Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
That being said, I cautiously watch from the corner of my eye to see if he notices that I’m defying his decree. When he rises from his seat, I promptly drop my arms to my sides. Only then does he resettle on the bench.
Grrrr!
I have never hated anyone more in my life than I do Kingsley Rothchild.
You didn’t hate him last night.
I shake my head, needing to dislodge the traitorous little voice that keeps popping up at the most inopportune times.
The four older women working behind the counter don’t blink as I rattle off the request and tell them to add it to Kingsley’s account. I should order something for the entire cafeteria while I’m at it. Doubtful he’d care, or that it would make a dent in his checkbook.
As I walk back with the tray of food, I check the surrounding area for teachers. Or any adult who looks to be in charge, but no one is policing the cafeteria. Apparently, the students of Hawthorne are supposed to prove with this little bit of autonomy that they are mature enough to handle themselves like the young adults they’ve supposedly grown into.
Ha! What a joke.
“M’lord,” I say with an exaggerated flourish before dropping the tray with a loud thud in front of Kingsley. The Gatorade bottle wobbles as the cafeteria china rattles. “Your lunch.”
Kingsley’s eyes narrow as a few of the guys sitting at the table smirk before hastily glancing away.
I can’t lie, this petty show of defiance feels good.
As I’m about to sit down, he says, “Where are the napkins?”
I glare. When he raises his brows, I grit my teeth and straighten to my full height. Sixty seconds later, I slap the napkins on the tray in front of him.
“Careful,” he warns.
I press my lips together and fall onto the bench beside him.
“No ketchup? How can I eat a burger without ketchup?”
“You didn’t ask for any,” I shoot back with exasperation.
I hold his gaze in challenge before dropping my eyes. We both know this isn’t a battle I’ll win. For the third time, I rise from my seat and maneuver my way through the cafeteria to grab packets of ketchup. As I take a step away from the small counter, I scoop up mustard, mayo, salt, and pepper. Anything he could possibly want.
Kingsley studies me as I return to the table with two fistfuls of condiments before opening my hands and dropping them so the small containers rain down on his meal.
“You want to play games?” An evil smirk curves his lips. “That’s fine, we can do that.”
The smug smile I’d been wearing fades.
No, I don’t want to play games. I just don’t want to be treated like a servant and humiliated in front of all your asshole friends.
With his gaze pinned to mine, he says, “Hey, Morgan, you can have your seat back.”
Jasper glances at Kingsley and then me. With a sneer, he slides over so I no longer have a place to sit.
I keep my expression neutral. Does he really think I’m going to be upset because I can’t sit with him? I want to laugh. Now I can hide out in the library like I originally intended. Honestly, I prefer it. He’s delusional for thinking otherwise.
When I shrug and spin on my heels to leave, he snaps, “Where do you think you’re going?”
My step falters as I point to the exit. Freedom, that’s where. “The library,” I answer instead.
A wicked gleam enters his eyes as he shakes his head and pats his lap. “No, you’ll sit right here.”
I stare at his muscular thigh before glancing at him in horror. Without thinking, I shake my head, a denial perched on the tip of my tongue.
“Do you really want to push me, Summer?” He breaks eye contact and looks around. I do the same and realize that everyone’s gazes are fastened on me. It’s as if they’re all waiting for a silent signal to attack. Nausea grows in my belly as I acknowledge how precarious my situation has become.
It takes everything I have inside to shuffle forward until I’m close enough for him to grab me. Instead of forcing me to do his bidding, he taps his thigh again. I grit my teeth and waver.
“Hurry up,” he growls, “I’m hungry.”
Then eat!
Instead of screaming that, I swallow down my anger before gingerly lowering myself to his lap. My left breast brushes against his hard chest as I twist my body, trying to find a comfortable place to settle. A groan rumbles up from deep in his chest and an answering response ignites between my legs.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This guy should disgust me, not turn me on!
His hands wrap around my waist as if to anchor me in place. My gaze stays pinned to his and I get sucked into the strange spell he effortlessly weaves around me.