Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Well, a tutorial of the female anatomy just seemed rude at the time.”
“Then you gave one hell of a performance.” His voice drops lower until it’s rough around the edges.
“Consider it an act of mercy.” My tone is casual, but my pulse is pounding in my ears. “I just wanted to speed things up. It was late, and I was tired.”
He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “I think we both know I could prove you wrong.”
“Too bad you won’t be given the opportunity to try.” My gaze flicks to the bruise on his cheek. “Let me guess, bar brawl over an eager bunny?”
Dark emotion flashes in his eyes before it’s quickly masked. “Nailed it.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach curdle, but before I can analyze it, Dr. Abbott launches into his lecture about our final project. Once this semester ends, I’ll never have to deal with Bridger Sanderson again.
Thank fuck.
“You’ll be paired with a classmate,” Abbott announces, his gaze sweeping the room.
My muscles lock. He’s going alphabetically. I frantically search my memory for anyone between Sanderson and Tate but come up empty.
“Bridger Sanderson and—”
Please don’t say me.
Please don’t—
“Holland Tate.”
My pen clatters to the desk. Bridger turns, his gaze burning into my profile.
“I couldn’t have planned this more perfectly myself,” he whispers, satisfaction dripping from his tone.
I force my features into something resembling calm, choking down the urge to scream. We can’t be within three feet of each other without verbal warfare breaking out. How the hell are we supposed to work together?
The second Abbott dismisses class, I’m out of my seat and heading for his desk. I feel the weight of Bridger’s stare burning a hole through my back as he takes his sweet time packing up.
“Miss Tate?” Abbott looks up. “Questions about the project?”
I clear my throat, aiming for reasonable rather than desperate. “Just one. Is there any way I can work alone? I’m willing to do everything my—”
“I’m afraid not.” His smile is tight. “In the real world, you won’t get to choose your colleagues. Consider it a lesson in learning how to play nice with others.”
The condescension in his tone makes me grit my teeth. “Got it. Thanks for the insight.”
I turn to leave, only to find Bridger leaning against the wall outside the room, waiting like a predator.
He falls into step beside me. “Looks like you and I are stuck together for the next couple weeks, Tate.”
“Apparently.” I don’t bother hiding my irritation.
His lips twitch. “Told you I was going to stick to you like glue.”
I stop short, spinning to face him. “Let me be crystal clear, Sanderson. I don’t like you. And I sure as hell don’t want to be anywhere near you.”
He tilts his head, eyes darkening. “That wasn’t always the case, now was it?”
My spine stiffens. Even at five-ten, I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. “That was a long time ago.”
“And yet…” His voice drops lower, turning silky, when he finishes with, “Sometimes it feels just like yesterday.”
“No, what it feels like is ancient history.” I step closer, jabbing my finger into his chest. “Not to mention completely forgettable.”
“So you keep saying.” His hand catches mine before I can pull back, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The touch sends electricity shooting up my arm. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”
I yank my hand free, ignoring how my skin tingles where he touched me. “You have absolutely nothing I want.” I turn away, desperate to escape before he realizes just how much he’s able to affect me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better places to be.”
His low chuckle follows me out into the sunshine. I pull out my phone, trying to focus on my mother’s radio silence rather than the lingering warmth of his touch.
I give her number two more tries before accepting that I’ll have to make the trip home. The forty-five-minute drive gives me way too much time to think.
About what Bridger’s hand felt like on mine.
About my mother’s latest crisis waiting to happen.
About how my life seems to be one endless cycle of damage control.
Our tiny bungalow comes into view, looking exactly like it has since I was a kid— slightly neglected but still standing. A black plastic ashtray sits on the railing, cigarette butts spilling over the edges despite my constant lectures about lung cancer.
While I’ve never doubted her love for me, the woman will never win mother of the year. She’s more of a dreamer. An eternal optimist who floats through life in a bubble of her own making. Her superpower is her ability to find lowlifes and try to turn them into her next great love interest.
What Vivienne has yet to realize is that she won’t find Prince Charming at the bottom of her beer glass at a local corner dive bar.