect tits were partially obscured by the blond hair spilling over them in waves. “What could possibly be more important than sex, papi?”
“My future,” I told her, pulling my t-shirt on and slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I just figured out what I’m doing for my final project, but I’ve got to get over to the Journalism building before Dr. Washburn leaves. I don’t know what time his last class is. He’s probably on his way out to his car by now. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
And to myself.
“What is your project?” she asked, but I was already out the door, wondering why in the world she thought I had time to chit-chat if I didn’t even have time to get a nut.
I ran all the way from Layla’s dorm to the Journalism building, ignoring the occasional cries of protest as I pushed roughly past the people standing in the halls. Dr. Washburn was just locking his office door as I rushed up behind him, trying to catch my breath.
“Caught you!” I said too loudly, and he jumped.
“Dammit, Jamie. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Dr. Washburn pushed his wire-framed glasses up higher on his nose and narrowed his watery blue eyes at me. “What can I do for you? My last class is about to begin.”
“I have an idea for my final project. I want to cover tonight’s MMA event down at Phillips Arena, but I need you to call and get me a press pass. Can you do that?”
Dr. Washburn squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his short, reddish beard, his agitation clear. “That is a great idea, Jamie, but why did you wait till the last minute? I’m about to be late for class.”
“I didn’t know about it until today. My stupid roommate… He’s always driving us crazy with that MMA stuff, so I don’t even know how he hasn’t said something about this. Please, I’m begging you. I know it’s short notice, but I don’t have any other options. You don’t want me to fail, do you, Doc?” I dropped melodramatically to my knees, poking my bottom lip out and giving him my best puppy dog eyes. “You know you’re my favorite professor, right?”
It was almost cheating, really, dropping to my knees in front of poor Dr. Washburn. The way I cut my eyes up at him from beneath my bangs as I begged could probably be classified as flirting, and I had always suspected he found me attractive. The uncomfortable heat in his eyes as he looked down at me told me I had guessed right.
Being the object of that kind of attention, even from men, was nothing new to me, and I wasn’t above using it to my advantage on occasion. Flirting came naturally for me. I knew I was good-looking. Everyone had always told me so.
I had brown hair that I kept cut short in back, but with long bangs that swept over one eye. Warm brown puppy dog eyes framed by long lashes gave me an innocent look, as did my plump, pouty lips. My mother had the stereotypical red hair and lightly freckled skin she got from her full-blooded Irish mother, but somehow I’d gotten a good dose of my grandfather’s half-Spanish looks. Add to that the fact that I’d pretty much mastered the art of boy-next-door charm, and I could be pretty persuasive when I wanted to be.
Like now.
Dr. Washburn cleared his throat nervously and extended a hand down to me. “You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you Mr. Atwood? Stand up.” He helped me to my feet with a grunt and nudged his glasses up again. “I’ll do my best to get you a pass, but I can’t promise anything. It’s up to the event promoters, really.”
I grinned. “Thanks, Doc. You won’t regret it. I’m gonna rock this project.”